Another Week in the Shires Featuring Dead Hamsters, Baby Weight Loss and a Tods Bag

Saturday

Oh shit, the hamster is dead.

RIP Dusty Springfield*…the hamster that was, according to the pet shop, ‘a very young female’ yet somehow later transpired to have the most humongous pair of bollocks ever.

I break the news to Bubette.

Me ; ‘Dusty has gone to sleep’.

Bubette ‘Ok has she got her pyjamas on?

Hmmm. I change tact.

Me ; ‘Dusty is in the sky with the dog, the polecat and French Granny’

Bubette; ‘ OK can you ask Postman Pat if I can borrow his helicopter to go to the sky and see them all?’

That went well then.

Sunday

Some of my fashion type friends have sent me an assortment of glamorous magazines to read. This is tres appreciated because I really, really love magazines. I put them next to my bed with visions of me feeding my newborn son, whilst perusing a glossy style bible, the early morning sun streaming in over the panoramic views of rolling fields. Gorgeous.

Here is what really happens;

V early morning. I’m feeding my son. He does he an utterly huge dump. Massive.

It is agricultural**.

I forgot to bring the changing mat upstairs. There is only one thing for it, the glossy magazines will have to step up to the plate***

Monday

I cannot get to the shop due to recent my c section. Bubette and I are waiting for the online shopping to arrive, except being the  spanner I am I typed in an expiry date from 6 years ago, so everything is delayed.

Bubette is totally moaning because she is hungry. But it’s not my fault that she doesn’t find half a crunchie an acceptable breakfast in an emergency****

I decide to do what any devoted mother would do under these circumstances and use the waiting time to check social media.

Twitter

Since I retweeted this hilarity from Alan Partridge

If she could turn back time… would you trust  @Cher with that kind of responsibility?’

I seem to have lost loads of followers.

What is wrong with people?

Facebook

Or am I on Twitter, or Instagram, because everyone shoves all their posts from all these on facebook as well now. This confuses my already fuzzy head beyond belief. And as for ‘Mary Twontface liked 56 pictures on Instagram’ (me neither) style updates.

Do I need to know that? Seriously?

Wouldn’t I just look on Instagram if I was at all bothered?

Instagram

Quite a few fashion types have now started following me.

Christ knows why.

Tuesday

My new son is so quiet during the day that I keep thinking I’ve ‘done a Cameron’ and left him somewhere

My new son is not quiet between the hours of 1-4am though

The only thing that soothes him during this colicky time is Babs ‘ Woman in Love’ played quite loudly. On a loop.

Wednesday

I ask Darling husband Mr T to get me some Epsom Salts to help my c section scar heal.

Mr T comes home from work with some sort of (upon reading the packet) laxative version

This, in my sleep deprived, hormonal state totes sets me off on one.

Mr T emerges later with a very chic bath salt from Space NK. Mr T, having been married to me for 4 years, knows a Space NK bag will shut me (aka the long haired general) up for quite a while.

Wise man.

Thursday

I go to the doctor. She looks flabbergasted and tells me how fantastic I look. This is a real compliment considering my doctor is the chicest woman ever invented.

Obvs when a woman tells another woman that she looks fantastic after having a baby, she probably means ‘you’ve nearly shed the baby weight luvvie‘ but is too scared of being accused of reading the Mailonline to actually say that.

A lot of people have commented on how quick the baby weight is going.

So I show them this photo.

NHS quiche

Note the presentation of the NHS Quiche. Yes it really was served upside down, with bite like chunks already taken out of it. And in case I haven’t captured the mash potato. It was well sweaty. Trust me, no diet required here

Anyway just when I’m feeling good Bubette says this;

‘Mummy why is your tummy all squashed up into your skirt’

And then this happens;

There is a  hand dryer in the loo at the doctors. Bubette hates hand dryers. So she says this to the toff using it;

‘Have you finished with that fucking hand dryer yet?’

Wow.

The toff laughs.

You see the word ‘fucking’ and other assorted swear words are mostly ok where we live. Posh county types don’t seem to mind, but god forbid Bubette uses the word ‘toilet.’ And if you really want to offend someone around here you can say something like this

‘Oh Cosima, I really love your new ‘three piece suite’ in your ‘lounge’

Friday

It is Bubette’s nursery school ballet show.

Facts:

1. I am the only mother here not wearing a maxi dress

2. I am the only mother here who pulled up into the car park with ‘Xanadu’ blaring out really loudly

3. Right at the start of the ballet show some little shit upsets Bubette by refusing to hold her hand

4. I’ve encountered this little shit before, with her mother. She has got form.

5. The mother has some sort of comedy false accent going on. One of those ‘I’ve lived in so many places and I am so loaded I can’t even begin to commit to the one accent’ type things

6. When I met her mother the first thing she did was throw her Tods bag down on the table with the label right in my face. It was her attempt at an expensive handbag off. My reaction?

I simply carried on drinking my builder’s tea and talking to the far less nouveau Mummy next to me. 

7. When the mother with form realised our kids were at the same nursery school, she said what so many of her type say to me. Without making any prior conversation, they go straight in for the kill with this:

‘And will your daughter be going on to attend the pre prep school?’

Reader, do not be fooled by this seemingly innocent comment.

Translated into competitive mum speak this means:

‘Can you afford to send your kids to private school, if so I may talk to you and if I’m really convinced I might even invite you onto the committee organising the Dad’s charity donkey race.’

I really, really want to tell her that it’s ‘none of her business’ and that the type of woman she is makes me want to scream ‘comprehensive’

But instead I casually drop the words ‘three piece suite’ into my ‘conversation’ with her.

* Interesting fact; A friend’s sister had a hamster called Jimmy Nail.

** The term ‘ it is agricultural’ is lifted from Bruce Robinson’s ‘The Peculiar Memories of Thomas Penman’ a hilarious read recommended to me by the ‘Celebrated illustrator’ Will Broome

*** Glossy magazine / style bible editors, there is a missed marketing opportunity here I feel. Forget printing your cover image on mouse mats, mugs, tea towels and key rings, it’s all about the changing mat. A brilliant opportunity to connect with the lucrative Mummy market, over and over again, especially while they are tired and therefore vunerable to mind bending advertising (see Bounty for further ‘inspiration’ here). And reader, I’m sure with genius ideas like this you can get just a small insight into how very ‘talented’ I was in the PR world…Hahahahaha

**** Deal with it Jamie

About mrstiggywinklesdiaries

From Fairy Tantrums to Fairy Cakes, an ex fashion pr moves to the countryside, becomes a Mummy and sings like a canary...
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