Diversity is reality

I’m not really one to comment on Facebook and make a fuss, I find that these things often backfire. However I made an exception today for the BBC…

This is my response:

  Language is a powerful tool for change. Maybe it’s time for those with the power to influence change started to set a better example.

Until next time




Worry not, I know that’s not a word!

I have a confession to make… I’m a competitive mama.

I feel a little ashamed of myself really. 

No I don’t, I really don’t.

I’m proud of my bambino and the fact that he has hit so many milestones early has really helped my competitivity. “Gosh is he walking?” 

“Yes, he’s been walking since nine months.”

“Isn’t that early?”

“Yes, very!”

I do try not to sound too smug but I’m fairly certain that doesn’t quite work out for me. And I’m very lucky that I have understanding mamapals who know that I’m quite a nice person really and (hopefully) aren’t offended by me!

I did keep this quiet, ish, and to myself until I was having a chat with a mamapal from work who confessed that she too was competitive. To the point that she struggled to hang out with a friend of hers because her baby started crawling first.

I have to admit, I would have done the same.

I like to think I would never push bambino too hard, let him develop at his own rate.

But then a few weeks ago we caught up with a mampal and her bambina. Bambina could point out the mouse in every page of “that’s not my dinosaur…”

The horror. 

Bambino can’t do that!

And we’ve tried to teach him…

“That’s not my tiger, it’s teeth are too bumpy… MOUSE!”

“That’s not my monster, it’s eyebrows are too hairy… MOUSE!!!”

To no avail.

He cares not a jot about finding the sodding mouse.

Or my competitivity.

Rude is what I call it.

Still, he can run off and climb up stairs.

And chase the cats.

And raid the cat biscuit bowl.

Maybe this advanced ability malarkey isn’t quite all its cracked up to be!

Until next time


Who gave that mouse so many fucking tigers anyway?! Spoiled…


We took bambino for a weigh in the other day. We’re both off work for a while so we thought we’d see how much he had piled on in the weeks since I finished my maternity leave.

The health visitor weighed bambino (22lb if you’re interested!) and then turned to othermama and myself and said “so who’s mum?”

She assumed one of us was just a friend or relative, which is fine. I don’t expect everyone to immediately realise the composition of our family. But also I don’t expect a completely moronic response to the statement:

“We’re both mum”

Blank look.

“So how does that work then?”

I’m not very easily offended but if that lady, a healthcare professional, could have bothered to think just a second before replying then she would have spared us having to explain in a room full of strangers that we were both mums. 

We’re not exactly living stealth but would rather some people didn’t know we are gay. Sadly in our society we are still open to abuse.

It’s also not the first time we have had such an ignorant response from a health visitor. In a public arena.

I refuse to believe that we are the only lesbians that these people have ever come across.

A little more thought is all it would take to be sensitive and potentially save a family from abuse.

Until next time


(I promise the next post will be a little more lighthearted!)

Just… No!

Bambino has had a stomach upset recently which has provided my with the opportunity of cleaning up poonamis the like of which the world has never seen.

It has also given him nappy rash. Which is horrible.

We’ve used lots of cream to combat it and followed lots of advice etc.

The most ridiculous of which is to give him “nappy free” time.

Now I know that it is the best thing to let his bum dry out as the rash has been created by the skin being damp.

But no nappy is a terrible idea!

There has been so much faeces and urine in our house. (Not to mention copious amounts of vomit. Of course.)

“Just lie him on a towel”

They said.

“Let him kick about on the changing mat for a while”

They said.

All well and good, in theory.

Except he’s a bloody fast little bugger.

One thing you really don’t want is a speedy, naked child with diarrhoea.

I think I’m mentally scarred.

He’s better now and his bum is fully healed.

But he’s still quick, he just escaped a routine nappy change and weed in his ball pit.

There’s WHAT in my ball pit??? 

And as I cleaned all the balls, (200+ as I thought “there’s just not enough balls otherwise.” Fool.) I had to wrestle bambino for possession of his shitty nappy. Which, of course, looked just like a tasty snack.

Nasty mummy, doesn’t even let me eat my own faeces.

No. Just no.

Until next time.


This stuff is amazing! (Just dry skin first… Using a towel or something… Not air.) 

Hell exists 

Just to let you know that hell does exist.

It is a previously sleeping through the night nearly nine month old baby deciding to really change the boundaries by regressing.

Bambino used to have a bath, book, bottle and fall asleep instantly and that was that. Adult time downstairs for me and othermama. Sweet sweet dreams for all.

But this week bambino has been quite poorly so the poor lad has had me off work with him all week. Lovely cuddles and naps together. 


