Shower Fast

We all know that you very rarely get a chance to pamper yourself when you have kids. And when I say pamper I mean shower. Even going the toilet is like a military operation. Fox opening and closing the door and playing peekaboo. Shadowcat screaming, as I rock her aimlessly with my foot. Fox unravelling toilet paper and trying to put it in the toilet through my legs. Tears streaming down Shadowcat’s face as she death-stares my boobs. Tits pissing milk everywhere at the sound of her cries. Fox singing happy birthday over Shadowcat’s crying, stomping around the bathroom. Fox hits Shadowcat on the head. More tears. Louder screams. Even louder happy birthdays. Jesus Christ, will I ever have a piss in peace again?….

You quickly get used to people saying things like:

“You look tired.” No shit.

“You look good considering you’ve just had a baby.” What? Is that a compliment or an insult?

“She’s not sleeping through the night then?” (Whilst referencing the bags under your eyes) No she’s not sleeping through the fucking night. Babies don’t sleep through the night. And anyone that says that they do is lying. Do not believe them. And neither do bloody mothers. Mothers don’t sleep through the night either. Which is why I look like shit. All the time.image

We don't sleep in our house. Especially at night.

So after 6 weeks, (12 weeks) of barely getting washed, rarely brushing my teeth and not once shaving my overgrown 70’s bush, I decided that I had to figure out a way to at the very least wash myself and cut my toe nails!

Shower fast. Shower very fast. Shower early. Do it as soon as you get up or it’ll be 3 o’clock before you know it and you’ll all still be in your Pyjamas and won’t have even brushed your teeth. Plus if you’re up early enough you can even shave your pits and potentially the bottom bit of your legs. Quick before they wake up. Husband will think he’s getting lucky tonight. Not a chance whilst I’m still super fertile. No. Thanks.

Get used to showering with one or two small people staring at your naked body, with Fox usually asking “Mummy what’s them?” Pointing at my boobs. “I wanna taste!” (Shadowcat is breastfed. Fox is not.) Put toddler in the bath and baby on a blanket on the floor. Must figure out a way to stop the toddler in the bath throwing toys at the baby on the floor. Shit. We have no soap. Use baby soap. Shit. We have no shampoo. Use baby shampoo. Shit. We have no shower gel. Use baby lavender bath foam. Sing ‘Row Row Row Your Boat’ at the top of your voice to keep Fox entertained and let Shadowcat know that you haven’t abandoned her. She’d shit herself if she thought I’d left her alone with that mental brother of hers.

Don’t bother drying. Get dressed. Don’t even consider moisturiser anymore. No time. Shadowcat is crying on the bedroom floor and Fox is playing his harmonica. Shadowcat doesn’t like it. Cries louder. Where’s that god damn iPad? Fox hits iPad over and over until he discovers a weird video of hands playing with teletubbie russian doll egg things. He is mezmerised. What the hell is it? If it keeps him quiet I don’t care. Seriously it’s like a drug. He plays it over and over and over again. And again. At least I can get dressed. Put weird video into favourites. This might just change everything.

Baby crack.

…. You’re welcome.

Gone are the days when I pranced about in my dressing room trying on many an outfit from this season’s trends! Gone are the days when I said things like “Today’s outfit is a whimsical take on the folk trend” Yes I was a fashion wanker. Gone are the days that I actually give a shit about this season’s trends. Gone are the days I even care about all clothes in general. It would be easier to be forever naked or at least topless, considering how often Shadowcat feeds.

Quickly resign yourself to the fact that you’ll never wear heels again. You can’t chase a toddler through a forest in heels. You can’t chase a toddler through Tesco in heels. Anything that slows you down needs to be scrapped. Do not let them have the upper hand. And jewellery. You’ll never wear jewellery again. You won’t believe it at first. You’ll try. You’ll fail. After the 5th time you whack your toddler on the head with your medallion or scratch the back of your newborn baby’s neck with your watch, you’ll decide enough is enough. Goodbye jewellery. It’s been emotional.


