Holy Shit! The wind if so ferocious that Ruby’s ‘giant ‘thought it was sturdy’ Wendy House is flying around the garden madly, like i’m attempting to entice Circus clowns into my bubble, via pathetic Wunna tricks of ‘ooh laa.’ It’s like the Good Lord is FORCING me to live the Wizard of Oz. Like I don’t have enough going on right now. I’m waiting for this baby to hatch and well chasing a flipping plastic, giant, pink and cream, flying like a maniac children’s house is not my idea of ‘calm.’ It better not land of a witch because I really can’t be arsed today. Saying that, it might just land on me…which would probably bring on the labour, so whatever i’m happy.

I didn’t sleep a wink last night due to delicious back pains and all sorts of god knows what achey goodies. Made me moody when I woke, so I had a moan, text my mum with my moaning, grumbled a bit, then packed up my pity party, did my face, got dressed and championed the hideous weather with the lovely pig-tailed fruit of my loins (the one that DID ACTUALLY BOTHER TO COME OUT) and went on the nursery run. Unfortunately I ran over the neighbours plant pot, due to tiredness and not being able to look in my mirrors appropriately whilst reversing. I don’t know how I ended up on their lawn…but I did? Backwards! I heard a crash and new it was me, so i simply drove off, with a cringe face and a peek in my mirror. Luckily, it was just a huge blue plant pot that they had filled with beautiful flowers. It’s shattered now. In bits and all the flowers driven over. On the bright side, they’ll never know it was me and well hopefully they’re not bothered too much by the plant pot disaster. If they are, then they’re weirdos. I don’t like people who make mountains out of molehills over nothing. Unless, i’m doing it of course. Plus, you can’t shout at preggos in the rain. It’s rude and inappropriate when everyone has bad hair and i have a weight problem. If it’s brought up, i’ll just charming admit that i did it and state that i’ll buy them a new one…*smile-wink-smile-sorry face.’ They’ll let me off with a ‘no it doesn’t matter.’ Then I’ll waddle off, thankful that it was a only a plant pot and not a little old lady or anything…then celebrate the fact that I got away with it. (Awww…i’m watching a proposal on telly and it’s making me all emotional. I loved my last propsal. It was so romantic and meant so much. I want it again!! Haha. I’m such a massive sucker for romance. I loved being proposed to after 5 weeks and I had no idea it was coming. Even to this day, as bouji as I feel, i can’t believe he asked me…and so soon…and then we actually tied the knot 11 months later. There’s nothing lovelier than that moment when it comes to the man of your dreams, when he turns around of his own accord and asks YOU to be his wife. I always said our union was crazy because everyone thought it was so soon and no-one could handle it. But they weren’t living our relationship. By 5 weeks we were so madly in love and so connected that if he had asked me to be his wife in ONE WEEK, i actually would’ve said ‘Yes.’ I’ve always said that to him and it’s the absolute truth. I adore remembering it. Everyone thought it wouldn’t last, but here we are happier than ever, married, moving up in the world, enjoying our new life, closer than ever and with a son on the way…and a little daughter who we adore. BOOYAH! Magic! Well done us! We’re just two people who want the same things out of life. That makes a massive difference to us as a couple because a lot of couples aren’t similar, nor do they view the world through the same eyes..or even feel that connected. Keiran and I want the same things, the same result in all areas…and that is a BIG BIG thing, when it comes to unions and match ups by Cupid…who I used to swear was a drunk. You could even be married to someone and not have a strong connection. Even if Keiran and I weren’t married…our bond would be ridiculously and unconditionally strong. I was meant his wife and like he said the other day, ‘I just can’t imagine being with anyone else. I can’t imagine not having you as my wife.’ I love it. Brings a smile to my face.

Today, i’m in chill mode. Maybe i’m doing this whole ‘bring on the birth’ thing wrong? I’ve been active, happy and strong all the way through my last trimester. It hasn’t worked. If i stuff my face, lay on my back and do nothing whilst moaning…maybe it will alert my little bump into change and make him think, ‘Shit, what’s going on, i’m bored…i need to rock out of here to find some good time fun.’ He is a Gemini after all, they need ‘good times.’ Poor things not even born yet and i’m manipulating him. It’s different when you’re a girl and you have a boy, you feel like you are allowed to manipulate them a lot more than your little girl. I protect Ruby and her emotional stability with everything that I am and because of everything i’ve been through in life, as a little girl and a big girl. I don’t have her around anyone who picks on her, hurts her feelings…bullies her…or makes her feel inadequate…when she’s not. The younger years are super important because it establishes who she’ll be in her older years. I used to always have this argument with Pete, who would always use the ‘she’s too young, she 4 months old, she’ll not remember, by the time she’s 8 months old.’ But to me, who she is as an 8 month old, depends of how she feels as a 4 month old. I was right, she’s now 2 and going strong. She’s intelligent, well mannered and confident and every day is around really kind and super good kids. It makes a difference.

I guess I should use that theory when it comes to relationships. What you put into it in the early stages, mirrors how great or how well your  love will have developed in the later stages. But only put in the work if it’s worth it. If you’re dating a knob, don’t bother and you’ll know if you are, because you won’t feel happy and you’ll watch other girls feel and be treated better than you and wish you had the same. All girls know when they are not being treated the way they should be. Some put up with it. Which is wrong. Some don’t.

I actually read a Tweet by a 15 year old girl yesterday who said, ‘Some women respond to attention because they want to be wanted.’ I mean how clever is that little girl..ALREADY. I like her. She has brains and she has it DOWN. I can see an attention whore because i am one and well I use to be a tragic one. Now, i’m not so much a tragic one. I don’t pine for attention anymore or the need to be loved and because i have love and attention these days. When you have it, you obviously don’t crave it and act a fool to get it. I’m happy. So when I see pictures of grown up chicks, with Facebook statuses that make me cringe, due to them selling themselves far too short, i shake my head with disappointment, sit back on my throne and get on with my day.

Anyway, i’m off to stuff my face. I felt so ills-ville last night, but now i’m in my pyjamas and resting I feel great. I’m not doing ANYTHING today and why should any chick when she’s 9 months pregnant. I might watch Latinas shove each other on ‘Cheaters’ again this afternoon for cheap thrills and then indulge in a reality marathon of Towie, Housewives and Pregnant Teens. I hate the rain, i hope it stops. But whatever, life is good. Bring on the birth. But hopefully not until i’ve had my weave tightened tomorrow.

Ps/ My friend ‘Rach’ has woken up in Iceland this morning. It’s 2 Degrees warmer there than it is here in England, so she’s celebrating by treating herself to the Geothermal Blue Lagoon Spa. Great! Here I am chubby, stuffing my face and even hoping to end up in an ‘ass out’ gown, with my legs in stirrups, as I push a human out of my privates. My life is sooo wrong. Lol.

Good morning you dickie birds of jiggy! I almost got excited for a wee moment…(so to speak) because as I dropped Baby Ruby off at nursery, with the lovely ‘turning Glamour puss’ Donna, I thought I felt my waters beginning to BREAK. (Yippee! Hurrah! Bring out the banners!) Alas no. It’s all not that exciting. I actually just wee’d a tiny bit down my leg, due to a distinct lack of bladder control caused my preggoness. Sexy! I got all excited for nothing. But i think it’s almost time and simply because last night, when I was wondering around in a frilly lemon tank top, my slanty eyes and my vagina out, i felt ‘ouchy’ cramps, like he was intending on making an arrival shortly. I bent over the new bed, that Keiran was snuggled up in, cosied in white Egyptian cotton sheets, sort of like like dog in pain. It was kinda scary and exciting all in one. However then my lovely hubby laughed with an ‘Oh great, this the first night I get to sleep in my new bed, after months of having to sleep on the sofa, after waking up at 6am every morning and working like an exhausted dog and now we’re going to be in labour all the way though the entire night. Don’t get it on the bed.’  

