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And Baby Makes 3 and Other Stories


This post was originally 3 separate posts, but we felt that it beautifully illustrated the descent into madness that we are now experiencing....


So, whilst they may appear to be disconnected events, the eagle-eyed amongst you will observe the increase in crazy bat shit behaviour as you read on.


Enjoy the ride people.


Pip writes...


After some little discussion Bec and I decided that given the unprecedented times we are living through - although I am pretty sick of the word unprecedented....- we would, in attempt to cheer ourselves and everyone else up, post a few more blogs.

We are both marooned in our respective houses, me with the Dude and Bec with Ever Patient Husband and Middle and Youngest Child, not forgetting Eddie! Both of us are bored shitless, despite both working from home as a norm, similarly we both love people and this desert island type lock down is messing with our heads!


On a very exciting note, as you will no doubt have gathered, Beautiful Daughter and Giant Husband are expecting their first baby! At 8.15 one morning two week’s ago I received a text, with a picture of Beautiful Daughter, recumbent on a hospital bed, a look of strained tolerance on her face, and the legend 'we are on!' appended......


I immediately was flung into a frenzy of excitement and panic, wanting nothing more than to leap into faithful Gertie and hot foot it to Beautiful Daughter's side. Impossible in current circumstances, so I had to contain myself and pace anxiously awaiting updates. understandably these were few and far between. I did cave in, despite my best efforts and text a few times to ask in a maternal manner whether everything was ok....the somewhat terse response to these was 'its sore' - no shit right!


A few hours later and just in the nick of time to prevent my unauthorised, unwanted and probably illegal flight to Cramlington Hospital, Incredibly Wonderful Grandson was born, 2 minutes after the text announcing this, the post man delivered my Mothers Day card, which was to Grandma and signed by Incredibly Wonderful Grandson (he is very talented and can already hold a pen), Beautiful Daughter and Giant Husband. I cried. Alot.


My maternal instinct long buried has risen! I am enjoying daily updates on nappies, sleep patterns and breast feeding, all of which is an utter delight, FaceTime is a bonus, even if all I want to do is bury my nose in his gorgeous little neck and snuffle in that wonderful small baby smell....


I dont know who I am anymore - Pass the JD!



Part Two: Slip Sliding Away....possibly a Tuesday, but no one can be sure anymore.


We have all, by now, met - albeit virtually - Special Precious Boy and Lady Wycommmbeee

They are always a delight!

I swither between total and utter confusion, hilarity, panic and despair with face palm moments abounding during each and every conversation.

SPB & Lady W have a lovely little flat together, somewhere unpronounceable in Northumberland, 2 bed - 1 room for Mama obviously!

They have only recently moved in together, and are in the throws of making home. It's very sweet.

Incautiously I asked them what they would like as a moving in present. Usually, this lack of forethought on my part would engender from SPB a request for something massively expensive, probably pointless, and definitely sparkly. He tricked me into buying a grey, velour sofa and had attempted to sneak in Swarovski Crystals into the order (they would have been the studs instead of the buttons) until I spotted it and put my foot down. He moved out shortly afterwards, leaving me with a sofa RuPaul would be proud of.

As it happens, they sent back a request (along with the link on Amazon...which was thoughtful...) for curtains for the sitting room, tasteful, navy blue curtains, very reasonably priced.

Once I had recovered from the shock, then phoned to check that SPB was ok etc I ordered (quickly before they changed their minds) and forwarded said tasteful curtains. And henceforth this return to common sense purchases shall be known as the Lady W effect. It’s a little like the opposite of chaos theory, but less global in nature.


Both of my boys are very house proud, so when SPB called me a few days ago, I was ready for a pleasing Mama & Sons facetime around decorating. However, I got something entirely different.


"Hey Mama" glumly mutters SPB.


"Oh fuck!" I think, slightly panicked I wonder what's happened now.


"Whats up lovely boy?" I trill carefully and happily....perhaps if I'm cheerful he will perk up. It's pathetic of me I know but I cannot bear to hear him sad!

"Ive got sore bruises Mama", SPB pathetically intones.


"What?" I screech. "Why? How? What sort of bruises? Where?" I am now in full panic mode, wondering if he's been beaten up, fallen over, been in a crash. Why does every parent immediately think the worst?


"All over my body Mama."

As I begin to stutter and hyperventilate the wee shite starts to laugh and tells me that he and Lady W, going slightly mad during lockdown decided to turn the kitchen of their new flat into a slip and slide whilst pissed as farts on Prosecco!


Down went half a bowl of water and then fairy liquid, socks off, they were taking turns to slide across the floor Hawaii 5 O style (Book'em Danno).


This progressed to holding hands whilst sliding. Sliding morphed into falling over alot, they were soaking wet (but at least the floor wasn't damaged *facepalms* ) and then toddled off to bed.

