This is America

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So we upped sticks and moved to Los Angeles 6 months ago for Jack to peddle shitty TV to the (American) masses and so far I have mainly been swanning about & looking after my children on a more freelance basis. I wanted to write down the best & worst things about living in America (so I can refer to it when someone describes it as “math” and my blood starts to simmer), but it’s not as clean cut as that. So instead I am going to go through the ways in which life is just a little different here:  continue reading…

If you’re hungover & you know it…

I thought I would be out “on the lash” days after having the babies…I was all Charlie Large Potatoes about my ability to not let it affect any fun aspect of my life. Turns out, the boys were almost a full 12 months old and I hadn’t drunk more than a couple of glasses of wine in one go for that whole time….but then I did.

Here follows an account of the day after:

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Expect the worst…prepare for unmitigated disaster…

Most of my friends would describe me as a worrier; in an affectionate way of course, e.g. “she’s super fit, hilarious and occasionally worries about really cool stuff”. Since the boys arrived on the scene my worries have got even cooler and not at all bat shit crazy. Over the course of a week I had the following irrational musings:

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The Mum Friend

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Post NCT cocktails?

One of the first things to consider when you get pregnant is if any of your pre-existing (girl)friends is in the same boat. Who will be your co-explorer through the jungle of childbirth/rearing? Who will be your maternity leave sidekick, your partner in crime…who will know exactly how you feel at all hours of the day during this impending upheaval? Husband/Boyfriend? (No…they are uterus-less weaklings).  This is a job for female(s).

In all likelihood, your mates aren’t going to get impregnated the same week as you, so you need to look elsewhere.  You have been warned…you must get some Mum Friends.

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It’s January…sort your shit out.

I don’t normally make New Years resolutions. I tell myself I don’t want to devalue the previous years wonderful-ness when actually there’s plenty of stuff I could improve on, I am just too lazy. Since I haven’t posted anything since last year (ironically, because I am so lazy) I thought I would list my more achievable (and in most cases, pretty shallow) New Years resolutions:

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two boys, twenty three names

We made the early decision that we wanted baby names that were cute, not ridiculously trendy, not too run of the mill but most importantly, wouldn’t seem out of place if either of them became Prime Minister in 1940’s Britain.

Then, like most people, we ended up rarely calling the babies by their actual names.

So I thought I would give a run down of all the names we used in just one day. It is incredible how much ridiculous crap I end up spouting out loud in the hope that one day they will respond (with love, ideally, but I will take what I can get)…

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One cross, one staring at his hand…my view most days.

*NB. all nicknames must be expressed in a high sing song way that, if you ever hear recorded, will make you hate yourself. In my head I have a husky, sexy, sultry voice, not unlike Rihanna…in reality I am a high pitched posh-sounding wanker.

Here goes… continue reading…

the birth…

I have heard a lot of “birth stories” (at the end of every pregnancy yoga class) and none of them seemed to express any sort of fear, shock or panic. All of them seemed to remember pain, but that everything they had learned and read about and listened to had helped them prepare for this “magical” time.

I was pretty certain that no amount of breathing or calming music was going to diminish the pain of two fully formed humans wriggling their way towards my woefully underprepared vagina…

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