It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…

Dec the halls! Hark the herald! Eat all the Quality Street! It’s Christmas! I love this festive time of the year, beautiful lights brighten up my evening commute, supermarkets stock more cheese than usual and everywhere you go you hear the Christmas hits!

I put my tree up today. I’ve been itching to do it for a while but wanted to get a work event out the way first so I could relax.

I pictured an idyllic afternoon of artfully placing baubles with the Bald Kitten. I’m not sure he could have been less bothered. He put one bauble on the tree and continued to watch Paw Patrol.

My plan for tomorrow is to hand make cards for the family. I have a feeling it’s not going to go how I imagine. I think by the time hubs gets home there’ll be paint everywhere but on the cards and I’ll be crying and vowing NEVER to go on Pinterest again.

Bedtime is a sodding nightmare. I dread it. I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep. I just can’t get comfortable it’s like torture. I try staying up late but it doesn’t help. It’s making my patience practically non-existent, especially when hubs keeps doing annoying things like breathing and chewing.

My nipples are now brown but I still haven’t got that line thingy down my tummy. I seem to remember having it by now last time. I can’t see my feet (or my fanny) and it’s time for hubs to get on toenail painting duty. Which I’m sure he’s eager to get started on account of how nice I’ve been and will be over the next two months. Again anyone suggesting lack of sleep is just prep for baby will get a throat punch. I’ll sleep like a log when baby is born. Just not for long periods of time.

At least now when I come downstairs to be awake and cry about being awake (it’s happened several times) I’ve got a nice tree to look at.

In other news:

Marms has spent the day sleeping on our bed and scowling at us whenever we have the audacity to enter our own room. The little shit also got paw prints all over my nice shiny bathroom.

Turning off all the sets of lights I’ve put up takes about 20 minutes.

Two weeks left at work!


Time to get fit(ish)

I’ve been rather alarmed by my growing waistline. The final straw came on Friday. The boy and I were changing the bedding. This is mostly arsing about, pretending the duvet is trying to eat him, putting the fitted sheet over him and exclaiming ‘where’s the baby?’, etc. Half way through the process we were rolling around on the bed doing our ‘Oh no I’ve fallen over and I can’t get up’ routine, when the boy clocked my belly. He was mesmerised by it. Pressing his hands into it and wiggling them about, slapping it and watching it ripple and finally (which nearly tipped me over the edge) grabbing handfuls of it. (Yes. HANDFULS) As much as I’m all for anything that keeps him amused I’m drawing the line at my belly.

I’ve not been taking care of myself recently. I’ve been leaving that up to the various pharmaceuticals I’m on. But I need to take responsibility for my own health, I need to help it along and as much as I enjoy sharing an Easter egg with hubs I’m certainly not blessed with a metabolism that lets me get away with that. And I’ve said it before my clothes size is closely linked with my self esteem.

Today I exercised. I’d downloaded an app that gives me a little routine to follow. William found this fascinating, which caused a problem. When I was planking he decided to lay on me and exclaim ‘ahhhh’, when I did a wall sit, he tried to climb on my lap with a book and when I did crunches, he straddled me, bounced up and down squealing and slapped my tum like it was his tambourine. Thankfully hubs removed him before I was winded.

Will this health kick last? Probably not, but I’ll make the most of the enthusiasm I currently feel.

In other news:

The boy has started going to Nursery half a day a week. He’s not too happy about this.

Cat/bald kitten relations are going very well. (If you ignore Marms) although Captain wasn’t too sure what to do when he had a sippy cup thrust in his face.

It seems I am the current favourite parent, and although I’m enjoying being flavour of the month I know how upsetting some of the rejection is for hubs. (Although he’s pretty stoked that I get the pleasure of reading the sodding alphabet book eleventy billion times a day.)



I took William swimming on Tuesday.


I have always found public swimming pools traumatic. The hygiene in the changing rooms is usually questionable. The walk from the changing room to the pool is always just a little longer than comfortable for walking around with very little on. And the pool itself is essentially a bath you share with people you have never met. A bath that has the occasional plaster floating about in it…




Anyway in my mission to do absolutely everything I possibly can with Wills so he doesn’t forget me when I go back to work, I figured swimming is a fairly cheap but fun thing to do.


After having a baby I needed to buy a new, larger swimming costume. I remember being very upset when the one I bought, that looked massive stretched out on the hanger in Sports Direct, not only fit, it was a bit tight. I seemed to have acquired new fat bits after pregnancy including two weird lumps on the top of my thighs.


Why do most swimsuits have such high legs? The kind an 80’s aerobics instructor would be proud of. Even my maternity one was high legged, why in the name of arse? When I bought it I hadn’t seen my bikini line in months and I was going to a hen do. Not wanting to be known and forever after referred to as ‘ the one with all the pubes’ I had to rope hubs into sorting it. (If someone is popping your offspring out of their vagina, a bit of bikini maintenance is the VERY LEAST you can do.)


