Up to our eyeballs in vomit.

The plague has descended on the Warwick household. Hubs is poorly and I know it’s bad because he’s trying to be helpful. The more ill he is the more he tries to do. Wills so far is plague free but seems to be vomiting a lot more than usual.

His first chunder of the day usually occurs as soon as I’ve put a clean vest on him. I change the vest, put trousers on him, then a top which he throws up on. Mostly I think sod it and leave that on. If I’m lucky I’ll get a bib on and he’ll throw up on that. This coupled with the copious amounts of drool means we are getting through those bibs. Just what my washing pile needs, more sodding stuff.

In addition to having a slightly soggy baby I myself spend most of the day covered in regurgitated milk. I’m feeling less than glamourous at the moment, my hair continues to fall out at a seemingly alarming rate, having a shower consists of just getting wet and carefully applied make-up is a thing of the past. To add insult to injury, the hair missing from my head appears to be growing out of my chin and neck. So eau de sick is pretty much the least of my worries.

This Friday my husband is taking me out for our first date since we had William. He has brought me a dress and booked a lovely restaurant, his mum is babysitting for us and I have a decision to make. Does she come here are babysit or do we send him there for the night. Knowing that I am really torn about this hubs has told me I don’t have to decide until the day.

My head tells me we could do with a night off. His nan is more than capable of looking after him. He will be safe and he will be happy.

But I won’t be there when he wakes up, what if he needs me? What if he thinks I’ve left him? What if his nan and granddad can’t interpret his behaviour like I can? What if he has a nightmare and I’m not there?

I’m not sure I’m ready for him to be anywhere other than the cot beside me yet. Because as much as I’m fed up with being thrown-up on every five minutes and looking like I should be appearing on some sort of extreme make over programme, he’s my little boy, and he’s totally worth it.

In other news:

Wills is now able to grip things tightly. Unfortunately his favourite thing to grip is my bingo wings. (The arm fat at the top that hangs down when you lift your arms)

The cats continue to act indifferently towards us.

Hubs is on the mend.


The mystery of the last blog post…

It seems the last post I wrote on vomit and other assorted bodily fluids has disappeared into thin internet. Was hoping I’d remember what I wrote but I haven’t had a memory for years, even less so mow I’m a mother.

Today is Sunday and my son decided to mark the occasion by demanding food at seven am. He then went back to sleep and I am wide awake. I’ve fed the cats, who are now growling at each other, and being overly affectionate towards me in order to piss each other off. (That’s right kittehs, I’m on to you.)

Whilst listening to both hubs and baby snore this morning I read an article on Facebook, ‘Is the drunk you the real you?’ Turns out if you’re a little bit drunk yes, a lot drunk then no. So I have confirmation that I am actually a bit of a cow. It’s just when I’m sober I do a terribly good job of repressing that side of me and being nice to people, even if they don’t deserve it.

This is a trait I most definitely do not want William to inherit. I often do not speak my mind or stand up for myself because I don’t want  to offend. There is a fine line between being honest and being an arse and I don’t want Wills to be an arse. I want him to be fair, I want him to be honest and I want him to be kind. More then that I want him to have the freedom of an unburdened mind.

When I am not assertive, or someone upsets me and I don’t tell them they’ve upset me I lose sleep, not them. I daydream about the things I could/should have said. I get angry at myself for remaining mute. (I do this for years after the event.) I don’t want William to have all this anxiety, so I have to  do a very scary thing:

Lead by example.

If I want my son to show a bit of backbone than so do I. It’s time to speak up. And time to do this before I have a glass of wine, the gentle ‘truth lubricant’ that makes me more likely to speak my mind but too late, and poor hubs has to sit through a narration of ‘people who have wronged me’, chiming in with sympathetic noises because it’s hard to get a word in edgeways around drunk Chesney.

So now I suppose it’s time to enter a rather terrifying chapter, I promise to be very diplomatic, unless someone really deserves for me not to be! I actually have a knot in my tummy now just thinking about it. Maybe I’ll need a hipflask with me at all times but there’s definitely a word for people like that….

In other news:

The cats have decided neither of them particularly care if they’re getting attention from me or not and have disappeared.

I haven’t seen a spider in the house for ages.

Today I shall mostly be ironing.


In hubs we trust!

Today hubs returned to work after a week holiday. So after two against one, I was solo again.

I haven’t got out of my pyjamas today.

