I am Step Aside in the Loo Queue Mum

Listen up Bitcheepoos!

Can we introduce a new law?

Let us call it the Potty Parent law…

And let us apply it to all public toilets from this moment on.


The law shall decree:
“When you see a parent in a queue for a public toilet, with a Potty Training Smallie who is on the verge of leaving lellow puddles at his or her or your feet, you MUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY and let that parent fast track to the porcelain pot IMMEDIATELY.”

You shall know the true Potty Parents by their desperate, fidgeting demeanor, as they
jump around trying everything to distract their child.

You shall know them by their repetitive-but-increasing-in-frequency-sing-songing of “Just hold on a minute” and “Keep that peepee in your touchee for two seconds” or “It’s nearly our turn Darling”.

And you shall recognize the wild and bulging eyes of the Potty Parent as he or she holds the volcanic wobbler on their hip, worrying not only for the lapse in dignity of their child if they peepee or poopoo on themselves, but also for themselves that Peepee or Poopoo will most likely end up trickling down THEM also.

And of course, while said parent will likely have a change of clothes in their bag for the offending wobbler, the chances of them carrying around a change of clothes for themselves is as likely as the wobbler’s bladder holding on much longer…

toiolet 2

So if you are in a queue in a public toilet and you see such a parent and child behind you in said queue, you must step aside and offer the next available cubicle to them.

Trust me, they shall bestow gratitude and praise upon you faster than the peepee that is running down their hip and Karma shall repay you in the future.

Thank you to the lady who recognised me as one of these potty parents in the SSE Arena last Saturday. Who turned to me and said, “You go ahead Love. She’s so good!” when I truly thought that the floor of the loo was going to end up as shiny as the ice the skaters were dancing on…

It was clear to her (Not to the other numpties who simply looked at me as if I were mental as I bounced around singing the “Just hold on!” song) that I was a Parent of the Toilet Training variety. Perhaps what gave it away in fairness, was my eventual roar of “OK PEE FASTER PEOPLE!” for this Mammy had reached her level of potty patience and knew that her little monster would not be able to hold it in much longer.

So yes. A new law. Or maybe even a little fast track lane drawn on the floor, you know like bicycle lanes in the city? Or a Bus lane? A little queue lane with potties drawn on it.

Because not only would it save the peepee of the wobblers, it might save the parents from losing the absolute “poopoo” too.


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I am Suspicious smell Mum


My arse is on a seat.
I WANT to say I’m cosied up in my PJs for the foreseeable future, with the remote to the androidy yoke, a large glass of bubbles and scented candles…
I HAVE to say I’m sitting down for 5 minutes to say hello to you before I start to tidy this bombsite and start dinner.

 The PJs are not on yet as that would require me going into the hall which might lead to the awakening of the monsters and frankly, I’d rather work on deepening the red track of the jeans around my belly! 

 Even with my obvious ninja stealth and carefully choreographed movement, those two are trained to pick up on ANY sound from the hall in the first 20 minutes of slumber. The hall is a NoGo area for another 17 minutes.  😪😪😪
 Scented candles?  The only scent I’m getting is a suspicious “pong du puke”. 

I have no idea where it’s coming from, but there is definitely a pungent whiff eminating from some crevice or hidden burp-cloth or lost bib…
I was delighted today to get a text from my friend to say that her husband had taken their Princess swimming, only for said Princess to shit in the swimnappy and by proxy, in the swimsuit.  💩💩💩

The lovely chemicals in the water created some sort of spontaneous combustion and altered the physical state of said shit into a consistency that babywipes could do nothing but slide over.  Hence her message ended with the words:

“He’s just text to run a bath because they’re both clattered in poo!”💩

I can not TELL you the JOY I got from reading this.   (Joy and obviously utter entertainment!)

