We’ve come a long way

I needed to write something to make me feel better about the fat mother I’ve become.

I got thinking about how I used to be the pretty girl in a club in a slinky catsuit, strutting around, all eyes on me.

Now I wouldn’t get a second look unless it was one of those slinky girls telling me my primark label was sticking out.

Let’s face it, when you become a mother you change, I’ve gained weight-Infact I’ve put on the same stone I’ve lost and gained for two years. I don’t wear my hair extensions any more… Realistically I struggle to have the time to brush my hair, and my makeup definitely doesn’t get the time allocated in the morning as it used too and the fact I’m still wearing part of my maternity clothes is by the by.

But do you know who’s happier? It’s me now, not slinky catsuit me… Slinky catsuit me was out trying to find the man of my dreams so I could come home and be mama me.. Back then I was coming home to a cold bed waking up half dizzy and unfulfilled.. Now I wake up to a ginger fuzzy bloke next to me who I have to convince to let the dog out.. But you know, its love all the same.

Now when I wake up and go into my

toddler in the morning who’s missed me so much he squeezes my face and screams mommmmmmy…

Let’s be real, my photos don’t look the same, I didn’t have six hours to get ready for one photo, my chins show and the majority of the time I choose the photo my kid looks the cutest, but that’s just what being a mama is about.

So all I’m trying to tell you is, when you see that mama with just her concealer on her bags, the same joggers she had in her last photo and smiling rather than pouting trust me.. She’s happier, happier than she ever was at 9 stone in her slinky outfits.. I promise.


Can we speak about this for a minute

OK, I’m a nervous driver, I passed my test nearly a year ago, and I’ll be honest, I know pretty much NONE of the functions of my car – it’s hit and miss if we need the window wipers on, or the air conditioning, or even the windows down (who the fuck puts the window buttons in the middle of the fucking car?!?!)

My journeys include the 2-road journey to Oscar’s nursery, the 2-road journey to work, and the 2-and-a-half road journey to Maccies drive-thru #priorities

But recently, I was brave. I needed to take Oscar to an appointment which was around 15 mins away, and the roads are faster than 30mph so I had no excuse for being like a Sunday granny driver! Anyway, back to the story: the drive there went marvellous, I was singing to my S Club CD, I EVEN washed my windscreen mid-journey (was meant to indicate, but hey ho) so… To say I had a false sense of security for the drive home was fair…

So, we’re ready to go home, Oscar’s pretty kick-off-whingy, the cd is now changed to a new (but old) Destiny’s Child CD… I’m feeling a little ghetto, whilst singing along.
Off we go on the journey; I’m on a 40mph road, Oscar’s screaming and booting the chairs, my Destiny’s Child is up full volume to help me drown him out and to try concentrate… before I know it, I’m over 40mph, I’m like a wacky racer… That’s when I see it… Blue flashing lights – HOOOOO SHIT, I’M SPEEDING, THE POLICE ARE COMING!

I’M NOW FULLY PANICKING. But… Instead of my reasonable brain saying, “Beth, pull over”, my brain’s saying, “Shit, ghetto girl, do your thang, drive this mother-fucking car!” – I’d like to add, at this point I’m still actually only going at 40mph, but for some unknown reason I felt like I was doing 90; I was window wiping to indicate, pretty sure my water spray got some pedestrians, stalled umpteen times at the lights – ALL THIS TIME I CAN SEE THESE BLUE LIGHTS – but I keep looking forward, ‘cause if I look them in the eye then I gotta pull over… So I just keep going!
Anyway, I’m thinking of all the things I can say – “I didn’t see you”, “I didn’t hear you over Destiny’s Child” – “I’m actually in labour and rushing to the hospital” – But as I pull into my cul-de-sac, the blue lights disappear… I lost them… I outrun the police, The po-po… What a gangsta mama I am!

I get out, legs shaking, feeling somewhat proud. I’m about to get Oscar out the car when he boots the chair again… His mother-fucking Clarks shoes flash blue.


Mrs hinch’s lesser known sister

That’s what you can call me… Girl I might not know a minky from a normal 29p sponge from wilkos but let me tell you…. I cleaned my house tonight, I’m not talking a deep clean.. I’m not even talking a full hoover and polish clean. I’m talking… I put all my shit away.. Emptied a bin and zoflora’d the sides and whacked some smelly candles on (you know.. So that it smells like i cleaned better than I ACTUALLY did)

Mamas let’s be honest, some of us, we work hard.. We have a kid.. Or two.. Or six, we’re juggling the 3 different meals cooked on an evening AND DESSERTS.We have a part time job too.. And pets.. And laundry.. And sodding kids birthday parties every weekend.

So if your house isn’t grey… Prestine.. And picture worthy… And you baby wipe your sides instead of a minky DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. you ain’t HINCHED it.. You’ve Dempsey’d it. But that’s OK, you know why? Because I can guarantee it’s still liveable… And you’ve had a lot more fun making it messy.

My tips for events with toddlers

I mean… The first and most effective is.. Don’t go-with a close second of get a babysitter. However if neither of these are an option here’s my handy list to get through.