Wills is still poorly and we were up with him a few times in the night because his breathing was terrible! The fact that he is poorly is making him much more clingy than normal. In addition to this the cats are being little shits. They have seemingly decided that if it belongs to William they are going to sleep in/on it. So several times today I’ve tried to put Wills into his moses basket only to find a cat in it. Went upstairs to find Marms in his cot. So my day has mostly consisted of calming a crying infant and moving cats about. Captain has decided that Wills is okay, and as such curls up with him at every available opportunity. This has to be monitored as Captain likes licking faces and sticking his paws in mouths…

When hubs came home the washing up hasn’t been done, I STILL haven’t vacuumed and I hadn’t been to the shop to get cat food. But hubs greeted us with his usual cheery demeanour, made me a cuppa and fed a now hangry baby.

That man is a keeper. He’s never once asked me what I’ve been doing all day (clearly values his life), and didn’t comment about me still wearing what I went to bed in.

Wills has settled now, Marmite has been removed from the clean washing pile, then the moses basket and has gone back into the moses basket. (Stubborn little sod.)

I give up.

Wills will be put to bed soon, hubs and I will get an hour or so to ourselves and we’ll start again tomorrow.

Hopefully I’ll get dressed tomorrow.

Advice for new mums.

A short while ago I entered a competition, it was to write advice you would give to newly pregnant women/new mums in 250 words. The first prize was the opportunity to regularly write in a mother and baby magazine.

Here is my entry:

One rather extraordinary phenomenon you will notice on the announcement of your impending parenthood will be the eagerness of almost everyone to share advice that ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Your job will mostly involve smiling serenely whilst filtering out the more obscure suggestions.

Every pregnancy is different. Not all the advice you get will be relevant.  The first trimester is full of aches and pains that have you panicking something might be wrong. The second trimester is when you start looking like a pregnant person and the third is the one where you completely lose sight of your private parts! Your boobs are going to get more awesome and you are going to need to urinate ALL THE TIME, take the highs with the lows.

My advice: Read a range books on pregnancy, but don’t take them as gospel. Join a mum forum or app, but be careful; they can get nasty.  Let others give advice but remember you don’t have to take it. Ultimately do what you feel is right for you, if playing classical music to bump is not your thing, don’t do it. If you’re trying to eat healthily for the baby but accidently have a Mcdonald’s breakfast and then have chips for lunch… Don’t sweat it!

My final advice that I will thrust upon the expectant mum is, your body is going to change. In some ways it will never be the same again. But it’s worth it. My goodness is it worth it!

I didn’t win, nor was I a runner up.

Reading it back I’m not surprised, but i’m proud of myself for developing my original draft which was something along the lines of: ‘When people see you are pregnant and insist on giving you advice, tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.’

In other news:

Some woman is feeding Marms tidbits which she is throwing up in my house.

Captain has supervised me cutting Wills’ nails.

My diet is starting tomorrow….

Coping with ‘Mum guilt’.

Eleven weeks into parenting and it’s safe to the hardest thing to cope with is the guilt. If you ever get to read my CV you will see that I describe myself as ‘Self-evaluative’, what I actually mean is ‘self-critical’ and not the healthy kind. I have spent most of my life telling myself ‘I’m not good enough’, is this healthy? Good Lordy no. In an unfortunate turn of events I have found that ultimately telling yourself this over and over results in actually not being good enough, or rational and ending a teaching career that had barely begun..

Anyway I digress.

We took Wills on his first holiday last week and he caught a cold. The symptoms are a cough that sounds like a bark, lots of raspy breaths and enough snot to fill a small pond. When it was clear something was wrong, my go to reason for him getting poorly was not the fact that he had been spending time with his two cousins who are little snot factories at the moment it was quite simply:

He must be poorly because I’m not breastfeeding.

It is my fault my child is ill.

When he woke in the early hours crying and struggling to shift mucus, I hated myself. Why did I let something like the fact that every time he latched (poorly) it felt like someone was taking a razor blade to my nipples stop me? When he got jaundice why didn’t I persevere with a feeding method that reduced me to floods of tears every time he so much as came near me and its ineffectiveness had caused the jaundice in the first place?

I felt like this for about a day. My cousin told me I was being ridiculous. That helped. I need to fight the mum guilt! I have many years of it to come so getting a handle on it now is essential. Here is a list of other things that have caused ‘Mum guilt’ for me recently:

When Wills woke up poorly his dad woke up to his cries before I did.

I don’t put kids TV on for Wills, I want to delay being subjected to that for as long as possible.

I’ve only taken him to one baby group.

I was annoyed when he threw up on me the other day.

I don’t know what he should be doing and when he should start doing it.

I can only remember the words to about three nursery rhymes.

When he cries, I don’t. (Well not when he’s crying for food)

I didn’t pay for a newborn photoshoot.

