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.

I really don’t like having workmen in the house. Especially toilet workmen, who act all low budget ‘Laurel & Hardy’ and chitter chattery, whilst i’m trying to make crumpets, that have now been left on the side of the kitchen counter, simply so I can hide from them, before they attempt to ask for cups of tea. It’s taking them ages to do one small thing, simply because they keep trying to strike up conversation with me and keep rambling on about their night at the WMC. It feels intrusive and odd and because there’s two of them, who do more chatting then ‘hurry up’ working. I want my tea and crumpets. I don’t care who was at the local pub. Fix the leaky loo please…and quietly. *Diva-Central.* I don’t like it when workmen come in and try to become part of your *bubble.* I like them to saunter in, smile, get their tools out and fix the problem pronto…then leave, as I thank, smile and wave them off politely but with a sigh of relief. I’m 9 months pregnant and nesting!  Today i’m having my ‘at home’ day where I tend to the home, make those annoying phone calls that you really can’t be bother to make, organize things for the refurb and wait for deliveries. When you expect your day to ‘just be you’ and you have intruders feeling up your toilet and talking about pies. It’s makes life odd and affects the balance of your world. All I can literally hear from the downstairs toilet is extremely loud BELLY LAUGHTER, chatting and mumbling about nights out. GET MY TOILET FIXED and LEAVE…and simply so I can have crumpets and not feel like a stranger in my own home. Today is going to be a circus.

This morning was lovely. Just as lovely as last night. I woke up with Baby Ruby nestled in my boobs, at peace with the world, as she slept through her alarm and ventured to nursery late, simply because she was so comfy. She had a great day yesterday filled with applause and achievement. I gave her a lot of attention and a whole lot of love and it rocked my bambino’s world no end. Enough for her settle her pretty head, reach to hold my hand and sink into the bed, in utter peace,like she couldn’t possibly be happier. We ADORE HER.

Then my second nightly duties came. I always say that I tend to ‘Little baby’ upstairs, then I tend to ‘Big Baby’ downstairs. (UGH, one the work men has just thundered into my living room and said, ‘I’ve turned all your water off…is that okay?’)

‘Big Baby’ is my lovely hubby Keiran. he’s been through a lot this month, and filled with hard days at work, stress and well just so much to deal with. I like that he see’s me as his happy place now. His place of peace. He comes home to relax and that’s what home should be like. He told me how much he loved me and how he couldn’t believe how our relationship has happened out of nowhere, followed by how we were such a good couple. And we are. he’s my baby. I’m his sweetheart. We never forget that…even when tough times try to make us,which means our bond is strong and completely unconditional because we’re going through nothing but utter real love right now and it’s magical. We giggled and ate snacks together, talked about ‘le bump.’ I tickled his back and stroked his face, as I tucked him in and he snuggled like a little baby boy. (He’s currently having to sleep on the sofa as we wait for the new bed for the refurb. So don’t worry, he’s not in the dog house, in fact far from it. He couldn’t be more perfect right now.)

Before he went to sleep and he laid on his tummy, naked under warm snuggly sheets, with me sat by his side stroking the back of his head for comfort. Poor thing was knackered. He whispered,

‘I love you Christina. Thank you for caring about me and loving me. Thank you for being my wife and looking after me.’

Aww…i could’ve cried, but instead I ‘inside smiled,’kissed his cheek, turned the lights out and snuggled in with Baby Ruby. He just looked like a little boy who always wanted to be loved and had finally found a place or person who cared enough to love him the way he had always wanted to be loved. The funny thing about that is that I feel the exact same way. He’s so romantic and yeah we’ve had our ups and downs, but he’s perfect when it comes to the man that I imagined loving me. I mean, I get poems and cuddles and love letters and flowers and gifts and a man who always understands, even though he fights me on points and yet will never back down from his commitment to the relationship because he’s about always making it work.

Being very pregnant is sort of making us both remember the first time we met and how we dated and how it all got together, so madly. How our paths crossing changed everything immediately and how what we’ve been through or achieved as a couple is the same as 5 years in other people’s relationship. I might have wound him up at times, but the things i’ve stayed true to is that i promised to love him from date one, I promised to stand by him and be his wife , I promised to be the mother of his children, create a wonderful home life, as he did my little girl and I promised to ‘do life’ with him…and all of those things, which  are the things that matter, i’ve followed through on. Having children is so special. The art of creating a family. It really does take you back in time to all the merry moments, well in our case it does, on Jeremy Kyle it’s much different. But it’s magical, we’re both really happy, both really emotional right and are privately going over our past journey together and swirling it in rosy tints. I feel like i’m accidentally giving him the greatest gift he could’ve ever wanted in life. To both of us, the greatest gift other than love, would be millions of pounds, but this takes the biscuit, because i’m giving him a son and that’s something that he will have always wanted, to a level of incomprehension. That day, the day we meet our little boy, will be the most exciting day for Rubes (she can’t wait, which is nice) and the most emotional day ever to my hubbilicious. Ater i’ve recovered from the ‘ouchy’ and the drugs have worn off, then it will decide to ‘hit’ me.