The pain then eased off…almost as if ‘the bump’ knew Daddy needed a good night’s sleep before the circus of a newborn. Plus, I’m getting my weave tightened on Saturday at 1pm, in Doncaster…so if he could just wait until i have fabulous hair and a second spray tan, then i’d be happy toooo! I had lunch and coffee with my parents yesterday. We went to Farmer Copley’s Moo Cafe. My Father is friends with the owners, Robert and Richard Copley. We walked in, and immediately Robert screamed out with greeting delight welcoming us to his gaff. Then we had steak sandwiches…best steak sandwich i’d ever had! No word of a lie! love that place. Must go again. I enjoy that my folks know everyone who owns everything. We’re welcomed everywhere and i’m not sure why other than the fact that I have spendy parents and well they have…connections, connections, connections. I don’t know why they’re so happy to have us, but i’m grateful. It gets me in ‘circle privilege  when i’m up north…because I have London and Hollywood down to the wink! I’m loving Yorkshire life right now. It’s a great place to ‘do family,’ well…if you’re not celebrating Yorkshire the ‘chav way’ round. *Dunking my Digestive into my Earl Grey.*(One of my guy friends has just dumped his girlfriend and is now moaning because he’s madly in love with her. Erm..then why dump her you idiot? Boys really do need to man up at times. How does ‘that’s it i want to break up,’ translate as ‘I love you madly, please please love me back.’ Fears a sneaky bastard, but it’s always good to be brave enough to be able to say what you truly feel. That’s what women want. We adore brave men. And not those that chicken out of declaring love, or those that are too terrified to tell a girl that he loves her, without testing to see is she loves him back first. I think that’s why men have always delighted in me and simply because i’m really good and communicating and getting how I feel across and not like a slow sailing ship, but more like a bullet. Bad if I dislike you, but ace if i love you. I got my fairytale that way AND on the telly box.)

Anyway…I heard so much GREAT GREAT ‘can’t tell you anything about any of it’ news last night that i was simply over the moon, bubbling over with champagne froth of happiness. It’s crazy how happy you can be for yourself and people, when you hear things that you know makes them really happy. It was an amazing night of good news, which sort of followed an amazing night with Hubbilicious. We set up the new room last night and you should’ve seen little Keiran’s face. He just kept inside smiling and jumping up and down with excitement saying ‘I can’t believe I have a brand new bad. You don’t know how great this feels. No-one’s EVER bought me a bed before. I’ve always had to buy everything myself in life, or buy things for other people. This is amazing. Literally.’ I sort of gave him a ‘Welcome to The Wunna Family’ smile. I have a great family and my branch of development..as in my new little family is an even better extension of that. I love seeing people I care about filled with real happiness. He was like a happy little boy last night reliving his childhood. As soon as i left his tucked up in his brand new fluffy white sheets and turned out the lights, he fell asleep immediately. Oh and yes right now we DO have ‘his and her’s’ rooms! We’re traditional and modern all at the same time. Traditional when it comes to the love, romance, loyalty and way our roles work. Yet modern when it comes to style, manner, swag and material things. ‘His & Her’s rooms simply means we can tag team the children AND we can free flow from either room for sleep, cuddles, or sex whenever we want. It keeps it sexy. We’re both independent and love our own space. So it’s ideal for us. Apart from I have Baby Rubes in my bed, weeing, puking and donkey kicking me, whilst i’m pregnant. I love having her next to me for a cuddle when I wake. (God, i can’t believe that i simply piddled a little down my own leg this morning and thought it was my waters breaking. Annoyed!)

Yesterday was great. It really was. I got a bit moody mid afternoon due to my delicious hormones and basic preggo attitude problem. I think I was cold and when i’m cold i’m grumpy. I was walking around Junction 32, the outdoor shopping mall in Castleford and it was freezing. I made the foolish mistake of being 9 months pregnant, and thinking it was okay to venture out of the house without my bra on. Not to feel sexy and turn on the masses. But just because my bra hurt my boobies, I had just showered and tan, so i figured a throw on, no waistband, pink maxi dress would be perfect. Bra-less. Bad move. I officially became the weird fripple woman that teens made fun of. Don’t get me wrong, there was plenty of the wrong attention due to pokey out nipplage. But it just made me feel odd and self conscious. Weird really as i’d usually embrace a round of the ‘Fripples’. (frozen nipples.)

Anyway, this morning during the nursery run, I had a convo about what it feels like to be a woman, in comparison to a young hot girl. Donna, (who’s Ruby’s key carer) is turning all glamour puss by the day…and I lvoe that in women and I hope that I inspire that in most. She’s getting blonder each time I see her, she’s bought extensions, ordered new shoes, rocking a golden tan…and well even managed to get her lashes to stay on all night the other night! 10 points! We ended up talking about how awful it feels to be an oldie, when you go out to the club because you have to sit and watch young 19 or 20 something chicks, in their tight boobie dresses and booty shorts, with their tans and big blond hair, boobs and heels rock in and grab all the attention…attention that you once had.

I agreed that it can be hideous. However, y’know I feel sexy right now. I knwo I’m not as yummy as I used to be. But nothing is sexier than being 32, having wisdom, life experience, stories to tell, great sex skills , ooh laa, a Hollywood background, a stint on the telly and a great set of knockers. YES, there are times when I see a pretty girl and see watch every man watch her wishing they could be with her…even if you’re with a guy that’s means to only have eyes for you and it’s not nice, it makes you feel insecure and liek you needs to leave the vicinity promptly. Yet, if you can’t beat’em, join’em. I believe that just as older women are made to feel insecure by a young hottie p’totty. Young pretty girls also feel JUST AS insecure when they see a hot ass M.I.L.F. Boys love M.I.L.F’s. It’s the hot mummy syndrome that they can’t resist. They love to be cared for, think sex will be better and want a bit..always. The bad thing is that boys use young pretty girls for sex and boys, use M.I.L.Fs (well the ones with the good lives) for money. You have to be really careful. It works both ways so ladies work what you’ve got and flaunt your ‘sexy-sexy’. Girls are hot no matter what age. As are guys. It’s all about confidence, glamour and fabulousity. Men kneed to know how to treat a women and women need to know how to visually stimulate a guy. You’ve got to be in it to win it. Sit in ‘ too shy to flaunt’ corner, then you’ll be sat there crying into your rum and coke, as hottie number one, be she young or old takes your man. *Bronze here.*

This week is lasting ages!

Oh and to those of you who don’t know if i’ve had my baby or not. I really haven’t. I assure you, YOU WILL KNOW when i have, because there will be no blog during the labour and well i’m far too much of an attention whore, to not inform you of such an occurance.

Love you. Thank you for following my life.

Excited for the future. Married life rocks. Ruby is delightful. I feel sexy. Entertainment is going to be a blast. I can’t wait for the baby to make an appearance. I can’t wait to start the money making. I’m happy with where I am right now and looking forward to making each and every dream of mine come true! Booyah! Love it!

Good morning my sexy chimps of showgirl! The waiting game sucks. I’m not one who delights in the fact that I have to wait for anything, even though I am far more patient now that i’m a glitzy old bird in eyelashes. I’m ready to hatch, but my bump isn’t playing and the thing that terrifies me most is the simple fact that as of right now, I am NOT overdue. He’s not actually due out just yet and well if he’s my son, (I hope he is, ‘Helllooo Jeremy Kyle lie detector’) he’ll definitely be fashionably late to the party. Plus, he’s a Gemini…meaning he’ll be dipped in glittery showmanship via genetics naturally.  But yeah…what i’m actually terrified of… is the simple fact that if he doesn’t come out on time, or before his big date of ‘due’…then I’m going to have to go through the horrific act of the ‘sweep and stretch’ where some lady that i’ve gotten to know during the pregnancy, will poke her fingers, (hopefully gloved) that she’s had her lunch time sandwich with…in my vagina and sweep them around inside me, whilst stretching it out angrily, in order to encourage my waters to break. It’s my worst nightmare. But i’ve told you this many a time. I am aware that most of you would think i’d delight in such an act, because i’m such a floozy. But let me tell you..it ain’t too pretty when it’s fingers that you don’t appreciate, know, or ones that you aren’t sexually attracted to. It’s like having a dodgy one night stand, but in the day, sober and with a middle aged woman.  Now that i’m a goodie goodie…i only want my hubby’s fingers tinkering around my body parts. It’s a safety mechanism. I don’t trust other fingers. I’m damaged goods, thanks to Hollywood. But yes, as lovely as midwives are, they’re not that lovely when they’re poking and stretching your vagina out…with sandwich fingers.

(I weirdly totally fancy Heinz tinned spagetti. Eww…how low budget of me. At least i’m craving champagne at the same time.)

