Tuesday, 16 August 2016

A Hairy Situation

Even though I've completely lost sight of my nether regions I was more than aware this week that I needed some sort of grooming down there. The weathers getting warmer, I have a five year old on summer holidays from school, and will be guilted in to going swimming at some point in the next couple of weeks.
Now, I can cope with looking like Humpty Dumpty in a costume, but I'm not sure fellow swimmers want to see Humpty Dumpty in a costume with half of her lady garden on show. I owed it to the general public to groom myself and prevent the occurrence of any nightmares that I may provoke. Now when I say "groom myself" I think any pregnant woman alive knows that this is virtually impossible. Some women may be able to do it. Those who are well practised in yoga and can bend with ease in to a suitable position. I however am not one of these people.
Last week I got stuck in the bath. My five year old had to literally prize my arse from the tub where it had suctioned itself down like a vacuum. I can only imagine the psychological issues he's going to have from that.
Deciding that emotionally scarring my child wasn't enough I decided that I should have a bash at damaging my partner also. He got me in this situation after all! I'm not going to strain myself like a struggling Buddha when the person who contributed to my newly accustomed figure sits downstairs eating tea and biscuits. If I have to lose my dignity he's coming along for the ride.
This thought process eventually led to me lying here on the cold bathroom floor, legs open as my partner looks on worryingly at the mission ahead of him, glancing nervously in my direction. Feeling sorry for him I decide  to shut my legs and call off the mission when he breaks the awkward silence.
"When you think about it, a vagina looks a bit like a ham sandwich doesn't it?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen it in months. Can you just concentrate on what we're doing here please"
"If you lift your legs a bit higher I can do the back part too"
Back part?
"What back part?"
"You know. Your bum"
"My bum? My bums fine Thankyou! Just concentrate on the task at hand"
I lie back and close my eyes
I stretch forward to see actual clippers looming towards my hoohaa.
"Stay still or they'll nip you."
Jesus. I wanted a quick tidy up down there and I've ended up lying on a cold slab with Sweeney Todd stuck between my legs! Mind you, wasn't he played by Johnny Depp most recently? That might not be TOO bad then. He'd probably have more of an idea of grooming than this bloody bozo!
After squealing like a pig from what is definitely one of the most traumatic experiences of my life I feel around to see that literally nothing has changed. That bikini line is still exactly the same.
"You're going to have to use a proper razor"
Krrrrrr krrrrrr krrrrrrr
That's the sound of my skin being scraped off with a bic
"With shaving foam you idiot!!!"
Foam squirts on to my hand and I'm instructed to put it where I want shaving. Well if I could do that I wouldn't be in this position would I?
I reach down to cover the area, looking like a half crazed hippopotamus and end up blindly shaving the damn thing myself.
Once finished I then lie there, stuck on the floor as my partner takes out his phone and proceeds to tweet or whatever the hell else he does as if I cease to exist.
Erm helloooo?
I'm stuck here!!!
Bottomless, on the bathroom floor, writhing about in shaving foam.
And then it strikes me ladies.
When pregnant you must come to accept the fact that your dignity is none existent. You're taking NO ONE along for that ride with you. It's just you. Accept defeat. And in some cases be grateful that despite the fact you're 3 times your normal size, breath like Darth Vader, and have been constipated for a week, someone loves you enough to sit in between your legs and assist you to do something of which you're temporary unable. Whilst commenting on genitalia and the foods in which they appear similar to.