(The workmen have just left with an, ‘It’s all fixed, I couldn’t find much leaking, you can’t use our toilet for 24 hours and we’re off to get a cuppa tea.’ Jolly good. GET OUT! )

I have my harmony back.

Anyway, in case i’m being far too full on, for those of you who are less romantic than others…i’ll glitz it up for you so you’re not drowning your sorrows to sad love songs…OH and HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my good friend Gay Adam, who’s birthday it is today. I haven’t seen him in ages, but I know that he’s driving to Disney land Paris today for his shindig. I wished him well and advised him not to get into any bondage with Fairytale Princes. He put me off that place after he told me that ‘Prince Charming’ was hitting on him and wanting to go on dates with him, to experience the art of S & M. Prince Charming doesn’t come with whips, chains and abuse. He had whispered in my poor Gay friends ear stating that he wanted to be dressed in leather, have Adam place a tight bag over his face, kidnap him and bonk him. WHAT? I knew the French were kinky, but that’s soooo different to the ‘Disney’ I know in Orlando. Euro Disney is just wrong. Saying that, my mum wanted to take the whole family there for Christmas…remind me to stay away from Princes who like bondage. Don’t come at me in ‘Fairytale’ tights and a leather dildo, with a secret gimp mask under your baby blue pinny. I’m ethnic and I’lll think i’m being ATTACKED, not loved on…it’ll make my leg start ’roundhouse kick’ you and everything.

Anyway, i got distracted. Keiran walked in the other day and I was just getting off my phone, after yelling at my mum, in regards to the ‘Pete failing to pick up Rubes’ situation. In my anger, whilst on my phone i had flung my pj bottoms on the living room rug, facing the patio door windows and was about to squeeze on my jeggings..yet hadn’t fully got around to it, as yelling down my phone had got the better of me. I was sat on the sofa phone pressed to my ear, scowling, with only a yellow t-shirt on and no knickers. Lol.

Keiran walked in all smiles, like it was his lucky day. You should’ve seen his utter face of delight. I had to apologise and explain that i didn’t have my vagina out for a ‘welcome home’ party , i was angry and in the midst of switching bottoms to go get Ruby from nursery. It takes me ages now that i’m preggo to do a costume change. I do at least 3 a day.

Then yesterday, before our big ‘night time on the sofa’ snuggle…well the snuggle had just begun…i told him that at 37 weeks my boobies now had milk in them, so he had to be careful when squeezing them, as he loves a good old squeeze, due to their tenderness and ‘filled with milk’ -ness. For some reason this turned him on. He didn’t say it did, but the fact that he dry humped, squeezed, pulled them out, felt them up, did everything he could at the speed of light…suggested that he was on heat. My boobs were really warm last night and every time i told him to be careful and go steady, he would *nod’ and take no notice.

‘Babe, my boobs are tender and full of milk…STOP squeezing them. Be gentle.”

‘Okay, yeah, yeah babe. I know. I’m sorry.’

But then within 4 seconds flat he’s be MADLY squeezing the life out them, with cave man ‘ugh’ noises.

The above conversation occured at least 40 times and he DIDN’T listen 39 of those 40 times. It was insanity. But he finally got the picture because the boobs that he got out, he simply placed back in feeling all rejected with a moody face. Hahaha. When I asked hin why he was sulking, he simply stated that my boobies were better back in their hidey place, that way he wouldn’t be tempted to squeeze the life out of them. No-one told him to get them out. HE DECIDED TO WHOP THEM OUT ON A WHIM ALL ON HIS OWN! However,  only to find that he couldn’t cope or handle the thought of them being out, that he had to plonk them back in. It was like tucking giant ferrets back in a cage. Men! I think he wants me to be sexy with him, but like I said, it’s a wee bit terrifying for me right now. (I’m getting a weird flashback of Ruby and Keiran doing head stands in the living room yesterday. It’s so funny because they’re both hardcore attention whores and well they hate the other, or anyone in fact stealing their limelight. They tried to out do one another, via the fine art of ‘head balancing.’ This is my world. I used to be a drunk in nipple tassles. )

Life is wonderful today. I much calmer now, much happier, the little family is perfect and i’m ready for the new arrival. I can’t wait to start making my dreams come true, i want to decorate my life, for my family in millions and luxury, filled with ‘dreams come true’ and ‘everything they wish for.’