Create a mix ‘n’ match capsule wardrobe that:
A. Doesn’t require ironing
B. Has minimal buttons and zips
C. Is dark enough to hide tit milk stains (so black, basically all black)
D. Looks OK with trainers

Pick something that is remotely clean. Or just riffle through the ever expanding pile of washing. Not sure what’s clean and what’s dirty anymore. That’ll do. A naive friend tells you “Do you know there’s sick on that top?” YES I KNOW. There is sick on every top. Or fucking breast milk. Or peanut butter. Or baby shit. That’s what baby wipes were made for. You silly silly girl.

Buy scarves. Lots of scarves. Why was I not told in those pointless antinatal classes about the importance of scarves when you are a mother? They have a multitude of uses. Firstly they hide any surprise boob leakage when you’re in Asda. A handy muslin/wipe when your child sicks on you. Or themselves. Or both. You can make a little pair of shorts if their arse explodes and they shit through every layer. They make great blankets. And they are a perfect shade creator when the sun shines on baby’s face and you can’t be arsed moving that god damn umbrella for the 100th time. I have even been known to rip one up and make a bandana for Fox to protect his head from the sun. Seriously.

Homemade bandana.

So that settles it. The perfect gift for a new mum is a scarf! Not baby shoes. Who decided baby shoes were a good idea? Most pointless creation ever. BABIES DON’T NEED SHOES. They can’t fucking walk!

There will never be time for mascara again. You’ll never be able to find it anyway. Fox hides it. Or throws it down the stairs. Or in the toilet. Or covers his face in it. There’s little finger craters in lip balm and all eye pencils are blunt due to them making the perfect utensil for scribbling on walls all over the house. Fantastic. Take advantage when both kids fall asleep in the car. Quickly pull over and throw a bit of make-up on. Then when you visit the mother-in-law she’s all like “Ooh made a bit of effort today have you? Don’t you look nice!” Thus, highlighting the fact that you usually look like a piece of shit. Nice one girl. Kill me now.

Watching Fox at Soft Play is like watching a suspense thriller. Finger nails chewed to the bone. At least I don’t have to bother painting them. With summer babies comes open toed shoes. Pick one colour nail varnish and never take it off again. Repaint over old nail varnish from time to time. Again and again. I’ve been rocking this scabby turquoise look for about 3 months now, as chipped as it may be.

Gets pulled and played with constantly. Sick and peanut butter can usually be located in it. And sometimes poo. Actual poo in my hair. Wash and brush as little as often. Rock the messy look. Just when you think you can’t look or feel any worse it starts to fall out. What. The. Fuck? Why doesn’t anyone tell you this? Those antinatal classes seriously need reviewing. Live in denial. Convince yourself that your hair is not actually falling out. Find it wrapped around Shadowcat’s fingers and toes and in her nappy. Get it all cut off. Get a skin head and wear a scarf!

Eyebrows no longer get plucked. As if you have the time for that. Grow a very long fringe.

Keeping Fit
Weight lifting
Baby in sling, carry toddler. All day every day. Lug double pram in and out of car at least 3 times a day. Back pack filled with baby and toddler paraphernalia constantly attached to back.

HIT (high intensity training)
Full on tug of war with 2 year old to remove iPad. Squat around the bedroom for hours at 2am every night to keep baby quiet. Drag a tantrum-taking toddler by the feet through dentist whilst clutching onto baby.

Modern day iPad parenting.

5 minutes of ‘Yogo’ with Fox during Waybuloo.

Sprint through the park (whilst pushing pram) after Fox before he dives into lake. Swim in lake to rescue Fox.

Fitness regime nailed.

And that’s it. They’re my easy-to-follow steps into looking like the bag of crap I do on a daily basis. At least I’m managing the odd shower. I also get dressed maybe 3 out of 7 days. That’s an achievement in itself. The husband told me I looked fit the other day. Obviously my beauty regime is working. Or I angled the phone right in mine and Fox’s selfie. Or he’s getting desperate. Either way I’m holding onto it.

A well angled selfie.

Hopefully soon I’ll figure out an effective way to get on top of hair removal. Then again. Don’t want him getting any ideas. I am definitly not ready for number 3.



Judgey McJudge

Before I became a parent I had very strong opinions on how I would do parenting. Or more to the point how I would NOT do parenting.

After Fox, it went OK I only broke a few of those ideals. After Shadowcat, I soon realised I’d do practically anything in order to survive. Yes. It is War.