After a week of purple plops of that same babywipe defying consistency, it made me happy to know that somewhere out there, another parent was dealing with the same shit…literally. 😂😂
And isn’t that the best thing about this interweb and these parenting blogs? That we can realise that

1. We’re not mental

2. We’re completely normal

3. Other people think and go through the same as us

4. There’s nothing wrong with sometimes asking for help, or admitting you’re scared, or crying.

5. Many other Mummies and Daddies need…sorry, like…wine and Gin and there’s a possibility that youre not actually a raving alcoholic.  You’re just a parent.

6. There is no manual and there is no perfect parent.  If you feed them and love your kids, you’re doing great.

7. Sometimes, being a parent is lonely.

8. Most times, being a parent is AWESOME.
Mini-Me has become obsessed with a new book.  MY 1ST ENCYCLOPEDIA.

Tonight I learned that: 

♡ There was a dinosaur bigger than a T-Rex called Gigantasaurus.  I did not know that.  I shit you not.

♡We also learned that your heart beeps and the skin keeps all of yoir blood from falling out.

♡We learned that Neptune is the coldest planet but the smarties who wrote the book are not geniuses like my daughter, because they forgot to include the fact that that is where the PENGUINS LIVE. 

On another note.

Phase 1 of #operationskinnyarse ended today.  For anyone who isn’t interested, have a great Friday and click away now…😚

…but for anyone who is interested, I’ve lost 9lb and 11cm off my waist in 6 weeks.

I’m just delighted with that and that’s all that matters. 🐮

I share simply to show that the determination and stubbornness that I gave my girls can sometimes help me as well as drive me fricken crazy.😂

(And I suppose I should thank The Him 👤 and hims Jim for helping me to get a good start on getting my sass back. Bring on phase 2!)
So to celebrate, I am going to have some bubbles.

They’re full of air which has like, no calories, so it’s grand!

Phase 2 starts tomorrow!
Hope you all have a fab Friday night.  

Feel free to share any exciting plans you might have… I’m off to find where this stink of puke is coming from. IT’S FECKIN HONKIN!
Over and Out! 💖💖💖

I am She had a good nappy Mum!

“She had a good nappy.”

My childhood was spent listening to my Beloved Granny saying this line to my Mum or aunties when they came to collect babies or toddlers from her care.

I could never understand how the adjective good could be appropriate.


In fact, the good nappies she was referring to were usually the antithesis of good.  Words like rotten, dirty, nasty or horrendous seemed much more appropriate.  For me, a good nappy referred to the still dry and clean nappies, folded in the bag.

But now, I completely understand.   A good nappy is one that is filled with the most horridly mucky mess.  The bigger the mess, the better the nappy.

To a parent of a baby, there is nothing more wonderful than a full nappy.  In fact, all of the bodily functions that we are brought up to do in private, and indeed that we are taught to apologize profusely for, are a cause of relief and even celebration.

I remember the first time Mini-Me had gone 4 long days without a poop.  We did tummy rubs, massaged her tiny back and carried her in every possible angle to ease her pain.  We almost cried ourselves every time she screamed that high pitched scream that only a baby can.  And when she finally exploded into not only one, but two, nappies, we danced around the room in delight.

Every burp during feeding is rewarded with “Goooooood girl” or “Thaaaaat’s it pet!”  The bigger the belch, the bigger the praise.

We love to hear big burps and big farts and we love to see big poops…even the right-up-the-back-into-the-hair ones.  And while these generally require a strong stomach and cutting off vests, before plunging the offending Fudgeebum into an impromptu bath, as parents we generally feel a relief and a contentment.

Why?  Because such excretions usually indicate that our little darling is going to be pain or cramp free for the next few days at least! And that is indeed good… for baby and for parent.

And so poops become wonderful.  Huge farts are a prize and body deflating belches are joyous.

For a while at least.


Then we suddenly find ourselves telling our toddlers to say “Excuse me” after they burp.  We cringe if they pass gas in public and of course the Poopoo becomes one of those hush-hush things.

With a new baby in the house, the good nappies have returned.  We have found ourselves back at that stage of getting excited about the basic bodily functions of our child.

We both sighed with relief last night when Princess did a burp that could make the ground shake.  Our simultaneous “Gooooood Girl!” was followed by laughter as we realised that we’re once again, excited by gas!