Hey-HEY-Hey, my charming licks of love festival, slopped over in giddy wiggles of ‘ooh laa.’ You’d think I got up on the right side of the bed, by the cheery sound of my tone this morning. But I didn’t. I was manipulated up by my 2 year old, who made the executive decision to wake at around 6am, and of course if she’s up, I for some reason HAVE to be up, by her rules. It began with her glueing stickers to my cheeks, (face cheeks, not bum cheeks,) then telling me she needed to watch Mr.Tumble, followed by lying, continued with a dollop of moaning, crying and sasserilla, then she DEMANDED that I wake up, followed by stating she needed to watch Peppa pig on my phone, with a big finale of ‘Mum, i’ve pooed myself and pooed all over the bed.’ I leapt up with a ‘OH MY GOSH! WHAT? Let’s get you changed.’ She looked at me with her evil snigger and said, ‘Oh look mummy’s up now..change my nappy and get me Peppa pig.’ She hadn’t even pooed AT ALL.

At 2 years old she has already learnt to lie and manipulate me in order to get what she wants. Today was the day I was out smarted by a being that I created. Jeeze! I’m telling you, it’s all because I’m sober and not in sequins. If I wasn’t, I’d spy it all off by miles and be able to ‘slam dunk’ the situation with a simply hip bump and wink. Luckily, I’m still fabulous, because if I wasn’t…I’d be doomed. I looked at her and gave her the ‘lying is naughty’ lecture. She’ll grow to learn that it’s actually an art that she’ll need to use a lot in her life and sometimes it gets you everywhere. She cried twice this morning. Firstly because she didn’t want Keiran to go to work and secondly because she didn’t want ‘Grandma’ to go to work (who had dropped something off this morning. Keiran enjoys to she her miss him and tear up because he’s a man and it makes him feel loved. Typical. My mum can’t stand to see her cry, because she’s a girl…and almost didn’t go to work simply to make her happy. Luckily, I got one over on my own loin fruit by lying right back at her and telling her that Grandma had disappeared because she went to go find a rabbit named ‘Pedro.’ #dontask It worked. Mummy wins! Get your pretty bum to nursery much!

Today and before it was even 11.30am, I managed to kill, whip and ‘shazzing’ my entire ‘to do’ list.My ‘to’ do’ list is always an imaginary,in my head list because i’m far too lazy to write it all down and tick it all off. I think that’s stupid. It’s a waste of my time. I’ll use my brain for now, whilst it still works and well by the time my brain no longer functions, i’ll have staff who can think for me and assistants who’ll remember what’s meant to be going on in my life.