Anyway, bikini line acceptable (from a distance) I tucked my saggy belly into my new costume. Surveying the damage in the mirror, the belly was not my biggest problem. I think my new nickname is probably going to be ‘back fat’, unfortunately I couldn’t reach those bits to do any tucking. After getting dressed I chucked a few swim nappies in a bag along with Wills’ swim body warmer thingy. As I purchased it form Amazon I keep getting emails ‘Can you answer this question..’ it’s usually size related but the last one was ‘is it a swimsuit as well as a floatation aid?’ I felt it was my moral duty to reply swiftly and make it absolutely clear that although it is described as ‘swim vest’ it in no way aids floatation in any way. Its sole purpose is to keep a baby warm. I had images of a poor baby being chucked into a pool at Centre Parcs whilst it’s parents disappear to the bar ‘It’s a floatation vest love,  he’ll bob back up to the surface, voddy and coke?’


That’s my good deed done.


Anyway we arrived in the changing rooms and they were as grim as I remember. Didn’t particularly want to put William down anywhere and the mass of clothes left in plain sight signalled a school was in for a swimming lesson.


 I covered a grotty changing table with a mat and got Wills ready took my clothes off to reveal new trusty one piece and made my way to the ‘learner pool’.


The learner pool was nice and warm, Wills seemed immediately delighted and spent the whole time we were in there squealing and smacking the water. (We were the people other people were avoiding.) The boy made a pretty impressive splash zone. We poured brightly coloured watering cans (Will tried to drink from them) and swan after footballs (Will tired to eat them), Wills found a squirty crab (tried to eat that too) and it was lovely. The sheer delight on his face kept me grinning like a mad woman! I saw two women with a baby girl, both in bikinis, both with gorgeous tummys, I’m sure one of the slender tummed women was a mamma, and I felt pure unbridled envy at such a lovely tum, which was interrupted by Wills pulling the front of my swimsuit out as far as it would go. I spotted a couple of mums in the same swimming suit as me, I couldn’t decide if that made me like it more or less.


We exited the pool, I swaddled William in a towel and carried him past several bored looking lifeguards into the changing room, which was freezing. So I wrapped him in my towel too. I took him into a cubicle with a changing table and removed my suit. He took the opportunity to squeal and smack my boobs. Not that there is ever a good time for a fire alarm, this would have been a really, really bad time. By the time I’d got him dressed I was pretty much dry. I tried not to feel too much dismay at my now pendulous boobs and saggy belly as I tried to stuff myself back into my clothes. Although on the bright side, the tum isn’t always saggy. Whenever I have a postpartum monster period, it fills up, so it’s a big roundy belly that leaves people wandering if I’m expecting or not…


Will fell fast asleep in the car and I put him straight to bed when we got home. Any activity that makes him nap is good in my books.


When I went to retrieve him some time later, he was licking the bars of his cot. Make of that what you will.


In other news:


It snowed for the first time in William’s life yesterday. I excitedly picked him up and took him to the window. I don’t think he could have been less bothered.


We’ve had some lovely pictures of William taken today. So I’ll be busy getting them put on to mugs, mouse mats, magnets, clocks, cushions, wallpaper, curtains etc.


We’re off out to celebrate hubs’ cousins birthday tonight, and I’m not driving… see you all in hangover town…




Interactive baby toys – because sleepless nights and regularly getting vomited on aren’t punishment enough.

Having hit the ‘magical’ age, Wills is now age appropriate for a whole host of interactive toys.

Oh what fresh hell is this?

Why do they have to be so sodding irritating? And another thing, all that bull crap on the packaging that states your child will learn about shapes and colours.

No they won’t.

Because they don’t leave enough time between jabbing the assorted buttons to hear the shape, colour or number in it’s entirety. And who needs to hear colours when you can just make it moo repeatedly?

One thing I will say for them they seem pretty indestructible, Wills seems at his most content when he’s smacking something, preferable with something else. The more it hurts my eardrums the better. I’m unsure if this is a phase or he’s a thug, I suppose time will tell. In the meantime, I encourage the cats to keep their distance!

So our living room often  looks like we’ve ram-raided Toys R Us and hearing the creepy child-like voices emanating from bright plastic toys, accompanied by seizure inducing light shows has led me to some pretty dark thoughts:

What if the toys met with some sort of accident?

I’m not sure I’d get away with it, he may only be six months old but I’m quite sure he has some sort of inventory stashed away somewhere, maybe under his mattress.

In other news:

I’m not sure my house will ever be tidy again. Ever.

The recent Cat-War shows no signs of a peace treaty.

Wills and I have had our passport photos taken. Wills looks cute as a button, I look less like a serial killer but very much like I haven’t had a decent rest since July.