It’s easy to be judgemental on how people parent when you’re not actually a parent. Looking in disgust at the mum who is feeding her toddler fastfood, or pointing out a child who looks ‘too old’ (in your opinion) to have a dummy. Sadly l, I have been guilty of making some of these judgements. Then I was blessed with my own two angels.

So here’s a list of the parenting commandments I subconsciously made and consciously broke. I’m clearly going to my very own parenting hell (if I haven’t arrived there already!)

1. Thou shalt not let babies sleep in my bed

They make so much noise in those god damn wicker moses baskets. How can they make so much fucking noise? They’re tiny little babies. Tiny little babies flailing their arms around and karate-kicking their legs about in a wicker fucking basket. Why are they made of wicker? Why aren’t they made of something that is quiet when booted by a wriggley newborn baby? I also can’t tell if they’re breathing when they’re still. Why are they so fucking still? And why isn’t that wicker basket making any noise? Get up and check them for the 300th time.

So I decided to put Fox in our bed. He was quiet when he kicked and I knew he was breathing as he slept with his face on my face. I didnt sleep.

We stopped letting him get in bed with us when we got pregnant with Shadowcat. It was a fucking nightmare. He cried. He screamed. He winged and winged until he got in our bed. He got over it. Eventually.

Why did we do it? We definitely won’t be doing it with Shadowcat.

Yeah that's Shadowcat.

That’s Shadowcat next to the husband. Shadowcat is breastfed. She feeds every hour to two hours max. In the night she feeds more. She sleeps in our bed and I leave a tit out, next to her face. She latches on when she’s hungry. She’s hungry all the time. She sleeps with my boob in her gob. I don’t sleep.

2. Thou shalt not give babies a dummy

I really hated dummies. I soon realised that giving a baby a dummy made them sleep or shut them up. Why did I ever hate dummies?

Both my babies didn’t really want a dummy. But they both have them. I held them in. I have even been known to prop them in their mouths using a plethora of contraptions… straps on a hat, a small teddy propped under their seatbelt, their babygrow pulled over their chin, etc etc.

A good friend recently told me she discovered a way to swaddle her baby and prop the dummy in, sending baby silently off to sleep.

I’m going to hell. WE’RE going to hell.

3. Thou shalt not allow too much TV

I limit TV usage but I’ve quickly come to realise that my limit is much higher than I thought it would be and “what’s the harm” in letting Fox watch Bing bunny in our bed on the iPad in the morning if it shuts him the fuck up for 10 minutes while I feed Shadowcat. Or half an hour. Or an hour.

There’s a constant CBeebies hum in the background in our house and I know all the fucking words to pretty much every god damn theme tune. I’m a terrible mother. But at least I get a bit of peace to drink my cold coffee, when Mr Tumble is on.

4. Thou shalt not feed children unhealthy food (especially chocolate)

Is frozen food and tinned macaroni classed as unhealthy?

After 3 weeks of Fox being on hunger strike whilst I constantly have Shadowcat attached to my tit, he can eat what the fuck he wants. Seriously.

I used to make all my own baby food from scratch. It did Fox no good. He’s still a fussy little shit. And willful. So very willful.

That's Nutella and peanut butter on toast for breakfast. And what?

He wants cake. He always wants cake.

5. Thou shalt not pacify children with the iPad at restaurants

I was always super judgey of parents in restaurants with an iPad propped up in front of their kid. Zero interaction between parent and child. But strangely the parents always looked so god damn happy. And so did the child for that matter. Watching frozen and eating chicken nuggets and chips (OMG chips, I won’t feed MY child chips. Yeah right!)

We’ve been taking Fox to restaurants since he was tiny. He was always so good in his highchair, eating olives and cooing at the waitresses (just like his Dad). Then one day, out of nowhere, he just fucking snapped. Olives and hummus were spat all over the table. Cutlery was thrown. The highchair was now a means of imprisonment, resulting in back-arching, high-pitched screaming and climbing. Shouting and bashing tables was now a thing. He still cooed and giggled at those pretty young waitresses though. “Ahh isn’t he gorgeous, yes you are, you’re a babe!” (He could seriously get Daddy some tail if we ever get divorced!)