All i’ve actuallly done is by snacks for the home. Keiran, Rubes and I are all about our food right now, so I do daily trips to stock up. (I’m preggo and nesting.) I went too far today and snacks turned into a car boot full of bags and bags of groceries. We don’t mess around in Wunna land. I hate grocery shopping, so i’ll thunder down each isle just throwing things in at the speed of light, simply to get it over with. There’s no ‘umming’ or ‘arring’ over the price of crumpets or whatever. I’m a snatch, grab and pay kinda girl. But I do love a bargain, so as soon as I see things that are reduced or only £1..it’s in my trolley. The problem is, everything seems to be around the £1 marker or reduced…meaning everything gets thrown in and I get judged whilst I do it. Then I get to the cashier, banter about my bump for a good while, ( I end up saying the same thing to everyone with a smile and nod) and then find out that i’ve accidentally overspent AGAIN, by throwing around 90 different  things that cost around £1. Pahaha. I’m the worst grocery shopper ever. But whatever, at least we have food. Keiran will be boner galore when he gets in. I asked him whether he was excited to have sex with me again last night…and he answered with a ‘are you excited to have sex with me.’ A simple ‘Yes my Goddess, ‘ would’ve done. ‘You’re the sexiest thing ever and I want you always.’ He spent the night slapping my bum and pretending to cry hump me from behind as we cuddled on the sofa, in the living room, in the dark, yet this time without romantic comedies…but crime. He turns into a little boy when we cuddle and wants me to do everything for him, like peel his satumas and tickle his back and baby him. Rubes and Keiran are truly similar. They have this weird connection, to the point where it’s almost as if they were MEANT to   be ‘Daddy and Daughter.’ Now, I know that’s a harsh thing to say, due to her having Pete around, who loves her very much. But because of the way things turned out, it’s sort of like Keiran’s become Dad because he’s the one that’s always there and doing everything for her and Pete has naturally become the Step Dad, because he chooses to see her once a week, at least for a full 7 hour day, but with no sleeping over and then does a nursery pick up on a Monday. He didn’t do yesterday’s and told me at the very last minute, which makes me mad. The thing about Pete is, he’ll say he’ll pick Rubes on and be all excited with bells on for the occasion…note that this is the day he has personally picked to pick her up. Then instead of being there by 5.30pm, I’ll get a call at 5.23pm saying ‘Oh Chrissie, I can’t do it, can you?’ So, now i feel bad because there’s me having previous arguments with Keiran about how he needs to stick to STEP dad duties, when he wants more responsibility and wants, if not fights to be there for Ruby, all the time. He wants to help make important ‘father’ decisions, whenever possible. But Pete, who is her biological Daddy and who loves her very much and lives on the next street to us, acts like a STEP dad and by CHOICE. I mean he only has to do one full day and a nursery pick up and they are days that he has chosen himself…and even that seems to much for him to handle. It’s annoying. I picked her up..after losing my cool with the situation. (I’m fun when i’m shouty.)

I actually had quite a rubbish day yesterday. i kept getting slagged off on line and when you’re a preggo, you get all heated about it and want to be all aggro back. In Hollywood, you’re allowed to state that ‘hater’s’ just hate simply because you’re doing something that they can’t do, or you have something that they want.’ You can express yourself freely and openly and KAPOW people will VA VOOM. In England, it’s different. If you do so, you’re sort of seen in an incorrect light, so instead you are guided and advised to ignore ‘hater’s and simply stay silent, make like they aren’t anything for you to waste your time on, flip your faux fur scarf around your shoulders, slip into your stilettos and continue to strut forward in good lighting. In Hollywood the successful people don’t have to apologise for being successfully and are allowed to be a bit boasty, as they are seen as inspirations and I agree…they are. But in good old blighty, the art of humility is a must and I don’t like it because just because you pretend to be humble doesn’t mean you are. There is no one in the entertainment industry, who is doing, or has done fabulously well, who has no ego. No-one. They may portray that they don’t…but that’s called PR. It’s all work. I like to stay real, be real, and celebrate who I am. Sure, i’ll make mistakes and yes, I am rather feisty…but ‘m great and that’s what people need to focus on. My utter Greatness.

Posted a piccie of my giant bump yesterday on my Facebook and Twitter. I need saving from it now because it’s HUGE. I have no idea how they are classing it as a ‘small baby.’ I’ve never been stretched this much in my entire life. Here’s the pic I posted, just before the health visitors came around for what ended up being a looong 2hr appointment. MY BUMP IS GIANT!! When is my son going to POP OUT for crying out loud. I’m not even overdue yet, so it’s not actually time. But JEEPERS…if he cooks anymore, i’ll need to get wheeled around in a buggy, like the obese folk in those US documentaries. Yet hopefully, i’l get wheeled around glamourously by half naked men dressed in Greek Togas, but knowing my Yorkshire luck, they’ll just be middle aged, moany women, who hate me. He is due. But I swaer on my life, he has never been so snug in my belly. I’m getting NO SIGNS of an arrival as of yet. He’s already being clingy. I just want to see him NOW. I mean we’re all so

excited, yet Keiran wants me to wait until our wardrobe and bed deliveries arrive, so we can decorate the rooms before his arrival. Great! lol. Priorities. If he pops out before then, I’ll have to tell the midwife that I can’t possibly go through it just yet, as we’re still needing to colour co-ordinate  bedroom curtains. (Why did that make me think of ‘beef curtains?’ I need to get my mind out of the gutter.)  I don’t think i’m able to hold off now. I’m too desperate. (What a surprise.) When he’s away at the weekend working, i’m doing curry galore, with squats. I never squat so this must be serious.

Oh and here’s a piccie of the accidental ‘ill just nip in and buy a couple snacks’ that I purchased today. I’ve labelled the image ‘Tuesday’s Snacks.’ There is no way in HELL that I’m gonna lose my baby weight. I much preferred my ‘before preggo’ not much food and just wine. This actual food malarky, by the car boot load is just leaving me with no hope. Ah well..fuck it.

