I am “Shat-out Wheetabix” Mum

Mammy loves the Babywipes.


Every Mammy loves the Babywipes, don’t they? 
We should thank the Inventor of the Babywipes.
Apparently, the first Babywipe was invented in the 1950s and first produced by a company called Nice-Pak… Almost 70 years later, I’m sure that if the inventor of the Babywipes is still alive, he or she is rolling themselves in Babywipes every evening, breathing in the sweet, musky smell of their own genius.
So to them, (or to their ghost who is possibly reading this blog over someone’s shoulderπŸ˜‰), Thank you for the Babywipes. 
 Thank you from every Mammy in the world. 
 When Babywipes were born,πŸ˜‚ Mammies everywhere sighed in relief and danced a little pee-inducing dance with utter joy and thrill that FINALLY, there was a handy, disposable, multi-use Mammy tool.
 Indeed I am sure the the inventor of the Babywipe rubbed his or her happy hands together in glee when they realised that the Babywipes were going to become so sought after, so cherished and so NECESSARY in the lives of parents EVERYWHERE.  Not only EVERYWHERE in the world, but EVERYWHERE in every parent’s world…the changing station, the baby bag, the handbag, the car, the office drawers…
Poo poo, Bum bum, Ching ching. πŸ˜‚
But let me tell you ONE thing that the Babywipe inventors, and indeed the modern-day Babywipe producer omitted, and CONTINUE to omit, from their research and development.  The one thing they UNDERESTIMATED…
Yes.  Another classic staple in every home.  How the fecking Babywipe makers HAVE NOT yet figured out HOW to remove digested Wheetabix from the peachy bottom of a wriggling Poopmonster is beyond me.  Have they not got edumacated sciency people formulating and developing the Babywipes in big sanitised laboratories somewhere near “Area Fiftybum”?
Do they not do fire tests and delta force style strength tests  or use sandblasting to ensure that these mammy weapons are teflar-ly durable?
Are there not product testers who tick off the list of “Things the Babywipe can dissolve and remove”, like:


🌈pee pee βœ”

🌈 baby spit βœ”

🌈 yoghurt  βœ”

🌈 mashed potato βœ”

🌈 makeup βœ”

🌈 ordinary, run of the mill Poonamis βœ”

🌈digested blueberries…well…

🌈 shat out wheetabix… NOOOOOOOOOOO.
How is Shat out Wheetabix NOT the TOP of the list?
Have the product testers NEVER cleaned the nether-regions of a wobbler who has eaten an average of 2 of the cardboardy biscuits a day?
I wonder if the sciency people would like a “Test bummy” to try to figure out how to fix the babywipes so that they CLEAN AND REMOVE the shards of poo, as opposed to pushing them around the soggy bottom, like little grains of sand that love to simply ROLL over the skin, clinging it like feckin mini-leeches to shiny, smooth glass…
I can offer the services of a Poopmonster.
Do you think if we Mammies offered to help them to develop their technology further, could we call the research “The Big Bum Theory”?
It’s Grapejuice o’clock Bitcheepoos.
Have a good one. 😘😘😘😘

I am “She’s PUUUUUUKING!” Mammy

Do you know the BEST thing about when your child projectile vomits in public? 😢
You realise how NICE people are.😍
That’s it.

(There is NOTHING else good about having the whole family COVERED, in the middle of a restaurant, especially for the OTHER poor families around or near your table.)
It has to be the SINGLE most horrific, mortifying, cringe inducing and terrifying thing that can happen to parents and it’s one that EVERY parent deals with at some point or another. 
You’re completely covered, trying to comfort the Pukemonster, contain the mess and get help from SOMEWHERE WITHOUT attracting any more attention to yourselves, and to stop yoir other child from shouting “She’s puuuuuuuuking!” over and over again.   You feel soooooooooo terrible for the people sitting nearby and yet your Mama Bear intuition tells you to worry only about your child.
But the best thing, or should I say ONE GOOD THING about a horrid situation is how nice people are.

So to the other Mammy who gave me a knowing wink as I tried to get everyone out the door, THANK YOU
To the waiting staff in Backstage who were AMAZING, THANK YOU.

 “You worry about you guys, we’ll sort out the rest” said one of the waitresses as I tried in vain to clean the seat with Pukemonster hanging off me.  I’ve been there. As a former waitress, I can guarantee that this was not the highlight of her week, but yet she was so professional, so helpful and sooooo kind. 
And to the 2 other Supermums who messaged this evening to ask if she is OK, THANK YOU.  Your messages have made me feel a bit better this evening.

As one of them said “We’ve all been there Lovey!” 

And unfortunately, after today, yes we have.   
And to The Him, who just happened to swap seats with me a few seconds before she puked, thank YOU! πŸ˜…πŸ˜…
Hope you all had a lovely evening Ladybelles.
(And if you happened to have been in the audience for Princess’s performance this evening… I’m soooooooooo sorry. 😭😭😭)

I am “Sit on my knee” Mum

On my Knee.”
Today you are poorly,

My precious wee lamb.

Today you need Mammy

And right here I am.
I’ll sit right beside you

I’ll rub your wee toes

I’ll clean up your mess and

I’ll wipe your wee nose.
I’ll kiss all your fingers and

rub your wee face

I’ll not give a damn about

the state of this place.
I’ll cuddle and snuggle you,

I’ll let you complain

You don’t understand

this feeling of pain.

