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.

A trip to the hospital.

Firstly let me tell you… It doesn’t matter how poorly your child is.. They can be clinically dead and I promise you that when you see a doctor they’re tap dancing with a giant smile on their face. Or is that just mine? Makes me out to be a gigantic liar…. I mean I tell the doctor how Oscars not eaten and won’t eat anything I offer? What does he do? He tried to eat the stick the doctor shoved in his mouth to check his throat. *eye roll*

Then comes what I was expecting ‘I’m sorry mom but we think Oscar needs to spend the night in paediatrics’ and then the killer line that no toddler mom wants to hear….. EVER.

‘and we’re going to need a water sample’

Handing me a pot that I struggle to piss in without it going on my hands… Never mind a sodding toddler. So it begun…. When the nappy first came. Off…. We were nervous.. Like REALLY FUCKING NERVOUS. it was like a pass the baby time bomb.. Who’s about to get sprinkled first? And to add fuel to the fire he was on a Rehydration challenge 10ml of water every ten minutes… It was like a really tense game of buckaroo.

The first hour comes and goes.. And you know I’m kinda wishing this tense game could be finished…we start googling tactics, who’s gonna hold the little pee pot, maybe we should run a tap? Foot in cold water?

We get to hour 4 by this point I’m making him down cups of water like an 18 year old on jager bombs.. We get to HOUR SEVEN. By this point he’s running round the ward.. Todger out with me giving zero fucks… I’m giving up, there’s something clearly wrong here and without being rude.. I don’t give a flying shit when I’m running on no sleep.

Me and my mom get into a conversation about something boring and irrelevant and walahhh…. The kid only went and pissed on the floor. The devastation was real, I tried everything to scoop piss into that pot, imagine me.. On my hands and knees on a hospital floor trying to SCOOP baby piss into the tube. I dunked a spare bib I had on me into it, and tried to SQUEEZE the piss into the tube. And what happened while I was doing that? In came the nurse… To say she looked abit disgusted was an understatement.. But in the same breath I can’t help but feel she’d have done the same thing after watching her child intently for 7hours waiting for him to piss.

Masterchef momma

It begins at weaning. We start to question what’s best… purée? Baby led?

We start obsessing over salt intake, Ella’s Kitchen becomes a big household name – ORGANIC, ORGANIC, ORGANIC!

And it begins so well, doesn’t it? They gobble down your vegetable muffins that you’ve baked especially, they eat a generous portion of your freshly cooked spaghetti bolognaise, and wash it all down with a fruit-infused water. Marvelous. You’re basically Nigella Lawson!

But they’re giving you a false sense of security ladies… honestly!

What happens when it goes tits up? (I’m looking at around the one year mark).

Let me tell you… You cook.. You slave… You work harder. More meal ideas, more meal planning… Freezing, bulk cooking… and….. They throw it on the friggin’ floor.

You try the next portion; something different, a little sweeter (in a totally organic and not-sugary kind of way) … For it to be spat all over the highchair tray.

“Perhaps it’s this meal”, you think, “they mustn’t like it. I know: I’ll go for the GO TO meal… Cheese and potato pie. Because, for sure, after a night of little food he’s gonna fancy a massive portion of that mashed potato cheesy goodness!”

WRONG! Suddenly, everything has changed. Food has changed. You get a little desperate… You try a handful of those naughty high in salt Wotsits. They gobble them. Result. Maybe a slice of toast? And again… Shovelled in like they’ve never eaten.

This is it ladies; this is your life for the next best-part of six months!

What I’m trying to say is, if your baby- like mine- is going through a fussy phase… Don’t stress, it’s normal!

If you’re giving cereal for tea, or you’re only managing to get two bites of real tea in, before filling them up on yoghurt, or a banana, or basically anything that wouldn’t count as a “proper tea”… Don’t beat yourself up!

Stock up on Weetabix, crumpets, Wotsits… And enjoy your time off from being “Masterchef Mommy”!
Soon enough they’ll be back to eating you out of house and home, I’m sure.

Edited by Rebecca Wright. The angel!

But I wanted glitter, fairies and dolls… Not tractors and fart jokes

It’s magical isn’t it, having a baby, growing the tiny little seed from your belly button into the tiny little dictator that demands biscuits and milk at 2am.

But we have an image don’t we? We see ourselves with our babies long before they arrive, picking out little outfits that will suit them, imagining a little girl tugging round a mini Henry hoover behind us. Matching pink converse with our own. Total mom goals. So when that gets blown out the water, at probably the most hormonal stage in our lives (minus the menopause those bitches are crazyyyyy! ) then why is it seen as totally wrong to be disappointed?

My friend today said she wanted a girl and would be silently disappointed if it were a boy. She’s not even pregnant. But you know what… I get it. I was like her. I wanted that mini me, tutus, ballet lessons and what did I get? I got Oscar. When I found out I was having a little boy the first thing we did was go shopping, let me fucking tell you, boys clothes ARE SHIT and boy did I cry whilst looking at those stupid fucking paw patrol tops and batman flashing shoes. Was it rational that I was screaming crying in hysterics whilst clutching a pink floral dungarees? Probably not to some, but I was grieving for the idea that I’d had in my head since day dot.

I couldn’t imagine baby fucking blue plastered everywhere, infact I told everyone NO BLUE!

GUESS WHAT? when that baby got here..I did not give a shit that he had a little winky, nor that he was gonna be swaddled in blue, because gender disappointment ends the moment that baby is put on your chest, I promise. So if you’re like me, and cry in next, and wanna punch anyone who says ‘boys are more loving’ that’s cool… It’ll pass.

P. S the fart jokes and cuddles don’t get old