Monthly Archives: April 2017

I am Still talking STUFF Mum

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The “I am Some Things the Baby Books forget to mention Mum” series.

Instalment #5 – Keeping Stuff

“Keep little momentos in a baby box or book: You and your little one will treasure these and can enjoy looking back on them in years to come.”

What it SHOULD say is,

“For your first Baby, you will try to keep all the everything. You shall fill pages and pages of pregnancy diaries and baby books and the eleventy squillion “Born in 20-whatever” keepsake boxes you received will have first socks, first hats, the bangles you both wore in Maternity, first bib, first babygrow, first dummy, first curl, first tooth, first EVERYTHING bulging out of them. You will remember all the details, the baby’s weight, the baby’s height, the day she first crawled, the date he first walked… Your first baby will look at these boxes one day and either be 1. Incredibly fulfilled by the absolute confirmation that they existed as babies, or 2. Completely freaked out by the human hair and teeth in the shiny silver box.”

By the time Baby#2 and subsequent minions arrive, you will not have the same time, energy or give-a-shit to create such memorable memory books or boxes. If truth be told, you’ll be doing well if you remember the Baby’s name.

Do you know what I have kept from the birth of Princess?

Princess.

I still have her around here somewhere. 😂

 

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I do remember that she weighed 9lb6 even at 10 days early, but not from sentiment, mostly from the absolute relief that my giganticars-aurism was not just due to eating cream buns, that she was INDEED a big baby.

I also remember her name. Most days.

I don’t know what exact age she was when she crawled, or walked, or said her first words, but I know that she did have a first in each of these. I don’t remember the dates of her first jabs (that’s on record in the Nurse’s computer!) but I do remember the screams of each one.

Yes, I’ll keep her first tooth and first curl safe, just like her sister’s, but if you ask me where they are in a few years, I probably won’t have a clue. (The curls, NOT the kids. 😂😂)

Is she any less loved or cared for? Nope. She’s the centre of my world and I love her wee fat head more and more every second of every day, but do I have the need to record every single date and milestone? No. Nor do I have the time.

And anyway, they are recorded where it matters; in her Daddy’s and in my memory… oh and probably on Facebook if I was really stuck.
Sad, but true. #21stcenturyphotoalbums

So should you record everything? Well it’s up to you isn’t it?

For Baby #1, I’d say “Go for it”. You have time. So much time. Use it.

Because unless you are absolutely brilliant and organised, let’s just say that by Babba #2, you’ll be a little more, erm, relaxed*.

*knackered, exhausted, forgetful, disorganised etc 😂😘😂😘

I am Stuff Everywhere Mum 

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It’s World Poetry Day.
And so tonight’s offering for “I am some things the Baby Books forgot to mention” Mum shall be written in verse.
“Nappies and dodees” should be read/sung to the tune of “Raindrops and Roses” from The Sound of Music.
The BS Bibles spout such shite as “Don’t worry! Babies don’t need to take up ALL the space in your home.  Dedicate a shelf or drawer in your living room to baby essentials to keep them close at hand.  The Baby’s clothes etc should be kept in Baby’s nursery (includes image of pale grey amd white, empty, tidy nursery…)  The moses basket should be in a well appointed space, not too close to any radiators or drafty doors/windows. A well organised changing station will help keep the home mess free.”
Where does it prepare us for the explosion of STUFF that ensures that EVERY nook and cranny of your once tidyish home gets covered in Baby.  It’s like a giant Baby lifts the roof off your house and projectile VOMITS a load of utter CRAP all over EVERYTHING.  No room escapes and while for the first few weeks you might be able to contain the Baby stuff to a few baskets or to one corner, once they begin to play with toys or move about, the house slowly becomes overwhelmed by toys that seem to reproduce and multiply while we sleep.
“Nappies and Dodees and cute little sockies

Big teddies, small teddies, horseys that rockie,

Elephant mobiles that fly on their strings

These are just some of the new baby’s things.
Baskets from Moses and funky shaped pillows

Grufallos, Minnie Mouse, Wind in the Willows,

Breast pumps and bobos and wee plastic pots,

Plastic spoons needed for feeding your tots.
Where’s the dummy?

Close the stairgate.

Get the nappy baaaag.