Lady W wakes SPB up hours later to ask, in interested tones if SPB knows which one of them has weed the bed....



Part Three: The Curious Incident of The Dog in the Night, could be Thursday


Introducing Gavin and Vladimir and a pair of knickers.



Dude and I, at the best of times, live in a mutually 'tolerant' atmosphere. I feed him and remove his gigantic craps from the garden, - he refuses to poo anywhere else- he does borking at things he deems a threat, like squirrels, or cats....covers my patio doors in dog art, aka snot, and generally makes things difficult until he comes for a lean and a cuddle upon which he is forgiven his idiotic behaviour!


What he never ever does, is bark at night. He is after all, asleep, usually on my legs, or possibly in the most awkward place next to the bed so that when I get up in the middle of the night for a pee (we all have this, its a proper pain, 2 am pees!) I stand on him, or trip over him.....he gets very affronted and then pinches the warm spot in the bed before I get back, we have a small fight about who is in charge, he wins and I end up sleeping on the other side of the bed.

The other night, I heard some very cross and panicked barking, "I wonder what that is?" My JD fuddled mind said as I happily drifted back off into bourbon induced sleep, I was rudely awoken from my happy slumber by a large barking German Shepherd landing squarely on my chest and frantically whining and barking.


"What's that Lassie?", I say in my best 1950 American TV show voice "The kangaroo is stuck in the old well? Lead the way!"


As any peri menopausal woman will know, the menopause does not mean that your periods cease, oh no, it means they ruin your life with their irregularity, consistency, and volume. So bed time does include the donning of at the very least 'period pants' we all have them. Mine are horrid; capacious & useful but horrid.



Exhibit 1: horrid period pants as worn by Gav the bear in a rather defeated looking pose (Pip had attempted to go for an ‘alluring’ pose in her camera work, but failed)

Dude is by this point herding me to the stairs, I'm still half asleep, wearing only my period pants, and to be honest donning a slightly startled expression - as I have mentioned, Dude never barks at night!


Nothing loth, I head downstairs, Dude still whining and barking, to check out what's going on.

I am by this time, slightly worried that my garden may contain an intruder, so I thoughtfully arm myself with a garish pink flowery broom purchased for me by SPB and Lady W, hereafter referred to as The Gay Broom, and dressed only in my extremely attractive all encompassing period pants, brandishing the Gay Broom, striding purposefully towards the back door.



Exhibit 2: The Gay Broom

Now any fan of horror films (which I am) will understand that this was a rookie error, and that when watching a horror film you are honour bound to yell at various points, 'don't go upstairs' or 'For fuck sake! Are you mad? Why would you go outside!' and have a conversation with whomever may be around , saying, 'bloody ridiculous why would you do that - anything could be out there?' Now okay these films are usually set in a secluded cabin in woods cut off from civilization by a 10 mile hike and 18 foot of snow, and I live in suburban Leicestershire, but I am sure you see the similarity...


Back to the story...


I arrive at the back door, thinking only of protecting my defenseless German Shepherd and poke the Gay Broom out first (presumably to confuse an intruder into thinking that an extremely camp Darlek is about to emerge...) my head and torso follow, Dude supportively behind me...we stride Putin-like into the centre of my extremely diminutive garden, to be blinded by the 11nty billion mega watt flood light that I fitted last week (thank you, yes all my own work).

There I am in my period pants, clutching the Gay Broom, adopting a fighting stance in a fucking spotlight in my garden at 3am. Fuck knows what the neighbours thought. If there had of been a potential burgler, he is probably still screaming 'my eyes, my eyes...' having had that sublimely attractive image indelibly burned into his retinas for all time.


Blog Reader(s), the garden was empty, nada, jack shit not even a frigging squirrel.


I head back to the back door, slightly humiliated, then I realise with a frisson of horror, that whilst I have been doing my best Jean Claude Van Damm impression in the garden someone could have snuck into my house, in order to steal something (what I have no idea, possibly a half chewed dog toy, or heaven forfend my JD!)


At exactly the same moment, with a sickening thud of understanding, I look at the Gay Broom and realise it's not going to be much cop in a hand to hand combat situation.

Sensibly I swap it for a Heterosexual Rolling Pin.


Dude and I check the entire house. All good. Nobody is lurking in my house in order to steal the telly, the JD or, more importantly any of Dude‘s toys.


I retire back to bed, somewhat shaken, clutching the Heterosexual Rolling Pin (large, wooden, dented as has been used as a hammer several times when an actual hammer wasn't a thing I owned.)


I then take up position centrally in bed still holding the Heterosexual Rolling Pin defensively, trying to calm my breathing. Dude jumps onto bed, looking very pleased with himself, and fucking immediately starts snoring!


I sit up for the rest of the night fuming, listening to all the previously unheard noises that my house makes randomly wondering if I have mice or there is a tiny intruder hiding somewhere.

I have never been so pleased to see daylight.

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