About Me

To paraphrase a blogger who is far more glamorous than me, like London needs another working mum blogging about her life. But hey, sometimes when you have a laptop on your knees in between serving oven chips and leftovers and starting bedtime you wonder how you became that woman, why you did and how you feel about it. Sometimes I even probe further - who is THAT woman, and did I ever aspire to be her? Do I like her? Could I learn to? Which is why I've started this blog...

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

Shit days


It has been a shitty day. I mean seriously, Newborn (ish) has shat two of his loveliest babygros and his lovely new amazing baby soothing vibrating baby miracle chair. The seeping orange menace is EVERYWHERE. Me, him, clothes, the changing mat.

Not huge pools that could be cleared up easily you understand, but tiny smears sneaking around and hiding on cheeks and crevices. Nothing screams motherhood more than looking in the mirror and thinking 'Eurgh, what's that shit on my face. Oh, it is SHIT. On MY FACE'.

To make matters worse, me rantier, and add to the general rainbow myriad of crap (and puke) that coloured our day Newborn's BCG jab exploded too spurting green gunk and blood on both of us. Is this normal? I ponder whilst giving him an impromptu soak in the sink (careful not to splash the pus volcano). And realise how would I know, because I have lost his red book. Nice one thatwoman. Mother. Of. The. Year.

Luckily I've calmed down, and so has he, and we had a spur of the moment sing out in the kitchen. Thunder Road meets Twinkle Twinkle - diamonds for him and roses thrown in the rain to reawaken my fictional blue colour 70s youth for me. And, well, his wound is clean and the babygros will wash. And if they don't, we'll survive. And hopefully I'll convincing the Health Visitors that I've only lost the book, not the plot this time.

2 comments:

  1. Excellent! Swearing in blogland. I love a good swear but my husband tells me I shouldn't call my shite coat a shite coat on my blog. Knickers to him.

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  2. I'm afraid I have a potty mouth, made pottier by having offspring I fear... Love your blog btw. Especially the granny square(ish).

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