That’s it now folks… I am officially on the 8 week countdown. Which is both terrifying but a massive relief as this pregnancy has been bloody hard work with a ninja-turd-eating-toddler in tow f@*king up my plans to sit or lie down at any point in the past 7 months…
I’m trying very hard *does squinty eye concentration face as proof* to remember exactly what the hell it is you actually do with a newborn… but all my memories are a jaded blur of gin-soaked-cakiness. Which isn’t very helpful. So instead I’ve made a list of all the things I vaguely remember doing which I probably shouldn’t do with the next one. As that seems like a good place to start.
I won’t use the Jumperoo as a baby-containing-prison.
I won’t leave the house without an ample amount of nappies/wipes/spare babygros because it’ll ‘probably be fine’.
I won’t leave the nappy off. EVER.
I won’t forget breast pads on a night out. Or get drunk and try to pass off my squirting nipples as a new party trick.
I won’t say I’m going to buggy-fit but then just eat another pie instead.
I won’t answer the door with part/all of my vagina hanging out of my dressing gown parting.
I won’t sometimes just not answer the door/leave the house/turn up. Because I don’t f@*king feel like it. (And all the leggings are past the point of no return…)
I won’t ‘just rub the baby-rice in’ to my hair thinking it’s unnoticeable.
I WILL NOT BECOME THE PREMIER TWATTY NAPPY PRICE INSPECTOR OF THE WIDER HAMPSHIRE AREA.
But most of all I probably will. Do all of the above. Especially that last one and any involving cake and/or gin. So there.