We thought it was a phase. It wasnt a phase. It got worse. And worse. And when Shadowcat arrived it got impossible. After the fourth or fifth apocalyptic restaurant trip, the husband turned to me and said “That iPad idea isn’t looking so bad anymore is it?” Those iPad parents look so happy. And smug. Smug bastards. Let’s get an iPad. I wanna be a smug bastard too.

We don’t go to restaurants anymore.

6. Thou shalt not moan about being a parent

Fuck it. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes all you wanna do is moan about how shit your life is since you spawned your offspring. Sometimes they suck the fucking life out of you and make you wish you were 19 again and living in your parents house in your lipstick pink bedroom, getting ready for a night out, listening to ‘Pretty Green Eye’s, drinking Cherry Lambrini and vodka, back when your biggest dilemma was which tutu to wear or trying to ‘accidentally’ bump into tho that boy you fancied…. Erm what was I talking about again?

7. Thou shalt not use bribery

I’ll never bribe my child. I’ll never let them have the upper hand.

“If you eat your mac cheese, you can have cake.”
“If you get dressed, you can have cake.”
“If you stop hitting your sister, you can have cake.”
“If you put all your toys away, you can have cake.”
“If you please get up off the god damn floor of Asda and stop sreeching, I will buy you a horse… and you can have cake!”

8. Thou shalt not pollute your friends’ timelines with boring pictures of your children (Or boring statuses. Or blogs about your children.)

Yeah. Instant fail. Sorry about that. Just unfriend me.

Also. Selfies. I always got pissed off with people taking selfies of themselves and their babies. It seemed so utterly pointless. Yeah. Again. Sorry about me. We do love a selfie in our house.

Morning selfies are our favourite.

9. Thou shalt not be a pushy parent
(Also includes living your life through them)

Fox is already signed up to start football. He’s not even 2. Shadowcat is already signed up to start dance. She’s 12 weeks old. I dress them like hipsters because I’m too old to.

I often hear myself saying things like:
“Fox is a genius, you can have a full conversation with him, he can count to 10 and sing twinkle twinkle and he knows all the words to Incey Wincey Spider and he sang happy birthday the other day… go on Fox, sing for Nanny/Grandad/friends/strangers/anyone that will listen. Dance Fox. Dance.” etc
Fox stands there looking bewildered and mumbles some words that remotely sound like a nursery rhyme. I applaud enthusiastically as the other person looks vacant.

“Shadowcat is even quicker than Fox was. She’s more alert and is cooing much earlier than he was. I’m pretty sure she copied me the other day when I said ‘iya!” She’s 12 weeks old.

Seriously. What’s wrong with me? It’s like the words come out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop myself. The entire time I’m talking I can see the person’s face thinking “What the fuck?” And I can hear a voice in my head telling me how fucking ridiculous I am. But I carry on talking regardless. I literally don’t shut up about my child geniuses. Maybe I should contact Mensa.

Caption: This is England 2015 (I'm so fucking sad!)

10. Thou shalt not set up the child’s own social media page

#freddiesfashion on instagram. Well he’s gotta have somewhere to show off his hipster-chic outfits now hasn’t he? Seriously. What’s wrong with me?


I have issues.

And one for good measure….

11. Thou shalt not swear
Today Fox shouted “for Fuck’s sake” in the park. Enough said.

The moral of the story…
Don’t be so hard on yourself. Don’t be so hard on other parents. We’re all in it together. And if I see you bribing your kid with chocolate buttons in the trolley in Asda I’ll be sure to give you a smile and a nod, as no doubt Fox will have eaten his way through a full packet of gingerbread men and half a pound of dairy milk before we even get to the beans aisle.

Fuck knows what I’d actually be capable of if we ever have a 3rd. I don’t even want to know.

Another selfie for good measure. You're welcome.


French Fancies

When it comes to food, it’s fair to say that all toddlers are fussy little arseholes. It’s tough enough getting 3 semi-nutritious meals into Fox on a day at home, so when it came to our recent camping trip, I didn’t even bother trying. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.