Poorly boys need mummy naps…

 I feel that the cuddlenaps are partly why he has decided to be a bugger. 

I refuse to take all of the blame.

The weather is probably not helping, it’s been so hot in bambino’s room that he’s had to come and sleep in with us just to stop overheating.

So now we have a baby who will scream as soon as you put him down on his mattress. And won’t stop.

Even if you con him to sleep then he wakes himself up to scream at you a bit more.

He will stand up and scream and throw his dummy on the floor.

Maybe he’s not tired enough? 

Bring him back downstairs for a play to tire him out.

An hour later.


“Go to sleep” 


Eventually othermama conned him to sleep. Using a technique I had tried for the last three hours.

To my credit I didn’t swear.

I ate a magnum and drank some rum.

Tomorrow night there will be some serious structural changes to bedtime. And shorter afternoon naps.

No more Mrs nicewisemama!

Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts!

I better get some more rum.

Until next time


Mmm rumrumrumrumrum

Pictures vs reality

We took bambino to the local farm for a little day out on Tuesday. It was lovely, sunny and full of cute furry animals. We also even ventured into a soft play barn and let him throw himself about. I know soft play will be hell when he’s older but right now it’s amazing! Nothing to bump himself on!

When we got home I posted the obligatory Facebook pictures for all to sigh once again and remove me from their feed due to baby spamming. (I don’t care, he’s my world and I’ll post all the pictures I want!)

I then had a think about the lovely lies my photos were telling…

For example: bambino gently stroked the guinea pig. But when presented with a corn snake to touch, he grabbed it with both hands and squeezed. Bloody hard. Are snakes robust? Or did he do it  some dreadful injury? I had hold of him, it’s hard to hold a squirming baby and remove their hands from a helpless snake.

Just before this picture bambino managed to do a humongous poonami. Pants and vest flooded. As the changing bed had a “hands free” strap to hold him down it meant that it wasn’t too bad to wipe up. Until he rolled into his tummy, grabbed the end of the bed and tried his best to escape that way…

  To his credit, he didn’t nearly kill the puppy. However the puppy did smell like faeces. So much hand gel.

  The balls… Every time another child had a ball, bambino went and nicked it from them. Even when he had one of his own. Cue much apologetic smiles on my part and saying “haha, sharing please bambino”. (I know he won’t share but it keeps the other mums happy, the other babies were just weak for letting him take them… And try to eat their faces…)

He also chundered all over the soft play but that was nothing a baby wipe couldn’t get rid of!

In this barn there was a bug-eyed rabbit and a very loud cockerel. Once bambino had heard the cockerel crow a few times and shown interest I took him closer for a good look. It crowed again and bambino decided that this was not ok. So he wailed. And I looked like a terrible person for dangling him next to an evil cockerel. Then a sheep in the lambing shed was also offensive. Wailing, we left the shed and regretted trying to show him nice new things and started to head home.

Then we went to get the bus home. The bus was 40 mins late. I’m not a patient woman. And as soon as we got on the bus bambino did his second poonami of the day. There was nothing to be done. Othemama and I had to sit on the warm bus enjoying the nasal delights brought from a full nappy that was slowly seeping through our darling child’s clothing and into the cosy toes of his pram.

At least I didn’t have him in the baby carrier. 

Reality, it’s a bitch.

Until next time



They alter somewhat after you have a child.

I have now managed to retain some of my pre-baby standards; showering most days and (mostly) sick-free tops but Friday defeated me. It really did.

We had a busy day planned, a visit from the health visitor, a catch up in town with a friend and her baby and then I was off out in town on my own for a meal out with work. With drinks, alcoholic drinks!

Most exciting.

So I tidied the house ready for the health visitor, I think I must have vacuumed the rug about five times and made sure bambino was in his cutest outfit (one without poo stains on it). Of course he had a massive purple bruise on his face as he must have known she was coming and he decided that now was the time to nose-dive the door frame.

Sigh. I do try…

The visit was very successful, bambino certainly worked his charm on the health visitor, developmentally he’s at the stage a nine month old should be. Two months ahead, smarty pants! He also showed off his cruising skills by working his way along the sofa and eating her paperwork. And his red book. And her handbag.

And then doing a poonami.

Poonamis have taken on a new level of horror now there is crawling. I physically have to wrestle him down to wipe him, change his clothes and put a nappy back on. Usually there is shouting (from him), tears (from both of us) and poo spreading. She helped to distract him whilst I got shit on my jeans and jumper and went to get him an entire new outfit. 

Then off into town for a catch up and a coffee with my friend. We were having a lovely chat when bambino started grunting again. Not another one. I ran to the toilet with him but there was someone already using the facilities. It’s hard to hold a 20lb wriggler under the arms for so long and after a couple of minutes I caught a young lady giving me a bit of a dirty look. What the hell was her problem?