It’s not even 10am yet and i’ve already told that I’ll never make a baker…because they have to wake up at 4.30am, to roll out pastry and they can’t wear eyelashes. EWW! Can you imagine! I’d be strolling into Cooplands, with a gin spritzer in my hand and staff, with rollers in my hair, glueing my eyelashes on, bronzing my cheeks, rolling out a pie in leopard print heels and a dusty branded apron on. FIRED. I had this conversation whilst dropping Ruby off at nursery. The other mums and staff must love me. ‘Here he’s my child. I’m irresponsible. Your turn.’ I’m a show to them and they eagerly await my arrival. Even the tiny babies like me because they think i’m a toy. Honestly, a 7 month old baby boy, looked at me and grinned like a Cheshire cat once his eyes caught mine. I figured he either fancied me or thought i was a toy? I’m going with toy, simply because I’m appropriate these days. He gave me ‘Hey, HEY, hey’ eyebrows. Champion. I’ve still got it, even though i’m fed up and HUGE. I’m huge, i’m really huge. I even stated how HUGE i felt to Keiran last night and what was my romantic hubby’s reply, ‘Yeah, sleep with me and you get HUGE. Oooh Salma Hayek’s gorgeous…’ (as he watched the telly behind my HUGE speech.) Lol. That’s Keiran for you. She is sexy though (when she’s thin…my school and also pregnant friend Ms.Sykes, pointed out that i would find comfort in Googling Salma during her weight gain..I did)  and well yes, not so great chubby, but in the movie last night, she had a beard. Any girl that can rock a beard and still look shaggable deserves a round of applause. GET ME THIN.

Keiran and I are both going on this mad track of wanting to summon our ‘ooh laa’ back once more.. I mean before, Keiran and I had ultimate power because we were STEAMY HOT.  You could gossip all you wanted and stare from your little peeky corner…but we celebrated love like Cloud 9 Victory Gods of romance (we’re still doing that) but most of all…we were SEXY FIT! And so sexy fit, that it was sickening. It would make boys trip over their willies and girls grow nipples that pointed the peaks off Everest.People don’t mess with the ‘sexy fit.’ So.. I need a waistline, we both need tans and we both want our hot bods and swagger back. (Look to the above piccie…I want that waistline…skip the nipple part…but the waist line…I want. Unfortunately and because i keep breeding…it’s gone walkies.) I’ve never been this chubby in my life, even the first time around, i didn’t hit this peak of chunka-wunka. I want budget spagetti now. I’ve depressed myself. And  I need to tan simply to look smaller. The darker the tan, the bigger the hair, the larger the bag you carry, the smaller you look girls. Remember I said that! *Wiggle-Wink.*

Oh! I also got called ‘Buddha, if he was a Hoochie’ this morning. Life is looking up. I’m getting back to the old me. This is what the Mums talk about at Ruby’s nursery AND she goes to a PRIVATE nursery, where everyone is meant to come from a certain standard of living. Pahaha.I love being a ‘hit’ with the mums. Each morning is filled with wit, banter and dropping our children off for others to school and care for.

So..the BED FINALLY CAME yesterday. It hasn’t restored my faith in delivery services, due to the fact that it was late, especially when the delivery man looked at my receipt and said, ‘oh this was meant to be an arranged delivery…that’s why it didn’t come on time, because usually we get them out to people straight away. Yep..there you go. Arranged delivery’ YEAH, I KNOW IT WAS AN ARRANGED DELIVERY. I arranged it for MONDAY. It’s fricking TUESDAY AT 5.30PM..after a TWO WEEK WAIT.’ But i’m gonna be positive. I have the bed and it looks delicious. Now all i’m waiting for are wardrobes…things are looking up. (I really do need a champagne.)

I’m excited for the birth. I’m looking forward to the telly shows hitting your telly screens. I’m really chipper right now, love and family are brilliant. Keiran laid on the sofa last night and said, ‘I feel really good. Our relationship is amazing. It’s perfect. I’m really happy.’ Hearing the man of your dreams say thatm when you’re not doing anything but being yourself is wonderful. I love LOVE. We honestly have the most amazing little family and we have ONLY known each other for just over a year and a half. So girls…you can and will find your Prince…even when you think it’s an impossibility and when propping up a bar and being sick off your hotel bed seems the only answer. (I did that lots. I remember how drunk i used to get out of boy sorrow. I was amess. Now, i’m a champion and i’ve never felt happier. I’m in a good place and it’s only when you’re in a good place that good things happen. I’m ready to make my dreams come true, no matter what. It doesn’t matter what people say, what you represent, or how you play. If you’re fabulous and have achieved everything you want in life and more…with more to come, then people can say whatever they wish…Your life will always be divine. YIPPEEE!!!

So, errand running has been a breeze and errand running has been a breeze because the BED STILL HASN’T ARRIVED! Argh! Incompetent delivery folk really do get on my nunnies. I want a pet Sumo Wrestler, so I can make him greet them at the door and wrestle them to the floor, whilst eating chicken drummers, until they apologise. ‘Yes, Christina. I 100% promise, especially since you’re 9 months pregnant, that your bed will be arriving tomorrow.’ It is almost 3 o clock. They have 2 hours to get it to me…Something tells me this ain’t going to flow as nicely as I need it to. At least I have headboards now. No bed. But a headboard, in fact two. Plus, I was told that my new wardrobes were to be coming tomorrow and now it seems they will be venturing to me NEXT WEEK. What is wrong with people?? Why say tomorrow, if you mean tomorrow of 2072. I guess it’s all about the sale and i make it quite clear that I will refuse to purchase anything that does not arrive promptly..I’m like that anyhow, yet when pregnant, the whole point is that I need to arrive before the baby does. I’m fuming!

Then to make it worse, I tried to be a do gooder and give my quilt to a recycling bin, but I couldn’t fit the goddamn thing into the giant metal slot. It was like trying to wedge my ego into a plughole. I heaved. I hoed. I moaned and roundhouse kicked my way, in dying hope to get that fucker into the tank. Nope. So, i hair-tossed, thought ‘bollocks’ and left it half in and half out…and went to buy chicken…that I wished was GIN.

I was hoping that i wouldn’t get told off by the quilt brigade on my way out, however luckily, some lovely being had shoved it in for me. (Yay! I love it when you’re rubbish at something, then someone comes and saves the day and does it all for you, in the correct manner. I can luckily blame everything on being pregnant right now, so I need to use it to my advantage around…bins? #sexy)

Anyhow, before errand running began, there I was all exhausted, but hanging in there and my mum came around to aid me headboard carrying. She was much calmer when I drove her into town now. She trusts my driving skills and well..it makes me feel goood. She deserves to get driven, instead of having to look after everyone all the time. My poor mum actually ended up having to watch the shop for the owner, whilst he tended to my heavy lifting for me. She always gets herself into those situations. No-one leaves me in charge of their stuff and simply because I have a face that  means trouble…even though i’m a delight.

But yes, before we left, Pete got SCREAMED AT by my Mother..for a good 25 minutes and I’m talking NINJA-HUBBA SCREAMED AT! It was actually really stressy, to the point where I had to leave the room and it was only down the phone. #yikes. So Pete’s been upset over the fact that he is being referred to as ‘Daddy Pete,’ instead of just ‘Daddy’ and Keiran…just Keiran.’ I knew it annoyed him, yet instead of confronting me about the issue, he decided to secretly train Ruby behind everyone’s back, so she will learn the way things need to be. Which includes her calling my mum…’Barbara.’ Ouchy! My mother LOST IT. Ruby is her entire world and she provides, lvoes and bends backwards and then some for her, which is more than anyone else, including myself even…does. Pete’s really lucky because he doesn’t have to pay for Ruby, he doesn’t have to see her when he can’t, or he doesn’t feel like it, he doesn’t have to do the sleepless nights, the disciplining, the educating…the having her over, the paying child support, or contributing to the £800 a month nursery fee. Making his role…less powerful. My mum put him back in his place, lets say. You never want to get on the bad side of a Wunna.

Surprisingly, he actually brought up the ‘Daddy Pete/Keiran’ thing and well my mum stuck up for Keiran like he was her life, her son, her world! All i heard as I sat on the steps like a little girl was ‘HE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO BE CALLED DADDY. HE DOES EVERYTHING FOR HER. HE LOVES HER. WHERE ARE YOU WHEN SHE CAN’T SLEEP, WHEN SHE’S GOT A FEVER, WHEN SHE NEEDS A CUDDLE… YOU’RE NOT ANYWHERE! YOU CAN’T BE RELIED UPON. HE’S THERE FOR HER ALL THE TIME. HE HAS EARNED HIS TITLE AND WELL IT’S JUST THE SAME AS YOU’RE SITUATION. YOU CALL YOU’RE MUM & DAD, ‘MUM & DAD’ AND THEY ARE NOT YOUR BIOLOGICAL PARENTS. YOU GET IT, BECAUSE YOU’VE EXPLAINED TO ME THAT YOU CALL THEM THAT BECAUSE THEY ARE THERE FOR YOU. RUBY HAS TWO DADS. HE IS HER DADDY AND YOU ARE HER BIOLOGICAL DAD.’ It went on for ages….and because my mu didn’t like the fact that Ruby called her ‘Barbara.’ (Which Pete taught her.) It’s more that just a title, or a name call. My mum literally does EVERYTHING for Ruby. She has the best of everything because of my mum and well Pete’s mum won’t even let Rubes stay over the night, let alone run around the world backwards just to get something that will make Baby Ruby smile for a second.