For the foreseeable future, we shall be grateful for the burps.  We shall be relieved by the machine-gun farts and we shall indeed celebrate the good nappies.

Because everything is good when there’s a cute little poop machine in the house.  🙂


I am She-had-a-good-nappy Mum.


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I did a poo tomorrow!” she screams at me. In the mind of 3 year old Mini Me, this makes perfect sense and should be sufficient in getting mummy to leave her alone and stop asking her to “pleeeeeeeeeeeease do a poo in the toilet”.

If only.

We’re potty training.  Actually, no.  She’s been potty trained since Christmas. And I’m a very proud Mum as it really only took a fortnight and 3 wee accidents to get to no nappies/no pull-ups territory.  It’s wonderful.  We can leave the house without a suitcase of paraphernalia.  A spare pair of Peppa Pig pants and a pair of leggings are now popped into my handbag, and off we go!

While I am of course, enjoying the utter joy of carrying my grown up handbags again, (in place of her baby bag/Minnie Mouse backpacks which have served as Mummy’s handbag for the past 3 years), I’m still terrified.

What if she forgets to tell me she needs to pee?  The ball-pool is after all, just too much fun to think of such banal bodily functions

What if she announces that she has to pee while we’re in that bloody retail park in town that doesn’t have a public toilet?

What if she pees herself when she’s away from me, and someone scolds her for not telling them she needed to go?

What if she poops?

Because, my little darling, while “potty trained” for the number 1s, is refusing, point blank, to poo in the toilet.  She promises me every day that she’ll “do my poooooos in da toiiiiilet cos I’ms a big gurl” She proudly announces to Daddy at bedtime that she “dood a poo in the toilet yesterday.” (Her lack of time awareness is quite cute and utterly comical really!)


The reality is that she holds it in for days on end, resulting in a sore tummy, spotty blemishes on her porcelain skin and huge tennis-ball-esque poops protruding from her little toochie as she comes out from her playhouse or from behind the sofa.

She announces innocently that she needs the toilet, then, when she hears the plop of said tennis-ball hitting the water, she beams her sparkly smile, gasps and announces “I dooood it!  I pooed in the toiiiiilet!!”  (usually followed by “I need a Kinder egg” – thanks Granny!)

How do I tell her proud little self that actually, no. You did a poop that an adult would struggle to produce, in your pants, and the toilet/my hands/your little legs are now covered in it. In fact, sometimes, the offending poop looks ironically like a bloody kinder egg! (or in her own words…”It’s only Playdough Granny!”)

I’m living in a playdough nightmare.

I am quite literally. in. the. shit.  And I don’t have a clue what to do.

Everyone is offering advice.  I am taking it all gratefully and have tried everything from blowing bubbles while on the toilet, having whistling competitions to encourage the muscles to move, scolding, blackmailing and crying.  (me, not her!)


I explain to her patiently that Mummy put the poopoo into the toilet, after she did it in her pants, and that she’s a big girl and should tell Mammy next time.  I’ve turned the poos into little crocodiles who want to go for a swim in the toilet with the peepees.  I’ve tried the “You can show Baby Cousin how to do poops in the toilet“… I’ve tried everything.

So, tell me.  What have I not done? And more importantly, what can I do?  Because I know that “it’s just a phase”, “that they all go through it,” and “that she’ll be grand”, but as Mummy, I need to know how to avoid scarring her for life and leaving her afraid of the toilet! And yes, I know I’ll look back on this and laugh.  Yes, I’ll be well prepared for next time and it’ll be a breeeeeeze.

Yes, maybe she’ll just decide suddenly that the fear she has is gone.  Maybe, I’ll have another 3 months of poops in the pants.  Maybe one of my aunties or friends will untap the secret for me.  Maybe I’ll find something that works for us.  Or maybe she’s actually a psychic child and she will “did a poo tomorrow!”

Whatever.  While we wait, I am indeed “Still-no-poopoo-Mum.