I simply can’t deal with this amount of stuff

I miss the space that I had.
Cushions and door clips and safety latches

Lift all those candles and hide all the matches

Puke cloths and poop bags and powders and creams,

Lego and Stains on all of your things.
Carseats and carriers, high chairs and bouncers

Moniters, teethers and measures for ounces

Video moniters keep mammy calm

And Daddy’s still learning how to fold up the pram.
Toys toys toys toys

Toys toys toys toys

Did I mention toys?

I simply am listing the simplest of things

We gather for girls…and boys.”


And just like the list the BS Bibles give you, this is by no means exhaustive. You will find more crap to add to it and you will wonder why you didn’t take millions of photographs of your lovely fengshuiyed, Cath Kitsonesque, picture perfect home BC to send to ‘House and Home’

.  

And as for new furniture or carpets? 

Don’t bother your arse until they’re old enough to know NOT to 

write on the cushions with glitter glue. 
Wrecking balls…

Absolute wrecking balls. 😂😂😂

I am She goes, He Goes Mum

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  “OH DU TOILETTE…”

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The Throne…

Becoming a Mum brings with it many wonderful and exciting changes for parents. The “books” will tell you how new babies will test even the strongest relationship.  They do not tell you that one of the biggest bones of contention between parents is the process of the poo.
Let me explain…

(Read alá David of the Attenborough on a wildlife show…)
The female of the species becomes quickly skilled at excretion. After childbirth, despite possible  complications and difficulties with the bladder, she will quickly evolve into a bladder controlling machine. Caring for her young is always a priority. Even with a full bladder, the female can retain control under duress and highly stressful conditions, often balancing her offspring on her abdominal area. She is strong however, and will wait for the perfect moment to pounce on the elusive porcelain.  When the opportunity presents itself, the Mama will swiftly and skillfully do what she needs to do.
The female can relieve a full bladder in 8.5 seconds and it has been said that faecal excretion can take only 5 seconds. (Evidence of this has not yet been acquired as the female is so skilled and speedy that scientific equipment is not fast enough to measure the act.)  The female performs the essential and necessary act of excretion faster than any other species, and often with up to 4 of her young hovering around, or indeed ON, her.  Cleanliness is swift and onehanded in many cases. Other species have yet to evolve at the speed of the human Mammy.

The male of the species is entirely different.
The male is special. He makes quite the production of the animal act of excretion. The bathroom must be empty of all young. The atmosphere should be peaceful and relaxed in order for the full joy and relaxation of the event. Full concentration is required.  Men have evolved to require the help of a handheld device for the excretion process. Tablets are acceptable but the clever male prefers the mobile phone, as it can be sneaked into the room, past the female, more easily.  The male may require anything up to 45 minutes for the process.
It is very difficult and he ensures that the importance of and difficulty of his excretion is heard by his female if she dares to question the length of time he has been in his throne room. “I’m IN THE F$#€** Toilet” may he roared in a manly way, by the manly man, during his manly process, if he perceives disapproval or tutting from the female outside the door.  The delicate procedure is prolonged and made easier for the male by perusal of Bookface or Instagranny for the duration. This device aids in the relaxation required for the faeces to remove itself from the manly male posterier.

Sometimes, for reasons as yet unknown to scientists, the male will remain on the porcelain seat for much time after the act of relieving himself. It has been suggested that this is an avoidance of the reality of the children who are not allowed to bother him while in the special pooping room. This is not yet proven, but breakthroughs are expected in the near future as female scientists are working on remote controls to switch off the prolonging devices. Other exciting developments are self flushing timed toilets, although there are fears that such a device might be mistaken for self cleaning.)
The male reappears into the homestead calm and relaxed, thoroughly relieved and oblivious to how long he has been in the bathroom. The bathroom and the rest of the world have different time rules when the male excretes… what he feels to be 5 minutes, is often 37 minutes by the female’s observant and obsessive count…

The male excretion ends with a ceremonial greeting by the female which can be high-pitched and erratic.

This process remains as such until the female completely loses her mind and screams so much that the children become afraid to interrupt her, or they finally reach the age where watching Mammy poo is no longer interesting or exciting…

The Male checks his phone and wonders what all the fuss is about.
#takeashitalready #soblessed #peeinprivate

I am Sitting in a “Drivethrough” Mum 

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Yesterday, I did it for the first time.
I wasn’t very sure or certain if it was the right time or place, but I just decided to give it a go. 

Everyone else is doing it afterall.

I can’t be the only one who’s never done it.