It was drama..and set the standard for the day. *Imaginary rum here*

Then there’s people on Jeremy Kyle, who i’ve chosen to litter my background noise, who are moaning because they once had sex with a guy in a car park and is now mad that he takes no responsibility for the child that was made during that distinct moment of romance 22 years ago. SHOCKER!  If you bonk men in car parks, then you can’t really complain that he is irresponsible, when you both we’re sort of irresponsible. The chances of him wanting to buy you the diamond and put a ring on it, are slim, when you’ve put out in a Punto, outside Netto..or wherever.You need to be more careful. Then to make it worse….he wasn’t even the dad and there were 3 other options. Jesus! And all of this as the 22 year old girl, sits in her chair in tears, because she doesn’t have a dad. I need a ticket off this circus of destruction. I might need to go into labour, just so I can have a brief lay down by myself. Yeah, it might be a hospital bed…but whatever…it’s a lay down innit. An ouchy lay down, but i’d have much more peace than I have today. Where’s my BED!!

Oh! THEN I randomly glance over my online bank statements to find out that Specsavers have been taking TWO DIRECT DEBITS OUT OF MY ACCOUNT. Lol. Could today get any better! I might as well pull my frillies down and kicked up the arse by a big old leather boot. I called them and the lazy insisted that it must have been a mistake on my part. She looked. It wasn’t. But ofcourse the correct person i need to speak to is not in, meaning she had to take my number and call me back. That famous line that ends with no help at all. UGH! I’ll be calling them in a week, if I remember. So remind me.

No bed, no wardrobes, double money gone, bad telly options…massive stressy shouting…Lord Knows what’s next. How can I get through this sober?? I need to relax, I feel ultimately stressed. I enjoy how delivery folk state that if you are not in when they call to delivery your good, they will charge you £20 each time they have to reschedule. That’s a laugh. How about ME charging THEM £20, each time they fail to make a delivery date. I would’ve already made almost £100.

Today is ridiculous…and my fake tan tanned one hand dark mental brown, whilst the other chills in ‘medium.’ Splendid.

Craziness! I’m bush -whacked. (No..not in the exciting way, I simply mean knackered.) Pete had Rubes over last night until late. Never a good idea, because Ruby is the child who embraces her inner ethnic when it comes to bedtime and needs her full 8 hours sleep. She loves nothing more than a bed time to ‘Cinderella.’

Anyway, he hangs out with her last night, it goes passed her bed time, she literally doesn’t fall asleep until 11pm (madness) and then low and behold, she has bad dreams all night, followed by a dollop of extreme moodiness, due to tiredness all morning. I had to leave her at nursery this morning kicking and screaming, with ‘Diva’ tears pouring out of her eyes. Pete’s sort of decided to spend more time with her because he fears that Keiran is taking his place as ‘Daddy.’ The thing is…how a little girl sees a man, is pretty much based upon how much the man invests in her emotionally. I’ve said it millions of times. She does call Keiran ‘Daddy’ and she herself has chosen to award him with such a label because he’s the guy that always there for her, when she wants to play, when she needs a cuddle, when she’s poorly, when she’s grumpy…everything. He’s done the sleepless nights since she was 5 months old and earned his title and connection with Ruby…and in HER OWN mind.

Obviously, Pete isn’t going to enjoy the idea that Ruby calls another man ‘Daddy’ even though she also refers to him as ‘Daddy Pete’ so is now on a mission to alter the happy family, so to speak. The biggest thing you can offer your child is love, guidance , attention and time. A once a week ‘I’m your Daddy’ time when you are free to spend all the time you wish with her, is not going to ever slam dunk, the amount of adoration she gets from Keiran. So,last night when she comes home far too late, and is grumpy all morning, it sort of made me upset that for the first time in a long time, in months she came home and called Keiran…’Keiran.’ She never does, unless she has gone to Pete’s and well it’s all because the last time he dropped her off, she looked at him, during the drop off and said, ‘I just want my Dad.’ Like a dagger to the heart…but no-one’s fault but his own..it hit him hard…so now, he’s attempting to muscle in..in the quiet Pete fashion, where no-one knows he’s actually muscling in. Keiran, Rubes, ‘Le Bump’ and I have such a perfect bubble going on right now it’s shouldn’t, but it makes me feel like he’s interfering with our perfect foundation. Keiran was upset, I was upset, Pete’s probably upset, yet we all hold calm, smiley faces in order to make sure that the little glitzy bit of Ruby never knows any different and makes her own mind up about the situation, when she comes of age. Keiran isn’t like a Step Dad to her. To her, Keiran is her Father.

Rant over. You can tell i’ve had no sleep, i’m getting bitchy, like my boobs. Saying that, a bunch of you found this site by Googling the terms, ‘Yoga my arse,  Greatest way to masterturbate &  boobie woobies.‘ That is my life summed up into phrases. I’m obviously moving up in the world. When will I hit stardom? When will I be wallowing in millions?

So, I have errands to run today. The *bump* doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to hatch. I’m not going through any contractions or scares at all really. I’m just waddling around like a fatty. It doesn’t even feel like i’m about to go into labour anytime soon. UGH! I have been promised by shitty delivery people that MY BRAND NEW BED, will be delivered this afternoon. It was meant to ‘definitely’ come yesterday. Says it all really. I’m annoyed. VERY annoyed. But whatever, if it makes a jolly appearance this afternoon, i’ll be happy. They’re calling me an hour before it’s arrival, which means i can get on the rest of the day, as I have headboards, home accessories and all sorts of jiggery pokery to tend to. I’m exhausted today, so i’ll be scowling all the way through it. (UGH! I SO NEED MY WEAVE TIGHTENING. I can’t think.)

Keiran got attacked my an ant infestation this morning at 6am. That must’ve been fun. That was going on downstairs in Wunna land. Upstairs, I was getting smacked in the face by a toddler, who needs another hours kip. He hadn’t emptied the bin in ages..which is bad because i’m a ‘thrower outer,’…so ants thought they’d come and picnic in our junk. He soon cleared the whole thing out and fought them off with sprays, karate chops and Army moves. Looks great now. Ants do my head in, but only when they come in ‘lots.’ I hate anything that comes in ‘lots.’ It creeps me out. (Apart from love or money. ) The hubby and I are still wonderful and ever playful. We’re having a really good time with one another. Yet his work is knackering him and my pregnancy is draining me of ‘ooh laa,’ right now. However, it’s not knackering him enough to refrain from rubbing my sore nipples. I keep telling him that they are sore and prepping for the baby, which gets him excited and makes him need to ferociously RUB THEM. MEN! ‘No,’ means ‘Yes’ and ‘Yes’, means ‘No,’ with them. At least i’m terrifying him with the art of being domesticated. I won’t be today however, because i’m exhausted. He’s plonked ‘get me envelopes’ on my ‘to do’ list today..with a wad of cash for them. I need a  sleep. I need a rub down. I need everything to go right now and i need this bumpa-lumpa to hatch.

My blog hits haven’t been as high this week. I mean, they’re still alright but it seems you don’t like me rambling on about love and pregnancy. I’m bored of it toooo…give me a labour. Yet i have noticed..and this part is annoying, if I post a picture like this:

My blog hits stay steady or low.

Yet if I post a picture like this:

The ‘hits’ smash the roof down with a KAPOW. Annoying innit!

In my mind for any other kittens going through a similiar problem…the idea is to ‘hit’ a happy medium…so celebrate you the best way you can…sort of like…this:

Anyway, i can’t be bothered to tinker the typos anymore. I’ve got weave curling to tend to. What a hard life!

So! I’m happy to have the hubby home. It’s delicious, he’s gorgeous and every common glamour puss enjoys the company of such a lethal combination….especially when you are married to such. (I’m enjoying his rough undone hair and tanned face. Gimme! Gimme! It’s made me home spray tan in celebration.)

I’ve nested, i’ve cleaned, I’m moaned, giggled and mooched about for a wee kitty while. I’ve been excited about this whole bed delivery that was meant to be occurring this afternoon and low and behold, what a fucking surprise ( *Gin here*,) it hasn’t arrived, had no intention of arriving and after a few angry preggo phone calls, it will now apparently be making a delivery appearance tomorrow and ‘for definite’ according to their head office. We’ll see! I want the bed and I want it now. Delivery people suck. Why can they never make it to me on time. If it doesn’t appear tomorrow, there will be fisticuffs and phone tantrums. Knowing my luck, i’ll go into labour during the madness. But whatever, the bed is fully paid for, we’ve been waiting for this moment for a couple weeks now and well…it’s not here. Do your job..get it to Wunna land.

