Oooh get me with me blog...

Ok, so as you may have gathered from the title of this wee online jotter, I am going to attempt to document my life as a new mum.


Yep, yawn, been done before, probably far better too by someone who isn't still in her jim-jams at 3pm and doesn't have half a Petits Filous in her hair, I know, I know. In my defence however, what they don't tell you in antenatal class when they're thrusting knitted ladyparts complete with a one-eyed Tiny Tears peering jadedly through the weave, into the hands of your smirking husband, is that the brain cells which decided to take a holiday during your pregnancy are in no hurry to pack up their knotted hankies and return home when you have squeezed your dribbling bundle of wuv out.

9 months into Boo Boo's life and I am still feeling a bit, how shall we put it, 'special' and have developed a number of unnerving habits such as leaving the phone in the airing cupboard and trying to put shoes on the dog before she goes outside. Therefore, I am in no fit state to comment on anything other than what has happened to me, say in the last half hour or so, because ever since smallhausen was a mere spegg I have been about as sentient as a potato.  Plus, for better or for worse I am consumed by all things maternal and thus incapable of writing about anything else.

So if you don't like it I suggest you take your shiny laptop that doesn't have rusk crammed between the keys, go and sit on your lovely white unblemished sofa that doesn't smell faintly, no matter how much Febreeze you douse it with, of milky barf and spend all the money you don't have to fork out on nappies and stuff that promises to make your baby herculean/genius/immortal and then doesn't, by surfing online stores that aren't decorated with sodding storks and morbidly obese cherubs.

You don't have to read my ramblings and to be fair, I probably wouldn't if I had your life, I'd be licking my Jimmy Choos, reading books that aren't about cats going to the shops or forgetting stuff and wafting around my fragrant house in the nud, showing off my stretch-mark-less temple of a bod. And so I wave you goodbye sweet smelling one, maybe you'll come back and visit when you wake up one day with pureed parsnip in your ear and realise you haven't had a shower for three days because there isn't fecking time.

For those poor souls who are left, basically what you can look forward to from here on in is my selfish efforts to let off steam via a medium that doesn't see me thwacking myself repeatedly in the head with Tickle-Me-Elmo. Joyfully (for me, not you silly) I can also share my pent up neurosis about things like whether an unsterilised dummy will instantly result in Boo Boo contracting Bubonic Plague and if it is possible that I can actually make my child into a simpleton by leaving Jeremy Kyle on accidentally and leaving the room for precisely two and half minutes.

Ah the thrills and spills eh? Shhh, you don't have to say it, I can feel your excitement from here...