Happy Blog-iversary to ME!

That’s right folks.

Amazingly my sweary, shouty, ranty, gin-fueled, fanny-laden blog is one year old today!
Seems only right I celebrate with some gin (obviously) and cake (again – obvious) and a little run down of all the things I’ve learnt in my 12 months of mummy-blogging.
So hold onto your vaginas, this could take a while… here we go…

If you attempt to play Candy Crush on an iPhone in front of a toddler you will likely lose an eye and/or limb.
Yoghurt is the new crack.
I know all the words to the Little Bear music CD and that is my biggest parenting achievement. *fistpump*
If you want to stand any chance of a nice day out, you will NEVER leave the house without Heinz biscotti. 
And gin.
Or let your husband near you with his penis again. 
Balloons are a trick and have been sent to family restaurants to delude and confuse first time parents. DON’T DO IT. They only make them angry. And violent. INTERCEPT THAT WAITER BEFORE HE REACHES HER EYE-LINE. CODE RED> CODE RED> 
Hide all the cutlery… until they’re in bed… then go crazy and have a naked spork party. 
Dignity is like childbirth… a distant memory of something you might be pissed enough to attempt to re-live at some point… *begins drinking gin*
Never tell the truth when a child-less friend asks if it’s really ‘that bad’
Breastfeeding was invented to let you eat your body weight in cake and toblerone. (Note to self: reduce cake/toblerone consumption now stopped breastfeeding… counteract with gin? Yeah… that’ll work.) 
You say you’ll sell it when she outgrows it… you won’t. My spare room looks like a jumble sale for borrowers. 
Pre-pregnancy clothes shrink the longer you leave them. FACT.
Anyway – why waste energy removing pyjamas when you’re only going to put them back on that night…? *whispers* And I only wash them when they go crispy.
You can always pretend she got that stain whilst eating breakfast this morning… 
If it’s not leaking, it doesn’t need to be changed… 
I can identify any pushchair from 50 paces… *smug face* God my life is shit. 
My child might sleep through the night but my pelvic floor never will… Bastard. 
I’ve stopped pretending I’m going to join a gym. The hokey cokey with a 16 month old IS a shitting workout. 
My toddler could take me in a fight. And the hokey cokey. 
Daddies should never be allowed to dress children without assistance. One day tights will finally tip him over the edge.
WHY DO THEY PUT BUCKLES ON TODDLERS SHOES. ISN’Y MY LIFE HARD ENOUGH!?!? And don’t even get me started on poppers, buttons and hair slides.
No matter how many beautiful, hand-made wooden toys I buy for my child, her favourite toy is still a partly-eaten toilet roll and her toothbrush.
Husbands are totally and unfairly unappreciated. Because they are f@*king useless. 
Every time I make it to a baby group on time I expect some kind of welcoming congratulatory party in my honour…
When I go swimming with her, I expect a two-day spa break, a song written in my honour and phone call from either the Queen or Jesus when I get home. 
I’m pretty proud of my special telling-off voice I only use when other people are watching. Sometimes I practice it in the mirror at home… while she runs feral… And goes out hunting for moths with the cats before bed…
I don’t have any patience. I have gin and the F word. And they will f@*king do me for now thanks. *clink*
WORD OF WARNING: Too many gins could result in becoming that annoying advice-giving person on Facebook. If this happens punish yourself with a stab to the eye with the aquadoodle pen.
Ginning-up the sippy-cup has become my new life motto. Might make it into a song. Probably be the next Gangnam Style. Yeah. Totally gonna happen.

That list was far longer than I intended. Clearly still pretty bitter. Thought a year of blogging would have fixed that… Shit. Sorry.


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