So, now that’s sorted and my Mum and Dad came around to tend to Keiran and his poorly knee. My Daddy used to be a orthopedic surgeon and Keiran has a dodgy army soldier knee that he needs help with. They came to care for him and bring us both an electric massager, that I can’t actually use  HURRAH. (You can’t use ANYTHING when you’re preggo. It’s devastating.) They also bough Ruby a new chair and table to…well just have. I’m thoroughly grateful to have such wonderful folks, but it’s hilarious because as i’m trying to throw things out,new stuff keep coming in…making my job futile…but glitzy and with boobs. Typical.

I mean for ages now, i’ve wanted to clear the kitchen out, as we literall yhave everything dumped in it. I’ve finally gotten around to do it, yet my thoroughness has terrified my husband. Before..and probably when he thought it would never get done, he was all ‘Wife, clean this all up, throw it all out, clear it all out. I need space.’ Now that I have…(and i’ve done a rather crazily amazing job at it. Like i’ve always told you, i’m ace at throwing things out. I’m not clingy and i don’t keep receipts from 1982 incase one day it may come in useful.) Anyway, today I threw almost EVERYTHING out. EVERYTHING. Boxes, paint, bullshit here, crapola there and Keiran got all nervous,like I was stripping away his soul. Lol. He’s turned into a hoarder and i’ve turned into a maniac. So now he can’t handle the fact that i’ve thrown it all out. It’s un -nerved him and all I’ve heard from his is ‘Why?why?’

I just looked at him and explained that it had to be done because it was all shit, I want it all out, we have a new baby on the way and well I want a dining table in the kitchen. He looked terrified and said ‘When? Why now?’ JESUS! I simply and strictly said, ‘NOW.’

I’m not playing, it’s all going ‘heave-ho.’ He’s quite attached to his stuff, so i haven’t touched anything that belongs to him. However, that now means everything that is littering the place now only belongs to him. There are boxes and well all sorts of nonsense just plonked anywhere, in the living room, bedroom, kitchen…including a flipping BIKE that doesn’t even belong to either of us in the kitchen…and well now that i’ve cleared all my stuff out, it has underlined how messy all his stuff is. I like it. Now he can’t do the ‘You’re messy’ speech at me…Even though it’s annoying it’s good to date boys that need to keep hold of things and simply because when they can’t face throwing things out, it means they are clingy. When they are clingy, it means they are of a personality where they will not find it every easy to throw YOU out. I’m dangerous…and well my past has proved my theory. When I mean business…i mean business. I’m tolerant until a point, then it all flies curbside if i feel it needs to be. I’m loving our relationship right now. It’s perfect. i just wish we were wallowing in our millions already, so that we had the space, the enjoyment and the ‘yipppeee’s’ that we want in life. We’l get there. I’ve promised myself that after this baby, the dreams coming true game is ON.

I want the mansion, the life, the career, the everything  and well we’re almost there. We can do this…and we’re doing it together as a family.I think we’re lucky and fated to be together. I’m currently waiting for both of our tv shows that we’re on to air. Neither have yet and keep getting pushed back or have no air date yet. They were meant to air at the beginning of the year, then they got pushed back to Spring and well now it’s Summer. It’s so annoying and i’m terrified that they won’t make it onto your telly boxes…but they will, when the time is right. The shows are too good to not.

I’ve just completely a bit of moaning and demanded kisses. I can’t carry this bump around ANYMORE. COME ON SON! I’m watching ‘Real Housewives Atlanta…’ (My fave show) and i’ve just spray tanned out of boredom. I want to look glammy during labour and well i’m oddly pastey right now, which is hardly the way to rock up to a full on baby birth. I mean I even have my full on half head hair piece at the ready that i’ve named ‘KoKo.’ (Don’t hate.) If you have a hair piece and you’ve failed to name it, you’re not a Queen of Glory. I was initially going to name Baby Ruby…’CoCo.’ Yet everyone telling me that it was far too stripper…i refrained from doing so, but I do adore the name. Pete didn’t like it, so we went with Ruby, my favourite gem stone and the colour ‘red.’ Now my lucky hair piece has been named ‘KoKo’…so i’m delighted…life is good. (My weave is still baggy.)

So, tomorrow, i’m sorting out headboards, wardrobes and bed deliveries. I’m happy but on my veyr very last legs. This bump is too much for me now and i am dying for a champagne. NOW.

This was just a quick blog to report my life to ya. I love you, I miss ya…and well thank you for following my life.

Please do send me ‘Bring on the birth’ vibes. I do not at all want to go overdue and simply because that whole ‘sweep and stretch’ (where a stranger jabs their fingers in your ‘lady part’ terrifies me.)

Morning all! I’ve completely disappointed myself. There I was…being part of the world, representing my piece of life, as a contribution to the history of the universe and what did I find myself doing, after PROMISING my soul that I wouldn’t even EVER consider such an alarming act of disgrace. I found myself, in the name of ‘nesting’ on my hands and knees, full face on, hair in an updo, flipping SCRUBBING the GODDAMN upstairs bathroom floor! UGH! I’m so disappointed in myself. Like that moment has got to be one of those moments where i know that i’ve officially hit rock bottom.

I’ve just dropped Ruby off at nursery, (she didn’t fancy it today due to Keiran being home, she’s rather flirt with Daddy all day and read ‘Cinderella’ with him that learn her A,B, C’s today.) Anyway, i told them how I had fallen over to the dark side and let pregnancy beat me down to the point where I found myself floor scrubbing, in order to organize and cleanse my ‘nest’ for the arrival of ‘le bump.’ Donna…who’s Ruby’s ‘Key carer’ explained to me that it really wouldn’t be long now, as she had a floor scrubbing break out and out of nowhere she was legs in stirrups pushing a bambino out into the world. Then Lisa the owner, claimed that she was disappointed that i hand’t thought of some kind of cunning ‘Wunna’ scheme to rock into labour already during the weekend. She then asked if I actually scrubbed the floor in my ‘glamourous face.’ (I like that I have lots of faces, a glamourous one, a maungey one, a happy one, a sly one, a sexy one, an angry one…the list is endless, yet divine. I keep each face int he fridge by champagne and decide which one I fancy after coffee.) I explained to Lisa how disgraced I was in myself for being so domesticated and then assured her that I completely wore my whole entire, fully lashed face. I remember that I was pissed off because I didn’t do it tanned. I’m that tragic. Leave me. I’m pregnant. I don’t actually remember going through a ‘nesting’ phase with Ruby because I was working so much. I honestly SWORE down that i would NEVER be BENDING DOWN, unless God had place diamonds on the floor, let along bending down and scrubbing a floor for no other reason than ‘having a baby’ and madness. Keiran loves it. He’s delighted that i’ve become do ‘Domestic Goddess.’ It’s shocked him and I don’t think he can quite believe his eyes. I accidentally got a lot done yesterday, which made hin ‘WHOA’ with confusion when he returned from his long shift at work yesterday. His ideal version of ‘perfect housewife’ glowed at him with delight. I think all this maddness has occured because I can’t see my ‘privates.’ I need to be able to see my vagina and then once I do, I’ll remember who I am, what I am, what I represent and what my purpose in life is. Until then…i’m here..sorting out clothes, scrubbing floors, gussets and my dignity away with one harsh heave-ho of elbow grease.

I let myself down yesterday on ‘chill day.’ Chill days are meant for shopping, laying around and massages. Not thinking, ‘ooh what i can do around the house.’ EWW! I need to make sure i’m not left to my own devices during this time. I’m going bonkers. I’m scrubbing door handles and double washing clothes that i keep thinking has stains on? I have OCD. It feel terrible. I think i need a ‘Pass-out’ rum. (That#s a rum that you think will make you shimmie, but you’ve had so much of it that it simply makes you pass out. You’ve all been there. It sucks.)

