Skip to content

Tag: motherhood

Motherhood – not quite what it says on the baking tin

About six months ago or more I bought a Peppa Pig cup cake pack from T’co-op. I saw it, in between the cheese aisle and the wine aisle and I had a vision: There was me in my kitchen, two ankle biters next to me on cute stools. We were all wearing matching novelty aprons. My eldest was cracking an egg into a giant bowl. My youngest was adorably licking the wooden spoon. Icing sugar filled the air as we all chuckled spooning the mixture into the cup cake holders. “Just think of the instagram pictures!” I thought! Just think. Well six months passed and I glanced at the packet between making mountains of toast and wiping arses and cleaning and laundry and drinking and the time never came.…

Leave a Comment

Why the mummy hangover is the worst hangover in the world

Why the mummy hangover is the worst hangover in the world It’s three o’clock in the morning and a man whispers into your ear the most erotic phrase known to a mum: “You promised you’d get up with them.“ What? What the F… Where am I? What is that noise? Is that a recorder? and….and… a tambourine? Who gave them those? I will find them and I will kill them. Why can I taste gherkins? and salt? What day is it? Is that a tattoo… Percy & Thomas BFF? Whose shoes are those? When did you get a fillet of fish? Why don’t we have painkillers in this house? What’s that smell? Oh…the…indignity!  I don’t get out much. I think I can count on my hands how many times…

Leave a Comment


All days he’s had a yogurt-propelling snotty nose and scrambled egg squelched between tiny sweaty toes. All of the screeches and screams tacky teething gels and nappy rash creams with all the go-to-fucking-sleep nights the fatigued and frazzled baby-Father fights and the live long days of exhaustion your long lost independent lives tantrums, and he-won’t-eat-his-bastard-food slights and you never wanted children anyway. But then there’s a moment isolated, suspended in your slack off Sunday where you see: with just one goofy, gapped grin the reflection in your next of kin it’s what you were both foraging for all the thirty plus years before and the cut-throat love throttles you like gobbling down a podgy gold watch and you see: for the first time this week his chimp-like rump his bitty belly portly and…



Recent Posts

Skip to toolbar