Camping Food Diary
by Fox

Day 1

It’s lunch time. Throw the plate of pesto pasta across the campsite and demand brioche and bourbon biscuits. Mummy is feeding Shadowcat so I can usually get what I want. Ask for a cup of tea in which to dunk my bourbon biscuits. Mummy has refused tea due to no decaf being available. She said “There’s no way has having caffeine!” Must find out what caffeine is and have it. I settle for some chocolate soya milk. Yum this is new. Remember to ask for chocolate milk in future. Mummy wonders what she’s done. Get bored of eating, dump all of my brioche into the chocolate milk and watch it grow.

My friend is eating fruit. Now, me, I LOVE me some fruit, but I don’t understand why he would eat it when we’re here. I know I can pretty much get whatever I want while we’re here, especially when Mummy is feeding Shadowcat, which is pretty much all of the time. I even heard Aunty Woo say “Oh he’s on his holidays let him have them” when I was kicking off for jelly babies earlier. This is great. No rules. I can eat what I want. But I’m a bit jealous that he’s eating fruit so I point at the melon and one of the adults cuts it up. I eat a few grapes while I wait. She finishes cutting it up and offers me a piece. I change my mind. Never really wanted melon anyway. I’d rather have cake.

I can't believe he's eating an apple!

“Can Fox have an ice cream?” Shouts one of mummy’s friends. Mummy rolls her eyes and side glances me to see if I heard. “ICE CRREEEEAAAM!” I shout, just to make sure mummy knows I heard. Then I shout it again just to make double sure. And again. “OK” says mummy, as she rolls her eyes again and continues feeding Shadowcat. Shadowcat is always hungry. I run after mummy’s friend shouting “ICE CREEEAM” just to make triple sure I’ll be getting an ice cream.

Me and my mate eating our massive ice creams.

I don’t just get an ice cream. It’s got a flake and strawberry syrup and it’s massive. I LOVE Mummy’s friends.

I love ice cream.

Everyone is having BBQ for dinner. I am not. Someone just gave me some salmon, it tasted like it was good for me so I pulled a face and spat it on the floor. Must remember ‘SALMON’ is good for me – do not entertain it in future. I am actually a bit hungry. I can see cake. “Cake cake cake!! Mummy cake. I want cake!” I think Mummy is ignoring me so I say “Peeease Mummy” as I turn to Aunty Woo and open my eyes really really wide. She gives me a cake, no questions asked. Must remember this in future. It’s not just a cake. It’s a Cherry Bakewell. A cake with icing! I’ll be bouncing off the fucking walls later. “Mummy I want more cake.” I say with a mouthful of Cherry Bakewell. I’m sure I’ve seen some French Fancies somewhere and I know Mummy doesn’t let me have them so they MUST be good. Go in search of French Fancies.

I feel brilliant. I’ve never felt this good in my life. My head is spinning and I can hear a buzzing sound. I swear there are bees chasing me. I want to run EVERYWHERE. I’m shaking so much that I fell off the slide earlier and banged my head, but for some reason I didn’t care. I’m running I’m running. I’m shouting I’m shouting. AAAAAAH. Me and my mate keep running into each other head first. It’s so funny. AAAAAAH.

It’s getting dark now and I’m getting tired. Everything is slowing down. I really want more cake. Or sweets. Or ice cream. Or…… “Marshmalloooowwss!” Yes. The adults are toasting marshmallows on the fire and eating them! “MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY. I want marshmallows. Peeease Mummy!” Mummy is feeding Shadowcat so she let’s me have marshmallows. OH MY GOD. They’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I eat 12.


That's daddy under there. And that's me running!

Day 2

It’s breakfast time and everyone is eating a lovely cooked breakfast. Scrambled eggs are my favourite. But I’m not eating that shit whilst there’s cakes and chocolate around. Completely refuse eggs. Have a bite of toast and launch it across the campsite. “CAKE BRIOCHE SWEETIES” I’ll have whatever I can get my hands on. Daddy gives me a Pain au chocolate, whatever that is. All I know is it has chocolate in it so I’m happy. I eat half my chocolate thing then I spy daddy eating a double chocolate muffin. “I want pease Daddy”. Daddy gives me a muffin.┬áIts shitting blueberry. No. Way. I can’t be fooled. So I lash the blueberry shite and sit on Daddy’s knee and take his Chocolate muffin from him. Score. I wash it down with some chocolate milk.

Yeah that's me eating a Pain au Chocolate with a duck on my head.