Ah, yes, she could see the poonami seeping through bambino’s clothing in three different areas. Brilliant.

Full change later (I love changing beds with safety straps, it’s like a hands free kit!) and it was  time to go home.

And it was sitting down at home in my shorts that I was reminded of how standards differ pre-baby to post-baby.

Bambino crawled over to say hi and used my legs to climb up. When he suddenly stopped and started investigating my legs, gave them a good stroke and then a lick, for good measure. What was he doing? Why were my legs so interesting?


Go on.

They were so hairy. So hairy.

I actually can’t remember the last time they were so bad. 

And I only had an hour to get ready for my night out.

So I didn’t shave them. I did my hair, put on some make up and skinny jeans and went out.

Halfway there I realised that I hadn’t even shaved my underarms.

I’ll just not lift my arms up.


Flexibility is essential.

Until next time


An actual cocktail that I had! 

Baby talk

Bambino woke up at 3am, he was obviously determined to have a peaceful feed and then play about whilst whinging and grunting for a few hours whilst his poor mama sat in the dark trying to settle him. I knew what he was up to as soon as he finished his milk and snuggled in. I swear he looked up at me first. I could see the plan in his eyes.

But no, I’ve not been well and I need my sleep. This mama was not playing ball. I was going to win the battle tonight!

I put him down, to his extreme outrage, and stumbled back to bed.

And then the crying started.

This was not upset crying.

This was manipulative, calculated noise that was designed to communicate different messages. Each of which, bambino felt sure, would bring his mama rushing out of bed to his aid. Thus fulfilling his plan of messing about with full parental attention for a few hours.

The translation for said cries seemed to be as follows:

  • How dare you leave me?
  • If I do this again she’ll definitely come.
  • If I do it louder, that will work.
  • Can I pretend to be hungry?
  • Ooh there’s my dummy.
  • Cot bars are fun to hit with my dummy.
  • Oh I was supposed to be getting mummy back.
  • Louder this time.
  • Ooh she came in, I’ll lie here.
  • I love her hand on my cheek, I’ll just make sure it stays there by holding it with both hands.
  • Drifting off…
  • What the actual hell? She left again!
  • I’m not having that.
  • Mummy
  • Mummy
  • Fell asleep there, I’ll make up for it.
  • Oh she’s back.
  • Mm
  • Dummy
  • Zzzzz

Mummy 1, bambino 0

I’ll be honest, I felt pretty smug as I snuggled back into my bed for another little sleep.

Then I thought about how he decided why was going to happen and had tried his best to make sure he got his own way.

I sense a few battles coming in the next few years.

I may even win a couple of them.

Until next time 


Parenthood is…

I’ve been a parent of an actual human being (that I made myself in my body) for a little over seven months now. As an obvious expert I feel I can now accurately define parenthood for the rest of you.

Parenthood is:

  • Lying in bed at 4am being hit in the face with a dummy.
  • And then having your nose eaten.
  • Getting wee in your eye.
  • Desperately hoping your darling child naps just a bit longer.
  • Not leaving the house without a million things.
  • Still forgetting vitally important wipes/nappies.
  • Being astounded by the volume of shit a tiny person can produce.
  • Getting said shit on your person. All the damn time.
  • Falling asleep during night feeds.
  • Crying into your pillow because the fruit of your loins won’t bloody sleep.
  • Leaving the house with vomit in your hair.
  • Considering baby wipes a valid alternative to showering.
  • Finding small patches of chunder on your carpet hours after your child has gone to bed.
  • Not punching people who ask if your baby is sleeping through.
  • Not punching people who get in your way when you’re pushing the pram.
  • Not punching people who offer unwanted parenting advice.
  • Generally not punching anyone.
  • Especially in-laws.
  • Having your cooking rejected by your child.
  • Having to share your own food. For the rest of your life.
  • Going to the toilet whilst constantly shouting “just a minute!”
  • Panicking about what if something dreadful happened whilst you were having a quick poo… What would you do?
  • Being napped on and unable to move a millimetre for hours.
  • Pretending that your child has not just puked, exorcist-style, in the swimming pool. (Again). 
  • Not being able to leave a bogey unpicked.

Parenting is also:

  • Pretty fucking amazing.
  • The most intense love you will ever feel.
  • So much fun.
  • Exhausting.
  • The best thing in the world.

However it is mainly trying to keep your child alive until they reach adulthood, despite the best efforts of said child and the rest of the world.

Whilst wiping up sick, snot, poo and wee.

And not really minding.

Happy parenting!

Until next time