Ruby is as happy as can be. A bit of a snotty nose, but loving life right now. Keiran’s turned the living room into a man cave. The black curtains are closed and the telly is on, as he is naked under thick quilts and blankest with 3 pillows fast asleep. He’s gobbled up 5 crumpets, a tea and a bowl of Fruit and Fibre. He worked his little arse off over the weekend and well yesterday he we texted each other almost every few moments. It was cute etxing because now that we’re married, we never ever do, unless it’s to inform the other of something important, like a nursery run, or a question about an invoice, or tea. Yesterday we texted like we were dating again. It was cute, like when we first met and fancied each other. It sort of added ‘le spice’ into the relationship once more. Not that anything can be done about ‘le spice’ right now…sitting on willies is currently quite far from my capabilities. I can’t put my socks on, or get up off a sofa without a crane and a moaney face. This bump is officially huge. I’m in the stage where I need to walk around naked in order to feel free, but  can’t because I’ve stupidly ordered so much stuff on line that all my deliveries are deciding to come today…including a bed. It’d be a bit of a shock for them really to have me, with my nipples out, attached to zulu warrior boobies and a giant alien bump with a smile at the patio door, beckoning at them with a cuppa tea in my hand. I want my nails doing and I don’t know if i’m allowed. Am I? If you’re a preggo message me pronto.

The good thing is that my mum has taken a 2 week leave off work to adore me during this last bit of preggo time, when I could go into labour. I love that. It makes me feel loved. I’m getting really excited about it all, yet very aware of the actual pain that i’m going to have go through to receive the victory cheer. *HURRAH* (Not.)

I’m having an epidural, well intending on having one because i’m certainly to posh to push and well i’m keeping myself occupied liek no other. I’ve out, about and running all sorts of insania errands that a 9 month old preggo shouldn’t even be considering. You have to or you’ll go mental.I’m also hallucinating…which i’m finding bizarre. Maybe i’m not even pregnant and i’ve just eating all the pies and popped a bunch of pills. Tomorrow i have wardrobes to collect and well all sorts. Save me from myself. Bring on this birth. (I’ve taken my bra off. Fuck it. It killed. I need freedom and my Miss.World wig.)

I want to decorate my whole entire home and I need to do it right now until my waters break and I have a son. Why hasn’t he come yet? I’m not overdue, but if he doesn’t come soon, i’m sure my ‘whoop-dee’ will turn to stone.

Ps/ I enjoy that my morning has turned into me suggesting that @HannahTapDances (Wazza’s lovely lady) turns her beautiful, fairy lit shed into a Santa’s Grotto at Christmas. My exact quote: (After she praised me with a ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘You see a beautifully lit garden shed. I see a *grab everyone’s child, stick Wazza in it as Santa and charge them extortionate amounts  to sit on his knee for a pressie.’ 

Then she told me that I had to be the elf…(I did used to be a grotto elf, it wasn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be.)

(Their fairy lit outhouse.)

PPS/ I also wrongly handed out Man Points’ to my dear friedn Blond Emma’s Hubby to be, who’s Facebook status displayed undying love for his beautiful wife to be. (His comment list was filled with notes from his guy friends calling him a ‘Bender.’ ) Anyway, i thought i’d give him a little encouragement, as I adore a bit of romance and well Blond Emma deserves it. I was further told that he only plonked up lovely romantic stuff, due to the fact that he had just got into trouble with the darling Emma, so he was attempting to redeem himself. It’s a good way as all girls adore public displays of affection. However, I’m all about tough love, so I took his points away and stated that he needed to gift her with a very expensive material object, that quenches her taste for luxury..with flowers. #girlpower I mean, look at Keiran. He’s got the act of ‘flower giving’/expensive gift giving’ down now. It works.

Happy Sunday folks. For those of you who managed a church trip. A round of applause to you all. For all of you nursing a shitty hangover…a thumbs down and another rum and Bloody Mary to ya! (In LA every Sunday the bars and brunch cafes were littered with ‘Young Hollywood’…a team I was very much part of at the time and this was by noon, if not before. It would be blistering hot and you’d see all the same people you saw the night before, or even people you never ever saw, but everyone sort of knew each other. There were only around 3 or 4 cool places to go do ‘hangover brunch’ at …so your chances of bumping into everyone was high. It was Bloody Mary’s for everyone, as it was the only thing that was kind of classified as ‘food’ that you could handle when feeling so rough. The good thing was the simple fact that it was Hollywood. You may have felt rough, but you would’ve looked AMAZING. If not immaculately perfect. It goes so much better with an egg white omelette or smoked salmon brunch in the heat. Over here in Yorkshire, no-one does ‘Brunch’…let alone bouji dolled up or tragico ‘player-player’ with Bloody Mary brunch. If that happened, ti would be a treat of some sort, where it was the norm over there. The lifestyle is completely different and I think it’s down to the weather. Ain’t nobody wants to be in their glamour pussy outfit, sat in the rain by pies or a fry up., with a Bloody Mary. It’s just not the same. It lacks ‘Juuusghj.’ But I do love both and for what they serve and for what they represent to me personally. If you went to church today..well done. I’m not a church goer, nor am I very religious. If I was anything, i’d be Buddhist, because that’s how my parents raised me. They’ve actually ventured off to the Pagoda today, as it’s the day Buddha was born or something? Being Buddhist is beautiful, i love all the times that ive’ ventured to the golden pagodas both here and abroad. They really know how to doll a place up, in shimmers, glitter, flowers and gold. And there’ so something calming about having monks in orange robes bless you. I’m banned though. So i can’t go. Maybe in my next life.

What was I going to say? Oh..yeah…yesterday I shopped. Nothing new. Great day. Lots purchased. Eager to weirdly decorate and sort out the house which is normal during the last part of pregnancy. I’m about to have a baby when i start scrubbing the floors apparently. I can tell you now, i won’t ever be scrubbing the floors…like a loopy crack head. I intended to do a bit of cleaning up today, yet now it’s got down to it, i can’t be bothered. I just want to nest and eat pizza.

I will tell you that I weirdly bought loads of hair pieces yesterday. It’s all about hair pieces these days, i’m telling you. You get immediate ‘glamour pussy’ hair and well I’m rubbish at hair, so i’d rather plonk on perfect hair and wiggle my way to victory. Whilst I was in there getting fitted, Ruby managed to find a giant, long, Miss.World esque hair piece, which was quite wig like. She placed it on her head ( it went all the way down to her calves and was as giant as my ego) and she posed in the mirror, smiling like all her Christmas pressies has come at once. She adored it and when I saw her, I played along with her and giggled wit glamour. Then ‘Grandma’,,,my mother dearest yanked it from her pretty head stating that it was wrong. So the fun was over. I think my mum has actual real life fears that Rubes will grow up to be just like me. It terrifies her, as she wants her to be a doctor, or something prim proper and poshy. Ruby immediately started moaning at the fact that her Miss.World hair has been snatched away and then demanded to have a weave put in. #thatsmygirl I drew the line at such behaviour, with a ‘Babe, you’re TWO…no.’ (I enjoy that I can have adult convo’s with Ruby like she’s a chick friend, that I created.

I returned to sorting my own Miss.World hair out. I didn’t want to commit to it, simply because Keiran had dropped in the hint that he wanted me to have better hair and it half made me feel like I was just doing it to please him. Then I realized that I was ‘Chrissie Wunna’ and well this is what I do, I rock a weave, hair pieces, big hair and a strut regardless…and that’s just to go to bed in. I felt safe once more and well once I placed on the ‘half head’ piece I was SOLD. I went from a 5 to a 10 in a second. *Cha-Ching-Gimme-Gimme.* I intend to be super fit once i’ve had this baby. So fit, you hate me. *Wiggle-Wink.* Lord knows when he’s coming, as he’s far too snug as a bug right now. I mean ‘come on son..’ like really now. He’s not even born yet and he’s already being lazy. I thought he was meant to be a go -getter, as he’s going to pop out a Gemini…well unless he comes out before Tuesday…which I very much doubt. (I couldn’t be bothered to so squats. It’s not becoming. It’s evil and hurts my tree trunk thighs.)

Anyway, long story short…as I was organizing the payment for my hair pieces, Ruby who has strictly been denied a weave, behind my back charms the owner and after 7 minutes hasn’t got a weave, but HAS managed to blag herself a FREE hair piece herself to wear! My child is insane. Apparently it was a string of really cute, but really sad faces, with big eyes and appropriately purring at the exact times that conquered her the freebie. We both walked out with her. I paid for mine. Sweet Jesus!