Read more of my Youtube comments today that littered in inbox, of my labour home video, when I was ‘push-pushing’ Rub out 2 year ago. I love the people that decide to defend my honour and well the people who keep calling me hideous names…need to go through labour themselves, before they start bitty bantering.

I enjoy that one girl wrote:

‘Just because she had make up on during her delivery DOES NOT MAKE HER A WHORE. I thought that she handled this beautifully and she did a wonderful job giving birth to a healthy baby. Who cares if she has on make up or not?’

To get a reply saying:

‘…it seems so fake, she seems fake, WTF Girl ..’

I’m wasn’t faking labour. I was glamourously in PAIN! AND to smooth it all off nicely, I looked great. PLUS, i have living 2 year old proof that it wasn’t all set up for your entertainment, you foolish twallop. I was in labour, it was a home video, there was no money shot.

Anyway, then the haters rambled on about how I looked ‘out of it, ‘ like I was on drugs. Answer: ‘I flipping WAS! I WAS GIVING BIRTH. I had a human coming out of my ‘lady part.’ I had had an epidural..and that’s DRUGS! THANK GOD!’ I should obviously rule the world. My peoples skills are amazing. I’ll stop now, as i’m getting all hectic for no proper reason , and probably because I’m about to do it all over again…shortly…if my bump ever decides to venture out of my belly. (I have a double chin now and it’s disgusting, yet it seems to not be stopping me from eating another peanut butter sandwich?

(Keiran’s calling….

….he wants me to find a yellow slip for him or something? It’s apparently an emergency. Fun!)

I had loads more that I wanted to tell you, but now i can’t remember it all. I can’t believe my ‘at home’ health visitors appointment was 2 hours long yesterday. I didn’t mind as i like entertaining health visitors for some reason. I like them to forget about examining me and start telling me all about their own lives. I found loads out. We talked about their children, domestic violence, babies, life , boobies and all sorts. I did actually receive some sound advice and yes random health visitor visits can be annoying if you’re not down in the dumps and your healthy, but it’s great for the women that are depressed, going through a difficult time during pregnancy and need help. Really great for women going through domestic violence and certainly a great system for women in need and i’m all about the welfare of women. We should be treasured…especially when carrying a child. The stories they told me actually moved me. I mean so many men are getting away with so much shit that they are putting on their pregnant spouses. It’s awful. They told me the reasons why men bully pregnant women, or in fact women in general, how it makes them feel to abuse women and how men wrongly think that it is only abuse if they have ‘hit’ a women. This isn’t true, an aggressive grab, or shove, or even no physical contact and simply VERBAL abuse, with emotional abuse, or financial abuse, ALL  COUNTS. They can go to prison for it!  So, if you are a women going through any of the above…you must get help because it’s there for you. The worst thing you can do is be frightened and not alert the correct people who can help. The way to deal with worthless men is to put them in their place, so they know that messing with you is no joke.

There you go. Ended on a strong note. Saving women a wink at a time.

I sooo need my weave tightening at the weekend. It’s baggy again.

God! I got called a ‘Cunt’ and a ‘Bad trick of a mum’ the other day on Twitter, by a blond that I don’t even know in America. My fan base is tremendous. They’re good to me, aren’t they! Some get flowers. I get sworn at. Lol. I forget that almost every continent and 164 countries read this bit of nonsense, *boast-boast-brag-brag-check it-double deck it* as each jolly day passes..but really I do forget, as I’m just doing life and currently from the exotic climates of Pontefract. Meaning…I forget that just as much as people adore me…they also despise me…well they despise my previous persona, which I kind of enjoy because all attention to me is good attention. When you’re 32 the ‘hater crew’ is like water off a ducks back. Yet saying that, I never know whether the American Diva’s are just playing, as is kidding, because there’s weirdly a green light to speak to me in such a manner because everyone thinks that’s how I truly am as a person…open mouthed, minded and able to humbly ‘kick it’ with ya’ll…they read my life or have seen me out on Hollywood and so they think i’m they’re best friend. Which I also enjoy. Yet…at the end of the day, i’m a cool…yes….:)  but i’m a Brit…and even though i’m decorated in a sequinned, wiggle of delight…i’m deep down a snobby, poshy Brit. You can call me a cunt…or a tramp…or a ’5 cent whore’ for having a baby on the telly…(even though it was filmed for the BBC, yet the Youtube version was a ‘no money shot’ home video…that approx: 958,000 viewers decided to watch) but ‘bad trick of a mum’ is poor manners. It doesn’t go well with champagne. All i’m gonna say is when the girl in question is not a ‘bottle service’ girl, who believes everyone’s boyfriend wants her and that life should be played in such a manner…then I can be bothered. Right now, I have everything I want and I feel really lucky because I started off having everything I needed to put my best foot forward, gambled it ll away, drank it and partied it pathetically in Hollywood and then finally found my worth once more. Great world, great life, great career, budding star, money making, loving husband, beautiful daughter, son on the way, and an amazing family. I’ve got my foundation, the package and the bundle now and that’s the hard part…now that I have it, all I have to do is carry it up the rungs of the ‘Ladder of Greatness’ and I intend to…once my son is born. The quest for my own solid foundation and for love, family and ‘forever’ is now accomplished…the rest of my time is all about success. Making my mark. Everyone can…and it’s just so much easier when you don’t waste your time hating on others that are doing better than you and instead concentrate on what you have going on that’s so great. (Ya weirdo. )