  1. A FULLY CHARGED IPAD WITH A SHIT TON ON, I’M TALKING MR TUMBLE RE-RUNS.. SOME BEN AND HOLLY AND A FEW EASY GAMES TO GET YOU THROUGH. but….. It needs to be FULLY CHARGED don’t half arse it, leave it on overnight for affirmity!
  2. BRIBERY SNACKS. forget the whole ‘one mini roll a day’ im talking a 24 pack and crisps on top… You want something good enough to lur them away from mischief but not so good that you eat it yourself OR people judge you (I. E you’re not allowed to bring chocolate cake with custard in a thermal mug)
  3. A dummy. Sure you were weaning them off it… Sure they havent had one. Since they were six weeks old….. But….. Yer’no in a church for a wedding or christening when your toddlers new word is ‘BITCH’ you need to make a wise choice. Wonky teeth or a dummy for a few hours… I know which I pick, those teeth fall out eventually
  4. A bag full of toys, I want you to feel like a magician pulling things out of a hat, that even you yourself are impressed by, I’m talking trains, pretend milk bottles, a doll perhaps even a rubix cube or two?
  5. Last but not least… An excuse.. A fully fledged and rehearsed excuse to leave-mine genuinely is ‘the dog has a dicky belly and don’t want to return to diarrhoea in my living room’ but… Feel free to change that round… Your cat… Your nan.. Your goldfish 😂

May the odds be ever in your favor.


For some time now, we’ve been finger fed information through health visitors, doctors, nursery about things to be concerned about. You know.. Just little tests to make sure our 12month old can walk…. Just a little check to make sure your 18month old can string together a sentence.. Just a little chat to ensure that you’ve not noticed any SIGNS in your child.


Infact.. So far I’ve worried about these milestones, these little quirks that my boy has, to the point every single itty bitty tiptoe walk me and gingy shoot eye contact with each other and go ‘did you see that… Did you see?’

We miss every amazing moment and only see these scary things that have been drilled into us by every professional… The second he begins lining up his cars and counting, rather than be amazed by his motor skills and his intellect.. We’re worried because he’s ticking another box.

Youtubing videos in bed worried that something could be WRONG with our boy.

But you know today.. It hit me.. WHAT’S WRONG WITH AUTISTIC CHILDREN? absolutely fuck all… Are those children any less happy? Any less loved? And in the grand scheme of things…. Does it really matter that much? Does it matter so much so that we should miss all these wonderful moments… To worry.

No…autism isn’t a deadly disease. Autism isn’t going to ruin every minute of every day, not unless you let it.And quite frankly, i don’t know if my boys on the spectrum, but whether he is or whether he’s not, I’m not about to miss another wonderful moment, worrying about it.

My Boy is perfect,just like every other child in this universe.

The unspoken

Buying matching jumpers,

the moment I tried to convince myself to get excited for Oscars new brother or sister.

The moment that I’d finally settled with the idea, that no matter how much of a shock, no matter how poorly I would be, and no matter what expense that it came too, that we were going to keep the new life growing inside of me.

Those same matching jumpers that started off my excitement for my new pregnancy… Also broke my heart at the end of it.

That’s the thing isn’t it, I didn’t expect my pregnancy to end, why would I, I’d given birth to one healthy baby and even though I’d only known for 5 short days, it was 5 short days of throwing up and discussing how our lives were going to change, eyeing up prams, big brother t shirts and matching outfits .

The early days pregnancy bloat, gave me the vision of how I was going to look 5months in.. How round my belly was meant to get and how I would feel feeling for kicks.

In those short 5 days I’d already made a list of names and an appointment for an early scan to see my new babies heartbeat.

And then it begun.. The bleeding. The miscarriage. The unknown.. Will I bleed alot? , will I be in agony,? could I be one of the exceptional cases where the bleeding is nothing and the baby is still fine. Its soul wrenching, even as someone who wasn’t sure about my pregnancy it still broke my heart to lose something so precious.

But this is a reality for 250,000 women a year, and it’s something that needs to be openly discussed and shared.. There’s needs to be a better support network, there’s no shame and no reason to keep quiet.. A loss is a loss and should be treated accordingly.. So mamas if you’ve lost a baby 1…2 days or 6 7 months.. Just know that there’s always someone, you’re not alone… Just look at me.. With my 2 jumpers.

A shit situation

As a mother we learn to adapt to things… For instance going to the toilet, when I go to the toilet I bring Oscar upstairs, shut the doors to everywhere except the bathroom and his bedroom and let him roam whilst I go about dropping the kids at the swimming pool…. If you catch my drift. If you don’t… I mean shitting.

Anyway, this day was like every other EXCEPT I needed a few coffees to gtt started, rather than just the one, you know been as I’d been up in the night clambering down the stairs with my eyes half open working out which devil toy has got low on batteries and decided to sing a mumbled version of humpty dumpty! Anywho back to the story… So… My few too many coffees gave me a little bit of a dicky tummy, in my,how shall I word this….urgency to get the toilet I forgot one fatal move, to shut the spare room door.

The shits flowing quicker than liqueur at a stag do, and I can hear my new foundation making a trumping noise… The noise when ur at the end of your tube, except… Its a new tube.. Note my panic, I either run for the makeup and shit across the floor.. Or deal with the makeup aftermath, then low and behold the fucking door knocks… Its my zara order, I shouted through my open bathroom window to leave it at the door in which I got… ‘I need a signature’ so now ffs, I’ve grabbed the child under arm, covered in foundation, crampy crampy tummy… Got to the door…. Signed and…. SHIT. yep.. I clearly hadn’t finished.

My bedroom is painted in a lovely porcelain foundation, as is my child.. And me… Iv got shitty knickers. Happy Monday. Sometimes coffee isn’t the answer.