Life Love and Dirty Dishes

Tuesday, 19 July 2016

It Doesn't Take A Village To Raise A Child

I've found myself thinking about "punishment" recently. From discussions online about other parents styles of discipline, to conversations about particular coffee shops posting status' on Facebook claiming they will chastise children who have tantrums if parents are too scared to. Usually I will state my opinion to whoever I'm speaking to and happily continue with my life. I'm not one who usually concerns myself with the opinions and choices of others. However I've recently found myself in a situation whereby I now appear to be on the defensive every time this topic occurs. I've read other blog posts about how parents appreciate and respect other adults telling their child off, and I've browsed through the comments of agreement, usually choosing to sit on the fence. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it. However I now appear to be living the scenario and can state that I've hopped  off the fence and can categorically say I do not fucking like it. Not one bit. I'm actually violently against it in fact.
Don't get me wrong, if my child is pissing you off and it is directly affecting you or your own child then go ahead and fill your boots. Tell him to stop what he is doing. Explain that you don't like him doing that. Or turn to me and tell me to sort my demon child out before you do. I totally get that. I don't want my kid aggravating you. I will try my utmost to prevent it. However if I happen to be daydreaming at that particular point I will fully expect you to dive in and give them an ear bashing.
But this is not the situation I've found myself in.
For a couple of weeks now I have found myself in the company of an adult who has been chastising my child, whilst I stand there with my eyes wide open and my mouth gaped, because they are behaving in a way that is undesirable to THEM. Because they have placed their own expectations on MY child. Expectations that are clearly higher than my own.
Let me give you an example.
As we happened to be walking with this particular parent we passed by our old house. Clearly feeling confused my son walked in to the garden and knocked on the door. I laughed lightheartedly and whispered "We don't live there anymore!! Quick!! Come out!"
However all of a sudden a voice boomed at the side of me "We don't knock on people's doors!!! That's very very naughty!!"
Hang on a minute.
"We don't knock on people's doors?"
Well clearly that's bullshit because everyone knocks on people's doors. It's something we do to announce we have arrived and are waiting to be let in. So, not only have you just humiliated my child by chastising him in public, you have also just belittled him for doing something perfectly normal.
So if you're going to discipline my child without my permission and against my wishes, try not to do it in such a fucked up, confusing manner.
Secondly, I don't like the word naughty. I especially don't like it when a stranger says it to my child. I will be the judge of what is deemed inappropriate behaviour or not. I am after all his mother.
This announcement of my sons "naughtiness" then provoked his child to get in on the act. She begun telling Oliver that he was so naughty he could not have ice cream. At which point my son began to cry.
I explained to Oliver that it was my decision as to whether he could have ice cream or not and to ignore the child, hoping this would be an enormous hint to the parent that I did not like his actions.
The hint didn't work. We turned the corner, my son and I slightly ahead as we tried to escape the gruesome twosome, when we came in contact with a dog and asked if we could stroke it. The dog was a bit jumpy and my over excited child was clearly making it nervous. As I opened my mouth to tell him to calm down I was interrupted by "don't jump like that by the dog!! He doesn't like it!! You need to calm down or come away!!"
Seriously. This guy was asking for a spade to the head.
At six months pregnant, hormones flying everywhere and knowing I couldn't be trusted to approach this in a friendly manner I marched off in the other direction.
Oliver did not seem overly perturbed by the events. But I was!
It made me feel that not only is there pressure on parents these days to discipline their children in a particular way, but now if an adult deems you incapable of doing so they will step in and do it for you. It made me feel worthless. Humiliated. It made me angry. Angry that in 2016 I am not given the freedom to raise my child in the way that I choose to. I felt like a disappointment. Because I should have stuck up for my son more, but struggled to make a spur of the moment decision between showing him how to defend yourself, or showing him how to walk away and be the better person.
It's times like these that I really struggle with motherhood. And I don't want to come across like a whiny bitch. But I want my son to be shaped by my own values. Values that I'm proud of. Not some other Tom Dick or Harry's who decide to open their big mouth.
Usually when I'm struggling and I blog I can see the funny side of the predicament I'm in. But with this I just can't. There's just nothing funny about it. It's awful.
So to all those that have read blogs of parents who encourage others to tell their children off please remember, we don't all feel that way.
In fact, some of us find in damn right rude.
Some of us believe that chastising is a parents job. We lay the boundaries. They may not be the same boundaries as yours, but really, it's none of your god damn business. Don't over ride our authority with our own children by stepping in and telling a child off because they don't fit your idea of perfect behaviour.
It doesn't take a village to raise a child. It's takes the person responsible for that child at the time. And you can bet your bottom dollar that if the Mother/Father is accompanying that child then it certainly doesn't mean you, you nosey bastard. This blog has been verified by Rise: R013e576ff807146501eb086f64c8a247

