• crewders

...who deep breaths more than actually breathing normally?

Updated: Oct 28, 2019

He lands back from a 3-day trip away, ok working but nonetheless, read the word AWAY. I on the other hand have not been first class to anywhere other than hell. I have spent every waiting minute cleaning, cooking (why I bother when unlike Indie Wicks this child will only throw the sweetcorn frittatas at my head or the wall, anywhere other than her mouth) playing, unpacking boxes, finding bloody amazing bargains on marketplace and in our now local charity shops, sorting or at least trying to sort WIFI but of course that back fired and, add to that, trying to help her find her passion for nursery (help/push her through the door) . If looks could kill, I'd be long dead.

So, she absolutely HATES it. I’m talking clinging on to my ear/hair/nose wherever so that I won’t let go. But I do. I love her but my god an hour or two to myself is no longer a treat, it's a necessity. So in she went every day from on hour to two.


I managed to push her in her trike, do the weekly shop and collect his goddam dry cleaning. And what were his first words through the door? Did you get the dry cleaning? I won’t be telling him that I’ve ear marked an ironer.

Awh he's home. Ok we're off out. Nothing quite like a jetlagged man working from home for giving orders. So out we go, we need pillows for sisters visit later, so we head to the car. First time I’ve folded the new / second hand (marketplace obvs) silver cross pram up. I plonk her in car seat she screams. I try to fold the pram IT WILL NOT BUDGE. I curse, push harder and pop. What the fuck was that? Oh, naturally the lap bar has come away burst a water bottle, water is everywhere and now the almost new lap bar is broken. It bends in the middle. MOTHER OF ALL GODS I shout, is nothing simple? Immediately on to FB MP to search for a silver cross lap bar. Nope none, but I could get another pram for $40 and use it for parts? She screams, fuckit I'll find one later.

I drive to St. Albans collecting a Deliciously Ella jumper on route ... yes yes from market place. No word of a lie, I am beyond obsessed. I genuinely believe there will be groups set up for counselling purposes on this. I can tell you what’s newly listed in my area and the surrounding 200 miles. Want a new top? Bed? Chair? Ask me, I’ll source. So far today I have received 8 baby grows, a pillow and a wall height chart for less than a tenner and it' not yet midday. I'm telling you by this time next year I will be attending MPA.

Into St Albans we go. Missing the turn off for the car park, I pull a somewhat illegal u-ey and get to the entrance. I lost my mind. I saw the ticket machine but it looked all fancy and so for some reason I decided that was a new one and therefore I needed to waft the credit card at it. Didn’t work. Tried inserting it. Alarm went off. Man behind beeped. Beryl cried I shouted cunt. Voice on speaker says “pardon me?” “What? Oh hi yes I said I am HUNTing for the ticket” “course you were. Just press the button luv where it says press”

Fuckingfuckers.

I drive in while she screams. No spaces. Aha, a space. With a bollard taking over half of it. Never mind drive on. I end up at the entrance. What the actual fuck, how? I drive back through. I REPEAT THIS WHOLE SORRY PERFORMANCE 4 TIMES until I shout for the love of god how do I get to level sodding 2. A man hears as my window is down from ticket issue. “Just follow the sign that says up luv.” Alright Dave back the fuck off.

I finally find a space without a bollard and reverse in. I’m left with half an inch either side to get us both out. What is it with car parks? I look to my right and a woman has just parked up over 2 spots. She doesn’t give a toss. We get out and head to the shops.

OASIS. Aha Beryl, talking to her as if she gives a shit. I shall find out how much is on my card. “Hi, I wonder, can you tell me how much is on my store card?”

Woman. Looks at me like I have just killed her cat directly in front of her. “Do we look like Ikano?”

Never mind Ikano, you look like a bloody pole has been shoved up your arse. Is what I wanted to say, instead “No you don’t you look like an Oasis shop assistant. So, tell me, can you let me know how much is on my OASIS store card or not?”

“I’m the manager (bothered?). Is it a gift card”?

FUCKING HELL SUSAN NO IT’S A STORE CARD … “No no as I said it’s a store card, not a gift card, a store card, for your store, OASIS”

“Then no we can’t we are not a bank”

Beryl throws her half-eaten banana soreen at the legs of newly named Susan and with that we turn on our silver cross broken pram and march out.

On route to M&S we pass a waxing place. I won’t go in to too much detail but put it this way, there are parts of me that now resemble Sherwood forest. Whoever I choose to pay to go down there is gonna need an industrial hedge trimmer to sort me out. Until then, I could at least sort the brows. Problem is, as always, Beryl.

I push the door open dragging her pram in backwards. “Hi, could you do my eyebrows at short notice?”

Woman looks at me, at her and back to me.

“Yes, I can wax or thread, it’ll take ten mins”

“OMG you’re a life saver, obviously I have her with me, is that ok?”

“Only if she stays in her pram”

We look at Beryl. She has taken her legs over the top of the bar, taken her shoes and socks off and poured water all over herself.

“She won’t stay in the pram but I’m sure she’ll be very well behaved”

“Ermmmm”

“I tell you what”, I say turning back out of the door “forget it”

Me, my brows and a wet, half-dressed Beryl march off to M&S.

All I really need is pillows so that my sis and kids have somewhere to rest their weary heads. I get in the shop. It looks old and ratty. As does the shop assistant, name tag, Brenda. “Hi Brenda, can you point me in the direction of the home department?”

Without looking up B says “there isn’t one. You’ll have to drive to London Colney”

WHY DOESN’T ANYONE CARE THAT I AM AGAINST A SLEEP SCHEDULE? I mean calling it a schedule is slightly farcical given since she started nursery she refuses to sleep in the day in her cot atm but still, I am persisting, routine is key don’t they say? If by routine you mean losing my mind and dragging the pram for hours and hours of walking come rain or shine then yes routine is key. As a side note, why, given the sheer volume of steps I’m clocking up, have I put on 4lbs since moving down south? I now live on her meals which she either throws at me or on the floor. So essentially I’m on a baby diet. But still, on the pounds went.

Hang on a minute just laughing at what would be on my daily diet diary and let me tell you it simply wouldn't be baby food. I'm obviously getting that down with the help of vast quantities of booze, my own meals and a new addiction to digestives. Baby food my arse.

Anyway London Coloney. Well where the fuck is that?

Reading my mind “a 15minute drive from here love”

FORGET IT BRENDA my sister can sleep on the floor on a rusty old nail for all I care now. I’m done.

We walked back to the car park, saw a woman with a silver cross pram on the phone. I interrupted her, “sorry about me but can I just say, your lap bar looks bent like mine, how will you fix it?

Chic woman in on pointe (is that what we say now??? or is it bang on?) outfit replies “it’s meant to be bent in the middle so you can fold your pram down”

Of course, yes, I knew that. “Brilliant, thanks, just checking, ha what am I like, sorry, I’m tired it’s been one of them….

“Sorry, I'm actually on the phone and I have no idea who you are.

“Course”

With new found knowledge of unbroken lap bar thus saving me hours searching for one and driving to get it we practically sprint to the carpark and get in the lift to floor 4. A slightly bonkers woman walks into the lift (possibly given my manic demeanor no more bonkers than I) and says to Beryl aren't you a little cutie. Beryl shouts NO and body slams the pram with her water-soaked clothes and bare feet. 'It's best you don't look at her directly in the eye, she's feral'.

Out we get, walk through the door and straight into a huge sign which reads PAY MACHINE ON LEVEL G.

Middle class problems I know but who cares right now I officially hate my life.

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