I’ve brought myself something new to wear and didn’t get anything for him.

I used the hand drier in a motorway services and it frightened Will so much he cried, and I didn’t feel guilty about making him cry. (Feeling guilty about not feeling guilty..)

These are but a few examples of why I feel guilty, any of them familiar? I would say realistically there is no way to avoid it, the trick is not to be consumed by it. When I get a handle on that I’ll let you know. Should give myself the reality check again…


In other news:

The cats have returned from the cattery Captain has shown affection towards hubs and Wills, not me. Furry little traitor.

Wills now smiles A LOT. Hubs and I could watch him do this all day, it is so lovely!

Still not confident that I can sneeze without weeing a little bit.


The great ‘to mum or not to mum’ debate.

I don’t  t know whether or not I being sensitive but recently I’ve noticed a lot of social media articles about women who choose not to have children. What I find upsettingis that in order to validate not wanting children, woman who do are often insulted.

So before I get into it, I’ll just get my opinion out there: Whether  you want or do not want children is none of my business. I don’t think less of people on the grounds of wether or not they reproduce. I think less of them if they’re arseholes.

Years ago, I had a friend tell me that she didn’t particularly want children, and that she probably won’t have them. What I found baffling was that I think she was genuinely worried I’d think less of her.

If you’ve noticed articles tend to justify not wanting children by giving reasons such as: You’ll have more freedom/money, you’ll have an amazing career and won’t be contributing to the overpopulation/general demise of the planet.

Why are women who choose to have children made to feel that they are less aspirational? That they are selfishly destroying the planet? Why should one choice be better than another, why can’t it be accepted as a personal choice?

It’s true, the love I feel for our son is different to anything I’ve felt before. Would I recommend someone have a child to feel that love? Good lordy no! Would I patronise someone by telling them ‘You don’t know love until you’ve had a baby’, no. Am I going to ask a couple ‘So when are you going to have kids?’ No, because (and I can’t stress this enough) I don’t care who is reproducing and who isn’t. I find the notion of such enquiries baffling. It’s not socially acceptable to ask a couple if they are having lots of sex so why is it acceptable to ask if they’re trying for a baby? (Lots of sex and laying with your legs in the air for about ten minutes afterwards.)

To summarise:

Women who don’t want children are not scaly demons.

Women who do want children aren’t  low-aspirational ovaries on legs, content with a life time of cardis covered in sick.

Why can’t we just be nice to each other?


In other news:

Marms has taken to throwing up on the carpet daily.

Wills threw up all over himself and me at baby weigh. (He also coughed as I was desperately mopping up chunder and got sick all over my face. In my panic to resemble a mum in control of the situation I didn’t realise I was cleaning him up with his top that I’d removed to get him ready for the scales.)

First family holibobs looms. Should be interesting…





Up to our eyeballs in poo.

There has been a spate of ‘poo explosions’ recently. It’s truly astonishing how so much poo can come out of one tiny person and how, inexplicably, said poo gets EVERYWHERE.

Hubs and I settled down with a bowl of homemade meatballs last night when the continuation of the family name decided he was hungry. Hubs being the caring, considerate man he is leapt to the task, honourably accepting he’d be eating his dinner cold. However on removing our little prince from his bouncy chair we noticed a big yellowy-brown stain on his leg, and all over his back. To be honest, it seams Wills had done a stealth poo as usually you can hear him pushing and his face goes bright red.

I don’t know who had the idea of designing baby vests so they could be pulled down in a poo related emergency, but they deserve a Nobel prize. Removing the baby grow down spared Will from getting poo all over his head. As wipes only seem to move poo around William had his bedtime bath early. As Wills was hungry and baffled as to why he was stripped, washed and redressed he was screaming blue murder by the time we’d finished. I do sometimes wonder if the neighbours think we’re torturing him.

This morning after, placing Will in his beloved bouncy chair I noticed (and how neither of us spotted is last night) that there was a huge poo stain on it. Thank lordy for vanish powder.

It’s crazy how this is the norm for us now, and even more weird that I am frequently covered in the brown stuff and I don’t really mind that much, that’s the power of love right there.

In other news:

Marms celebrated her three year adoptiversary yesterday.

Captain has a habit of standing on his hind legs and looking into the moses basket when Wills is having a meltdown. Todays meltdown was because his bottle wasn’t ready IMMEDIATEY, Captain looked in and turned to me with a look of horror on his face as it to say ‘You’ve broken the bald kitten!’

We’re taking William on his first holiday soon, the list of what we need to take for him is, quite frankly, eye-watering.