So, today is CHILL DAY. But a terrifying chill day which pretty much makes the art of chill pointless. Lol. Pete picked Ruby up this morning EARLY. (Well done Peter. He either missed her, or will drop her off early today as a result.) I’m left all on my own, 9 month pregnant, ready to hatch whenever my son takes his fancy and well you’d think i’d be all looked after and adored. NOPE! Keiran is away working for the weekend. Back this evening. My Mum, dad and brother have all taken a Buddhist day trip away today and won’t be back until this evening either. So, if i go into labour…and I won’t…it doesn’t feel like i will…then i’m fucked. I’ll have no-one to call to take me to the hospital and i’ll have to have my baby on my rug, or something just as terrible. This is a key time, so i’m keeping everything crossed, especially my legs and hoping that there are no surprises, until someone is back and ready to tend to me. But saying that, doing it on your own must be very liberating and very personal. It’s the ultimate moment of girl power and you’d be at peace without people bustling around you. It’d almost be poetic….beautiful. Unfortunately that’s not how Wunna land ‘the circus’ works. Mine’ll be manic with Asians, Husbands, fluster, midwife and doctor galore. Last time they accidentally wheeled me into a door, whilst I was plonked in an actual  wheel chair. It was hilarious. Everything kept going wrong. I lived a ‘Carry On’ movie that day and night. I loved *boinging* into a giant wooden and glass door because the midwife didn’t she it in her panic to wheel me onto the  labour ward…with a camera following her. I pissed myself laughing, until she took my gas and air off me. Then nothing was funny anymore…well until I got better drugs.

All i’ve done so far on chill day, is look after Rubes, and have a bath. I’m nervous because chill days always go far too fast. One minute you can’t wait to enjoy your time alone and the next it’s over and everyone’s back, letting the circus begin with a bang. UGH! I could’nt even enjoy my bath, but i knew I wouldn’t. I very rarely enjoy them. At first i get all excited, because the idea of soaking in a bath tub of blissful bubbles excites me. Then once i’m in, i get bored and feel like i’m wasting my time…and I won’t get time to do anything else if I stay laying in the bath for another minute. Bottom line, they bored me. I need to tan now. 

So, i’m gonna go,as I need to do my face, tan, tidy up, go to the grocery store, get everything ready for Ruby, buy food ready for Keiran tonight, take old clothes to the recycling bins…and keep my fingers crossed that the bed comes tomorrow and my baby doesn’t poke out today.

My boobs hurt. #comedy

Good morning my delightful chucky eggs of glory. My nickname, given to me by my nanny, (my parents worked a lot when I was a child, due to them both being Doctors, so I was sort of raised by a live in nanny as a wee child. I’m sure you can tell, ) anyway yeah…my nickname was ‘Chucky’ and because I looked bald like an egg. Some of her children (i think she had around 8) would call me ‘Tripataka Buddha’ and the others would refer to me as ‘Bruce Lee.’ They were actually lovely and such great people to have around me growing up. Even to this day i see them around town and they look at me in astonishment. They used to change my nappies and here I am all breeding myself, being Va Voom, with a Hollywood past, a past  modelling career, a couple of ‘on the telly’ stints and well…i don’t have to reel off the resume in order to you to get it. I’m glitzy.:) *Champagne pops open here.*

Okay, so today is one of those odd days where I want to be out and about things, yet i have to wait indoors..no…not for deliveries, but for the midwife to call me, to tell me, when she is popping over to check me out. I mean, how many ‘checkouts’ do I flipping need. I’m having a baby and it’s all meant to be super dooper normal, with a glittered cherry on top…so I don’t get why i’m having to be prodded and poked and looked at over and over again. I’m only moaning because today she’s going to jab me with needles in order to take my blood. An art form that I despise. I hate people taking things off me that are mine, even though i’m not a hoarder. If i choose to throw something out or rid myself of something of my own accord, then that’s fine. But if someone forces me to throw something out or takes something out without my control…we have war. There won’t really be a war. I’m far too fat right now to pull a full blown ninja on anyone. In wars, it’s your outfit and eye makeup that count. If you look better than the person attempting to ‘war off’ with you…then you kinda already win, without really having to try.

I’m in the mood for throwing something out, i really wanted a spray tan, however not to be who wishes to complain, i’m just going to jumble up all my nesty preggo plans and patiently WAIT for her call. Imagine if she forgets! I’ll be fuming. I could’ve enjoyed a brand new orange glow for crying out loud. UGH! I need my weave tightened and well i want, I want, I need, I need! That is all! This pregnancy has made me want to purchase everything..so i think i’m going to have to online shop instead to quench my thirst for spending. I’m sure this means i have issues…or simply that i’m having a boy who in American terms, will be a ‘baller’…a spendy one.

Great night last night. Rubes and I cuddles, snacked, giggled and decorated our lives with Rubber duckies. She fell asleep like an angel and I just watched her enjoy dream land like she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I’ve got this ‘mummy’ thing down right now ans i’m rather pleased with myself. She’s sleeping so much better because she’s getting a lot more attention and love and praise. She always did get it, but not so much as she’s receiving it now. It really does make a massive difference. She confident, giggly and sleeping deeply through the night with a smile on her face.

Keiran was meant to be leaving tonight to start work on his first festival, but instead he’s going tomorrow morning which I much prefer. He’s currently running errands and as he left an hour ago he looked at me with the patio door peeking open slighty he said, with the hugest smile on his face,

‘I’m sooo happy to have you as my wife! I never thought i’d be saying that.’

Lol. Cute! He did actually mean because he promised himself that he would never marry, never settle down and never fall to far in love….probably after being hurt. I said the same….but at the end of the day, i’m a girl so i knew I couldn’t live my life without a hot hubby and children.

He gleefully galloped away from the door with his heart on his sleeve. We cuddled last night and he loved it, It was like he melted into my arms and finally felt loved and comfortable…as he let his body relax and surrender to the deepest sleep ever. I was laid in my preggo pyjamas, holding my bump for comfort and he wrapped both arms around me, as he laid there naked under the quilt like his life depended on my love. I watched him sleep…like a stalker and it was lovely. (You all stalk, so shut it. ) He’s finally in a true place of happy, where everything is still not there yet and busy…but getting there. Emotionally we’re in place, so now we just need to add the success card to t all and ‘BA BOOM,’…our world will be even more delicious.

Keiran’s almost on his way to whole and i felt it last night. Cuddling him was SO AMAZING and you can always tell how much you love someone when you’re stripped down to nothing but a cuddle. I never think it’s down to a kiss, it’s rawer than that and down to even a look, or simply nothing but pure skin to skin contact. He’s in love right now and so am I an dbecause we’re both the same, when we’re in love, we’re alive. It feels wonderful, like we’re on Cloud 9 but throwing the party.

It’s crazy because Wunna land finally got it’s shit together and we’re all hardcore happy…and I mean properly happy where it’s deep rooted. It’s amazing. Each one of us. Even Ruby is stood right by us celebrating every inch of her being. She loves life and as a mum, that means you’ve done a great job. This baby birth has brought us all together as one. I’m about  ready to hatch (sista-sista) and when I do…our world will explode like a magical glittery confetti shower. I think Keiran’s always wanted to be a dad because whilst we were laid on the sofa last night watching ‘The Fighter’ his mind drifted away and as he came back to me, he said ‘I can just see them now, Ruby and our son running towards me shouting DADDY DADDY DADDY!’ He said it with a wistful glow. Moments like that remind you that you have a good man. I mean think of all the jerks i’ve dated, who couldn’t be bothered to call me back, show up for date, felt so insecure they couldn’t be themselves, or the ones that cheated on me, or played the game of love, who used me or never wooed me appropriately, or never braved to romance me. Now…i’ve got it right. Meaning, i know that EVERY LADY will find their Prince.

We’re gonna be a massive success. We have love. We now want our millions. Gimme! Gimme! I want everything and WILL get it and simply for my family. I have an incentive and in life, along with great peepers…that’s all you need. Something to make you want to do well.

(Where is this midwife for crying out loud! I hate waiting for people. I never make people wait for me. I’m an early bird. Why? Because i heard they catch the worm.)

Fuck it, it i’m gonna order lots of shit online….I have a weekend of shopping, i’m getting ready to deck out the bedrooms and I can’t wait! Just as I was moaning she’s called and given me a 2pm call time. Simples!