So I did it.
It was daunting.

It was frightening.
I was awkward and clumsy…so obviously inexperienced…but I did it.

And I got to the end without too many mistakes…
Yes. I gave up my flower.  

I gave in to the demons…
I did the drive through in a McDonalds.
All by myself.
After a particularly crazy evening, I found myself in the car at the EXACT time the two minions needed their dinner.
 I was faced with 2 options.

1. Listen to them screaming for 30 minutes in rush hour traffic, before going home to START cooking and end up feeding them 5 minutes before bedtime.

2. Go somewhere to eat, which would involve ordering, waiting and nervous breakdowns on all parts; Mammy, them and most likely the staff.
As I pulled out of the retail park, wondering how the actual FUCK I was going to Supermum my way out of this one and how the hell I timed everything so badly, the “golden arches” appeared in front of me and I broke.
“Let’s have a McDonalds shall we?” 

“What’s a McDonalds Mammy?” 
Yup. I shit you not! 

#mammywin 
I got my chillout Mammy cap on, slapped the indimicator and swung into the drivethrough…(or “DrivethrU” if you’re not a complete Grammar Granny like this unfortunate soul.)
And as I pulled up behind a big white van, I realised I had NO IDEA what was about to happen.  Here is how it went…
Pulled up to tiny silver R2d2 box. Do I press a button? Will I get a ticket? How do I know when to speak? Fuck! Am I supposed to just start talking or do I wait until I’m spoken to? HELP HELP HELP!? 
“Hello, can I take your order please?”

Oh thank Lord. R2D2 speaks.

“Yeeeeesssss pleeeeeeease!” (I am so cool. Look at me! Ordering food from a machine, all by myself. I almost take a selfie, but I have to concentrate!)

“2 chicken nugget mealy things please.”

“2 Happy Meals?” 

“Yes! HAPPY meals! 2 of those please.” (I knew that!)

“What drinks?”

(Shit… drinks.) 

“A milkshake and a water please”

“What flavour shake?” R2D2 begins to list off flavours. My brain is about to explode. 

“STRAWBERRY!” 

“Thatll be €279 please. Drive to the next window please.”
Ok. I can do this.

Next window.

Nobody here.

I can’t see anyone.

This window is not working.

White fan is at the window further on and getting his little brown bag of joy handed to him.

Aaaaah. 

I am very clever. 

The first window is not in operation you silly Mammy. Drive on.
Begins to drive on. 

Puts back wheels up on kerb and bounces down off again.  Very graceful.
“Excuuuuuuse me!” 

Looks in rearview mirror to see head of McDonald’s worker sticking out obviously fully operational non-operational hatch, waving manically at the criminal in the Skoda trying to not pay for her Happy meals.
Reverse.

Please don’t let any other car come behind me.

I look so stupid.

Oh fuckitty fuck.

It’s ok s-Mum. No one knows you you silly lady. Just take a deep breath. You can do this. 
I Reverse the car, practicing my flippant “hahahaha silly me” laugh…
“Yes Mhaistreais! I thought that was your car!”
Fuck.

My.

Life.
“Hi youuuuuu!  Is it obvious I’ve never done this before?” I ask my past student who is laughing energetically at me, and who most likely listened to one of my many rants on the grammatical negligance and ignorance of McFuckingDonalds’ in their “i’m loving it” campaign AT LEAST 45 times in his 6 years in my classroom.
That’s karma, bitch. 😂😂
I pay him, make small talk and have a good old mutual laugh at my obvious stupidity.
Then I drive to the next window, where a lovely girl hands me out the bags and drinks.

“Is that everything Madam?”

“Yes thanks!” (Do you serve gin?)


And actually, I’m a bit disappointed that Ronald McDonald didn’t serve me.
I drove out of the little 3ft wide drive through lane and I swear to God, I actually BREATHED! 😂😂
THAT was TERRIFYING! 
 I pulled in. The girls got fed the contents of the boxes. They were happy out. 

I was so proud of myself I rang The Him, who was spent the whole phonecall laughing at how obviously proud of my little self that I was.
So yes. 

I did it!
 It was the first time. (And like most first times, it was overrated and ultimately embarassing and hugely disappointing!)

But hey!

Needs must.

It was necessary and do you know what?

It did the feckin job. 😂😂

#mammywin #drivethroughnotthru #fml #happymealme