That buzzing sound is back. Where the fuck are those bees? I’d better run in circles until I find them.

It’s time to go. I don’t want to go. Do I have to eat real food again when I get home? Boooo. “I’ve got some sweets here for Fox for the journey home!” shouts Aunty Rache. Yes. I’m made up. Daddy takes the sweets and snarls at Aunty Rache, who is laughing into her coffee cup. He looks at me to see if I heard. “SWEETIES!!” I shout to make sure he knows. Then I shout it again to make double sure. And again. Daddy sighs heavily. He puts me in the car and gives me the sweets. I’ve never seen so many colours.

This is going to be a fun journey home.

Shadowcat taking a breather from Mummy's boobs.


It’s OK

It’s OK to stare at your newborn baby and think “What now?”

It’s OK to wonder what the fuck just happened. You just created life.

It’s OK to be completely overwhelmed by a deadly cocktail of emotions and not know how to swallow them.

It’s OK to feel like you’ve never loved until you met them.

It’s OK to be terrified of everything.

It’s OK to feel numb.

It’s OK to struggle with your decisions (but remember they are YOUR decisions, don’t let society or friends and family change them).

It’s OK to make mistakes.

It’s OK to want some time to yourself.

It’s OK to sometimes want to throw them out of the window (as long as you don’t actually do it).

It’s OK to feel alone but remember that you are not.

It’s OK to mourn the loss of your old identity, your body, your shoe collection, your fashionable clothes, your adult-only a la carte holidays and every penny you have.

It’s OK to live your fashion obsession through them (they will, however, not thank you when they are older and you show their girlfriend/boyfriend their ridiculous hipster outfits!

Ridiculous hipsters.

It’s OK to feel helpless when they are sick or injured or just crying for no reason.

It’s OK to talk about them all of the time.

It’s OK to document every facial expression as little as they may be “Did she just smile? I swear she just smiled… oh wait… no… she’s pooing!”

That is definitely a smile.... I think... or is it a poo face?

It’s OK to share hundreds of pictures of your kids on Facebook. Fuck the people that don’t want to see them, they will hide or delete you anyway.*

It’s OK that your house is a shit tip and you never seem to be able to escape the dirty washing pile.

It’s OK that your favourite song is ‘Heads, shoulders, knees and toes’ and you wake up every morning with ‘the potty song’ in your head.

It’s OK that there’s toys all over the house and you trip over that mother fucking wooden train in the middle of the night, every mother fucking night!

It’s OK that you swear more than you used to.

It’s OK that your toddler just said “Shit” (must stop swearing!)

It’s OK that you didn’t get dressed today. Or yesterday. Or the day before.

It’s OK that you haven’t plucked your eyebrows recently and your bush is in need of a good mowing!

It’s OK that you have stretch marks. They’re little reminders of where your baby lived and of how you grew a life.

It’s OK that you think the world revolves around your baby. It’s does. You’re their world.

It’s OK to cry.

It’s OK to laugh about crying, it’s the best medicine believe me.

It’s OK that you drink 20 cups of coffee a day in order to function.

It’s OK that your coffee is always cold.

It’s OK that you constantly have shit, actual shit, under your finger nails and you only realise when you bite them! (Bork)

It OK that you didn’t breastfeed.

It’s OK that you did.

It’s OK that you still think your tits are for sex as well as for feeding babies!

It’s OK that your terrified of baby groups.

It’s OK that those fucking Supermums (You know the ones, they have the perfect breastfed/baby led weaned babies with the amber necklaces and no dummy!) at baby group annoy the fuck out of you and make you feel inferior. You will meet your kindred mum spirits, just keep trying!

One of my kindred spirit mum friends and her little man.

It’s OK that you wonder how the fuck those mothers manage to have clean, blow-dried hair and and full head of make up for 11am at baby massage, or even better, for baby swim!

It’s OK that you don’t.

It’s OK that your baby doesn’t sleep through the night when everyone else tells you that there’s does (they don’t, they lie!)

It’s OK that when you and your partner have a night off all you can talk about is the baby and fall asleep at 9pm.

It’s OK that you always have a bit of sick on your shoulder and food in your hair.

It’s OK that you can’t party like you used to and that you don’t really want to anyway.