To see you feel poorly

It breaks Mammy’s heart.

I’d take every ounce of it,

every last part,

To make you feel better,

To make you feel fine,

I wish with my essence that

the sickness was mine.

And whether you’re sniffly,

or puking or hot,

You’ll sleep right on top of me,

not in the cot.

And yes this is minor

and yes you’ll be fine

But I am your Mammy

And your pain is mine.

So today, there are so many

things I should do,

But none of those things,

as important as you.

The world won’t stop turning

if I stay here with you,

Some days I’m just “Mammy”

Cos only Mammy will do.

So cuddle your Mammy,

Just sit on my knee,

When you need your Mammy,

right here I will be.
xxx Mammy xxx

I am “She told the truf” Mum

I don’t “hate” many things, but I can not STAND liars.
I’ve been bitten by enough serial liars in my life to know that liars are septic and that my girlies will:

1. Know that it is bad to lie (eventually!…like by the time they’re 12?)

2.  Know that liars ALWAYS get caught out (eventually!) πŸ˜‰

3. Be able to spot a serial liar at 100 paces. 

But riddle me this Bitcheepooooos.
How and when are we supposed to teach them that lying is wrong, when we so regularly ask it of them? 

Public facilities.

Me: “Oh God there’s no toilet roll. God these toilets are pretty rotten. They could do with a rub.” (Pulls tissues from bag)


Me: “We’ll tell the nice man outside that there’s no toilet paper in these toilets.”


“Ok. Pull up your shorts now and we’ll wash our hands.”

Her: ” Is it time for icecream yet?”
Step outside to find Daddy in carpark.  Meet nice steward/staff member.
Me: “Hi. There’s no toilet roll in any of the ladies toilets…”

Her: “Them toilets are JUST ROTTEN!”

Me: (squeezing her hand and hissing Sssssssh!) 

Him: (not hearing her) “No bother love. I’ll get that sorted…”

Her: (louder) Scuse me Muster.  Them toilets needs a good wub. They’re honkin…”
Him? No idea. I actually dragged her sanctimonious little bum across the carpark as quickly as I could go, calling “Thanks a million” cheerily over my shoulder.
And of course, I scolded her for speaking to the man and started on my “You don’t speak to adults like that” tirade.
And she of course, looked up at me with her big blue innocent eyes and said “But sure I was telling the truf Mammy. Look my tongue isn’t black or nuffin?” πŸ˜‘πŸ˜‘
Case closed.

She was right. πŸ˜‚

So yes, riddle me this…

How the hell do we expect them to learn how to tell the truth, but only when it doesn’t involve being rude?
It’s not easy is it?
But I’m sure that by the time she is old enough to “know better”, she’ll be able to tell the difference in the little white lies which have only positive effects on people, and the big fat septic ones.
And the toilets WERE pretty rotten in fairness! 😭😭
How was your Monday? 😘😘😘

I am “Stop it with ‘the joys’ please” Mum

“Oh the joys,”  they say.
“That’s the joys,” they say…
“The joys”… just the joys. Nothing else needed except raised eyebrows and knowing nods.
The joys.
Let me tell YOU about “the joys”.
There is nothing JOYFUL about “the joys”. 

There is nothing JOYEOUS about “the joys”.
THE JOYS are an absolute pain in the feckin posterier and should actually be renamed “The Shites.”
Today, while Mini-Me frolocked like a lamb in the sunshiny garden, myself and the feral one remained on the sofa. πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡πŸ‘‡

She screamed. She cried. She writhed in pain. She clawed my face if I moved. She lost her fricken mind if I breathed wrong. 😭😭😭

Because she’s teething, cutting a nasty big tooth.
The joys…
Baby has colick… “That’s the joys”

Baby won’t sleep… “The joys”

Toddler throws tantrum… “Them’s the joys”.

Wobbler knocks Sister off her seat”… “the joys”.
All the shite parts of being a parent get labeled as “the joys”.  As usual, parents for generations have been unable to call them what they are.  God forbid you might actually admit that some parts of mammyhood are SHITE.
Christ alive.  Call Childline!  Mammy is not full of the joys and smiling manically and counting her blessings and smug on her Mammy perch, instagrannying the crap out of all her fecking “joys” #soblessed #takethosechildrenawayquick 

 Instead, when we see another parent type dealing with something horrid, like a screaming baby or a teething toddler, we indirectly remind them that they should be happy and smiling and grateful for “the joys.” 
And yes, OF COURSE these things are part of being a Mammy, but sometimes, we need to stop the facade and call a spade a spade. 
Some days, (especially those where your 18 month old is in so much pain that you seriously consider raiding Granda’s cow meds because you’d honestly pull out  your own teeth to make her feel better)…THOSE days are not Joys.
Those days are Shite.
Pure, absolute and unadulterated SHITE.
“The JOYS” come only after the Calpol has kicked in and the screaming has stopped and you know she’s not in pain for the next wee while anyway.

THEM’S the ACTUAL joys.

Quiet is Joyful.

Sleep is Joyeous.
How was your day? 

Did you enjoy the sunshine?
Don’t think me a wench if I say that I DO hope you all got your arses burnt… I’m not. But if you were out frolicking in it, Them’s the joys. Suck it up. πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‰πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‰
#thejoys #fml #badtoofs

Have you caught my Facebook page yet? There’s great banter most evenings on it. @the.s.mum 

I’m on Instagranny too. @the.s.mum