Watch our life as we live it…and be a part of our fairytale.

www.chrissiewunna.com

A whole bunch of readers today accidentally found themselves in Wunna land today by searching the term, ‘Yellow Rubber Glove Wanking.’ I mean, what is wrong with you all!! You dirty monkies, who oddly seem domesticated. Itr’s interesting to see how people find my sight. You could be one of my friends, a victim of my anger, a fan, a work colleague, an aquaintance, someone who just loves a blog, or a stranger who Googles ‘Yellow Rubber Glove Wanking’ to find www.chrissiewunna.com pop up joyfully on their list of suggestions…before you know it *POW* you’re here, you’re willing and there ain’t no rubber gloves in sight. The rest of you simply Googled ‘Chrissie Wunna’..which is the smart way to find me. I’ve achieved great eye shadowing this morning, so i’m happy. My eyes are overdone and draggy. Still glorious and just how I like them…which to mean ‘perfect for the nursery run.’ I need dramatic glitzy eyes and simply so I don’t feel like an Asian goblin and well I can charm my way out of trouble. All you need in life is a good set of peepers….and I don’t mean tits. I mean ‘peepers,’…eyes….windows to the soul. Not only for sight, as I am of the unfortunate bundle of  beings who have to buy their own sight from Specsavers every 3 months…so I believe sight is over rated at the best of times. Some of the best Wunna decisions have been made half blind. (NOT.) You need big eyes to flutter and wink. It helps persuasive tool of ‘ooh laa’ that can get you anything you want. Eye contact, dramatic sparkle…a smile and *KAPOW.* (I can’t believe ‘Sophie the Token Asian’ on The Apprentice got ‘Fired’ yesterday. Come on ‘Team Asian.’ I loved her because she had a great tan. Keiran loved her too. But if you’re going to squeak instead of shout when you’re in an elimination room, then you’re in trouble. You have to fight you’re corner and pull out all the glitzy, ‘on the telly’ stops. It’s a show at the end of the day and a war. I’ve been in an eliminaton room many a time and well the more aggressive and clever you are…and the better telly you are…the higher the chance you have of staying in…Provided you’re good at what you do. I’d be shit at The Apprentice. But I was ace at attempting to be Paris Hiltons BBF. Stick to your strengths innit. I do like that quirky posh boy on the show though. He’s hilarious without knowing how hilarious he is. I adore him. He’s my favourite. I want him to be a STAR. The producer on PHBBF told me that I was going to be a ‘star’…i’m not one yet. Eww! Gimme! Gimme! It’s alright me ranting on about ‘Apprentice Sophie.’ I NEED to step into my feist and play the fame game aggressively.

Thank God i’m finally having my first coffee of the day. We ran out of milk this morning because none of us could be arsed to buy more. It’s rubbish in the morning when you realize that refraining from being lazy would’ve been a better plan. The hubbilicious, who looked DIVINE last night. He was all shirtless and sexy and sprawled on the sofa on top of quilts. I was impressed. He scored points. That’s what I like about him. One day he can be ‘baby boy, ‘ another day a hopeless romantic and the following day pop into the ‘sexy sexy man god’ role…It’s fun. I’m quite like that. I’m ready for my bump to squeeze his way out now. This stretch is too long and i’m too preggo now. I’m not even overdue yet. I just feel ready now. We have new beds and wardrobes a coming next week…so i have to duck tape my privates up until then or just keep my legs crossed. Then i’ll be free to go into the labour trot of fox. My body feels far too tense right now and not at all relaxed. It’s when my body eases into that euphoric state of relaxation that he’ll get his groove on and make his move out of my womb and into the world. But for now, i’m sit here blogging and laughing at the fact that people actually search ‘yellow rubber glove wanking’ on a daily basis. I once was forced to Google ‘fat eating chicken porn’ by a work colleague, who didn’t have working internet. I was like ‘Great! How am I supposed to explain that on a history search.’ But like I said, peppers get you out of everything. But only a good set of them and only when you’re working for a man. It doesn’t work on women, They just hate you for them, unless they’e completely secure. Then they’re all for it.

My chick friend is stressing out today because her boyfriend keeps pointing out chicks that he fancies. Never good. Go back to ‘Romance Camp.’ I mean, what the hell has happened to that boy’s GAME. You’re shit at the art of wooing. Girls just see it as disrespectful and men need to learn that it is. Yet the fact that they need to learn such an OBVIOUS rule is beyond me. Use your brains. Anyway, like that wasn’t bad enough, not only was he naming people he fancied (Lord know why) each girl that he was pointing out looked NOTHING LIFE my chick friend. So my chick friend’s mixed race, she’s gorgeous and caramel. Delicious and exotic. So what does this boy do…point out a ton of blond, tanned girls that he fancies. If that’s who you fancy then why are you with an exotic girl telling her you love her so madly. I simply stated that he was only doing it to make her feel insecure. It’s a method of control and manipulation and shows how insecure HE IS. I said, just point out a bunch of boys that YOU FANCY…and make sure they’re all steamy hot, look nothing like him and the key to make him feel worse is RICH! Men hate it when you tell them you fancy a rich man…yet only a boy that is poor. He even stopped pointing out celeb crushes and started just pointing out regular girls that he fancied. Why bother? Is he thick? Men can never do that to me because I’ll either go ninja and give them a lecture on respect. I’ll play them at their own game…and well i no longer have any celebrity crushes because i’ve dated every single one of my actual celebrity crushes, to now be 32 and realize that people are just people, (it actually took me a long time to learn that ) and that rich boy, poor boy, happy boy, sad boy…boys are boys, there’s good ones, bad ones and you just need to find the GREAT ones. *Helicopter nipple tassle here*

(Currently watching Towie and they’re going on about Ricky Martin..who is a being I adore. I always remember that he tried to hide the fact that he was gay from the press, because he felt it would hinder his career. To be honest Ricky…it wasn’t that much of a shock. When he finally came out he expected everyone to be in uproar. Big red flags…no long term relationships with girls and when he decided to become a father, he chose a surrogate mother to birth his child for him…that he didn’t have to sleep with. Heaven forbid, would he have to go near a vagina. I don’t blame him, mine’s a bitch and has a mind of her own. If you were Ricky Martin and NOT gay, you’d take those snake hips and you’d bonk and impregnate every single female that took your fancy one by one in sexy hotel rooms to your own sound tracks, wouldn’t you. You wouldn’t pay a lady that you didn’t have to sleep with, to have your child for you.. I love that Ricky Martin’s gay. It’s hot. We’re all a little gay.)

Thursday’s are good…always good. My mun usually texts me to ask me to ‘do lunch’ with her on Thursdays. I fancy a rest day because i’m feeling like roughage. She hasn’t text me yet, so maybe i’m not favourite child anymore. But i’m hoping that she does as I need some good old mummy time. I feel like I haven’t hung out with her in ages…and it’s only been 4 days. During my entire pregnancy, I hid away. I always do, I don’t know why? Yet when it comes to the final slog, the last part of the relay, when i’m about to pop and I have 2 weeks until the big day, I kinda fancy a bit of ‘oohing’ and ‘awwing’ at me, until of course I want it to stop. I need my mum and my hubby and my Ruby. Rubes is always there for me, which I adore. But Mum and Keiran are busy working, working, working. He’s headed off in a suit today getting ready for the security companies summer. It’s a big one. I don’t really like it when he goes into the event security phase of Summer love and simply because my home fills up with bin bags and cardboard boxes filled with boy’s stuff and I hate it. I’m trying to the whole house up and i’m not gonna be able to do that when we have giant boxes of radio mics and wires and god knows what in the kitchen. Bundles, bags and more boxes of uniforms, bomber jackets and whatnots in the living room. I’m looking at a bin bag filled with coats right now AND the delivery man has just dropped a big blue box off at my patio door. UGH! His stuff needs to go in the van or in the attic. But not around the home. It’s too cluttery and not good girly clutter, like boring boy clutter. (I can’t believe the delivery guy, made me CARRY the giant blue box myself. Hellooo 9 months pregnant much. MANNERS! Ooh, i hate bad manners.)

I’m starving now, so i’m gonna go.

Have fun, at least it’s good weather and when i say ‘good weather’ I simply mean ‘looks like it’s warm, but it’s actually freezing.’

Kitten kisses,

C x

PS, Can you believe that Keiran  stated that he wanted me to have full on ‘Miss World’ hair ALL OF THE TIME, yesterday. I looked at him and said, ‘What even when i’m at home, washing dishes.’ He was not joking at all. he smirked and said, ‘YES.’ I actually love the Miss.World look, it humours me, so i’d be dying to get that hair sorted 24/7, but when preggo, you can’t be arsed. I still look FINE though. I look ‘Glamour Puss,’ for crying out loud. So, he can moan and say that he wants me to have ‘Miss World’ hair all of the time because he likes it much better that way. I want him to pull in Donald Trump like cheques ALL of the time. You don’t hear me complaining. You can’t win’em all boy.

PPS/ AS if a Miss World curly updo could disguise the fact that i have a giant 9 month preggo belly. I’d look like a Roly Poly…who’s had too many Smarties. Not very world peace and bubble baths.

‘Hi, I’m Chrissie! I enjoy long preggo waddles in the park, useless baths filled with bubbles where i can’t see my own ‘hoop-dee’ to  shave it…. and world peace…when i’m not hormonal. Oh and my boobs have milk in them!’

It just doesn’t have the same ring to it.