It’s OK that you look older and more tired than all of your friends (just hang out more with your equally tired new-Mum friends, unless you’re one of those Supermums, in that case you can just fuck off!)

Damn I look tired... and old.

It’s OK that you think it’s tough being a Mum sometimes, it really is tough and that is OK.

It’s OK that you need a glass of wine at the end of the day….. Cheers to you and cheers to motherhood!


* A good friend of mine told me that she noticed her friends list had considerably dwindled over the last 2 years since the birth of her child. Fuck it!


Shadowcat blasted into the world after a 3 hour labour. She was thrust into a pool of water screaming and hasn’t really stopped since. She still hates the water at nearly 8 weeks old. Pretty sure she’s suffering with trauma.

Two kids. Not as easy as I had anticipated. I am also suffering with trauma.

The husband headed back to work after 2 weeks off. I waved him off with a smile on my face and utter fear in my heart. I have no idea how I’m going to cope with two of them. I’m completely outnumbered.


So after two weeks of two full-time parents, Fox has decided he likes Daddy best, which is going to be a problem with Daddy having to work and all. After half an hour of screaming for Daddy he eventually calms down and eats his Crispies with a little help from Mr Tumble. I need coffee. Shadowcat needs feeding too. She always needs feeding. If she’s not feeding, she’s crying. My god damn boobs are killing me. Screw Bambis and their no dummy rule. Plugged. Bliss. “Waaahhhh!” I can’t believe she needs feeding AGAIN.

Fox does a poo. Shadowcat does a poo. Both of them smell like the sewer. I think I’m being a clever parent by getting Fox to help with Shadowcat’s bum. It starts well. He hands me the wipes and nappy. It doesn’t end well. He puts his hand in her poo and wipes it on her face and his t-shirt. I haven’t managed to finish my cup of coffee so into the microwave it goes and I take a swig. Caffeine is my friend.

It’s Fox’s nap time. Now just to get Shadowcat to go asleep then some me time. Nope. It’s cry time for Shadowcat. She’s on and off the boob and sobbing intermittently for nearly 2 hours. Then her eyes start dropping. Yes! Going… Going… Gone. Now where’s my coffee? Oh yeah its cold, so into the microwave it goes for the 2nd time. I take a swig “Muuummmyyyyyyyy! Where are you mummmmyyyy? ” I’m not sure I’ll finish this cup of coffee today.


I had decided not to leave the house, being my first day alone. Not a good move. It gets to 3 o’clock and Fox is climbing the walls. He’s running up and down the hall screeching, licking his hand and slapping the matt painted walls (WTF?), ripping pages from our book collection and trying to ride the Chihuahua, who is looking less than impressed.

Me “Right OK, Fox, shall we go out?”
Fox “Yeeeessssssss Mummy!”
Me “Where do you want to go?”
Fox “ASDA!”

Hmm. OK. That’s the Mother-in-Law’s doing. He thinks Asda is a day out. At least I dont have to tackle soft play today!

Right how do I work this double pram. It’s never been out before. We have no instructions. Damn you eBay! After some fumbling I manage to get it together. I think. Both kids are in the pram and off we go. It weighs about 10 stone and is the size of a garden shed. A big garden shed. We head to Asda.

All the way there Fox is shouting “DE DE DE DE DERRRR, ASDA PRICE!” And hitting his bum. Jesus. The Mother-in-Law teaches him the strangest things!

Shadowcat starts crying, my boobs start to twinge. I look down and I have two huge milk stains on my top. These reusable breastpads are not very fucking usable in the first place. I have no coat, no jacket and no additional breastpads. On goes a baby blanket around my neck like a scarf to hide the leaking. Did I mention it’s 27 degrees outside?

We get to Asda and Fox gets super excited. We step through the double doors and the pram collapses. The front wheel has fallen off. I grit my teeth to hold back the tears. Fox is climbing out of the pram and trying to get to the cakes. My dad comes to the rescue to try to fix the pram. “Just take us home, I can’t take anymore.” We don’t know how to take the shed pram apart and it’s practically the size of the car. The car seats go down and it’s forced into the boot fully assembled. The boot held together with a piece of string. We get home in one piece but Fox spies the Barney Bears that Grandad keeps in his car for him. “BARRRNEEYYY! Cake cake cake cake!” Why do Grandparents insist on feeding my child sugar? “After dinner you can have your Barney.” This does not go down well. Fox starts to scream, tears rolling down his face. You’d think I’d just massacred his entire collection of stuffed animals. I stick to my guns.