Sunday, 26 June 2016


I have pramphobia. That's not its official name but I fear there may not be one as I'm probably the only mother who has this condition. I'm basically afraid of prams. They come in too many different shapes and forms. There's too many options! With Oliver I hardly used a one. I was terrified when his head jiggled as we went over a rough pathway and thought I was giving him brain damage, because I'm an absolute jerk. I was much happier with him strapped to me and I've hoped this will be the case for baby number 2. 
One thing is different now however. I have another child and we have a dreaded school run. 
I've recently found myself browsing at prams and wondering if life might actually be easier if I were to give one a chance. 
My stepsister suggested a Facebook group in which people swapped and sold prams and parts for cheap. 
How helpful, I naively thought! Other mothers like me who can give me some constructive advice.
But no. This group was NOT helpful. And these were NOT mothers like me. 
Out of interest, have you ever met one of these pram fanatics? It appears my step sister is one, however this has always gone unrecognised by me and therefore this must mean they disguise themselves well. The only clue she ever gave me was when we went on holiday and I couldn't put my pushchair down to enter the plane. She took it off me and smoothly slid it down without an issue. I did briefly wonder how she knew how to do that, but then thought it was just that I'm an idiot and she isn't.  But anyway, these pram fanatics. They just walk around, pushing their prams, looking like normal civilians. But little do you know that beneath the surface they are freaks of nature!! Tapping away on private Facebook groups about the latest model, or some wacky accessory that they've attached to their multifunctional, futuristic baby pusher.  
Five minutes of being on that Facebook page reaffirmed exactly why I am petrified of prams. I have not a single clue what I am doing. I don't know the "cool" makes. What if I get one that's blatantly shit and people laugh at me!! It's like being at high school all over again and having to decide on shoes and coats! In short, it's awful. 
The women on this page are like Pram Pros, discussing Urbo's, Solas, Armadillo Flips etc! What the hell!! I JUST WANT A PRAM!! You may as well be speaking another language. 
Don't talk to me about a Luna, a bug or an XT because I simply do not know what you're talking about you absolute lunatics!  All I want is a regular pram, with one of those carry cot things, in a grey or black, with the possibility of a snazzy blanket being thrown in? Oooh and one of them board things that my kid can stand on. 
I am so not cut out for this shit. I wasn't last time and I'm definitely not this time! 
If you're a pram fanatic I'm sure you're a wonderful person. But you must understand that you are also scary as fuck. And there is one terrified woman sat here typing this!! 
Normal women like me should not be able to join closed groups like that with such ease. There should be some prior warning given beforehand of what to expect and to determine whether you're made of strong enough stuff to be part of the group. 
I do of course realise that it's not just the scary pram people who are at fault. I am merely a pathetic loser who just isn't in the know. After realising I just wasn't getting it on Facebook I took to the online catalogues and miserably typed in "prams".
It was a good 15 minutes of thinking "Gosh! I've actually heard of silver cross prams, and these are quite reasonably priced" Before I realised I was actually looking at dolls prams. For children aged 3 and above. 
I'm just not sure what to do. Or where to go from here? 
I feel that walking to school holding my four year olds hand, whilst simultaneously having a baby strapped to me, and somehow carrying a coat, handbag and book bag, is going to be a far easier choice than putting myself through this pram hell. 
The idea was to make life easier, but instead I'm a raspberry footmuff away from armadillo flipping out. 
So that's where I currently stand with the pram situation. 
Stuck in pram limbo. 
I'm so befuddled by prams that the word pram doesn't even make sense anymore.