It’s dinner time. Something frozen. Something quick. I’m making waffles and beans whilst Shadowcat is attached to my boob, Fox is screaming in the other room for cake and the dogs are jumping at me to feed them.

On goes CBeebies as I try to force some waffles down Fox. He wants cake. He really wants cake. I give up. Eat your bloody cake. He’s still crying whilst eating the cake. He wants more cake. His mouth is filled with cake as he’s crying for more cake. WTF? I should have just let him have the cake. STOP SAYING CAKE.


I start to cry too. I haven’t even had a wash today. I haven’t got changed. I haven’t brushed my teeth. And I still haven’t finished that God damn coffee.

It’s 5.30. In walks husband. Thank fuck for that.

Husband doesnt know where to turn. Fox is standing on the table crying because he wants more cake, Shadowcat is lying on the sofa crying because she wants to be surgically attached to my boob, the dogs are at his feet as they havent been fed, and me, well I’m just crying.

I can’t believe I have to do it all again tomorrow. Soft play it is.


Listen to the Universe

8 and a half months pregnant with our second child. Our firstborn, Fox (not his real name) is 18 months old and is a crazy, beautiful and very demanding toddler! We’ve not really prepared much for the arrival of Fox’s little sister, Shadowcat (again not her real name). We figure “What’s the difference having two? We’re already in baby-mode, it can’t be that different!”

Me, Fox and Shadowcat in my belly at 40 weeks +3 days.
Me, Fox and Shadowcat in my belly at 40 weeks +3 days.

It’s our usual bedtime routine, me and Fox are running the bath and filling it with endless bubbles for us both to get in. We love our bedtime baths, they are always so much fun and Daddy usually sits in the bathroom too, this is our family time. Fox is being mad as usual, throwing all of his ducks in the bath and screaming, climbing in and out of the shower and trying to get in the airing cupboard with the water tank.

I take his nappy off as he awaits his bath, he loves to be naked and starts getting more hyperactive. I am also completely naked and on the toilet having a wee. Don’t forget I’m 8 and a half months pregnant and the size of a small car (let’s say a Fiat Panda). Fox likes to unravel all the toilet paper from the roll when I’m on the toilet. Tonight is no exception. Its everywhere. Its even in the bath. Mmmm soggy toilet roll. Just then, he starts to squeeze and before I have a chance to move there’s a small poo on the bath mat. “Oh well at least it’s on the mat, I’ll get it when I’ve finished my wee!” Then Fox starts to wee on the floor. I start to clean the first poo and as I do he does another, this time much bigger! “When did they start coming out so fast?” Before I have a chance to turn around, he slips. He slips in his wee and lands in his poo, then he gets up and starts to march his poo around the bathroom. Little shitty footprints everywhere. My sensitive, pregnant stomach can’t handle it and I throw up in the sink! Fox is still marching around the bathroom with his toilet roll in hand.

Then I hear the door go. It’s my wonderful husband. “Can you come upstairs please babe? I really need some help!” I shout.

In walks husband, still suited up from work. Nothing prepares him for the crime scene sight he is faced with…

Naked pregnant wife, covered in vomit, clutching onto poo in toilet roll, still throwing up, a puddle of wee, a shitty bath mat, a huge baby poo, one completely unraveled toilet roll and countless little shitty footprints all over the bathroom. “DADDY!” shouts Fox running towards him, as husband backs away quickly from the naked, shit covered toddler.

Husband quickly strips off too to avoid getting bodily fluids on his new work suit then enters the crime scene. He kisses me on the head and cleans up all the piss and shit and vomit, whilst me and Fox enjoy our bubbly bath.

We should have known then that this was the universe’s way of preparing us for the need to be able to balance shit, actual shit, when Shadowcat arrives.

Me and Fox having a play with Shadowcat in my belly, unaware of the things to come.
Me and Fox having a play with Shadowcat in my belly, unaware of the things to come.