When I read the Tweet, I was actually in my 9 month of pregnancy, cuddling the freshly bathed Baby Ruby, who was tucked up in bed watching ‘Cinderella.’ What more do you want from me. I’m Mummy of the Goddamn year! She was at Pete’s all day and we had the perfect night with one another. Our bond is precious and because we’re quite alike. In fact everyone in our family is quite alike, as Keiran is the same. Good of heart, believes in ‘dreams coming true,’ loving, affectionate, ambitious and ridiculous all at the same time, dipped in ‘Diva.’ We’re all like that. I mean you’d think things were a bit awkward with Ruby growing up as she calls Pete ‘Daddy Pete’ and Keiran ‘Daddy’ and she does it in front of then both, because to her that’s the ‘norm.’ it must hurt Pete a little, yet he’s too well mannered to say, because Ruby is so happy and that’s his main priority. But Keiran suggested we all have a chat to make sure parenting is going down the way everyone wants it to go and especially because we have ‘the bump’ on the way shortly…I don’t really wish for obvious divisions in my family and Keiran doesn’t either, because he never really knew his father or got to see him up, when his other brothers and sisters got to hang out with theirs. Plus, Pete was adopted…he has a wonderful adoptive Father, who took him in at 6 weeks old, but he doesn’t know his biological father at all.  It’s quite a big issue with both boys, so we’re wanting to  make sure the transition and change is smooth wth both the new bump and ‘B’Doobie ‘(What i call ‘Ruby’,) and it will be.  I just want us all to feel whole and as one, the way Ruby does now. It works so well and her development emotionally, physically and academically is absolutely AMAZING. We can’t believe how well she’s doing. *Stepping off her serious stool and getting back to the fun part of Wunna land.*

Okay, so today it’s raining. Hardcore pissing it down. I have a banana peel by my side, the washer is on ‘spin’ and at 2.30pm today I have  flipping Health Visitor appointment. JEEZE! How many appointments so I need? they keep telling me ‘everything’s fine’ and that I’m going to have a solid, perky, labour, with no complications that they can see right now. Jolly good! Lets get this show on the McGlitzy road. But why am I needing to have a gzillion appointments. I went to Ponty Hospital TWICE in one week last week and then to the surgery the week before that. Now it’s Monday and i’m back with having a health visitor knocking on my door for a check up, followed by a further visit from the midwife on FRIDAY! I don’t get it? There wasn’t this much medical fuss when I had Ruby? What’s the matter? I need to nest and for them to leave me alone. Maybe I shouldn’t answer and hide behind my freshly bought loaves of bread, peeking over with my ninja slanty eyes? Or maybe I should answer, yet drink gallons of rum before hand and get drag queens to dance around her to the Samba, in order to make a scene and make her trip worth it. I mean, it’s raining heavily, the poor old thing. Nobody wants to get their weave wet in the rain. Especially just to poke in, look me up and down, feel my bump and say, ‘Everything’s fine.’ It’s not worth the star tricky trek-trek, is it? Yanno! *Hood sign here* (I’ve just eaten a burger patty. Sexy! Now for crumpets.)

Last night, Keiran and I did the snuggle thing again. I love being at home these days because I get a snuggle in every room I enter. We cuddled up and again watched a romantic ‘on the telly’ comedy. They keep being on by accident and it’s just lovely at the end of the night to settle down, think about the great things you have in life and give the man you love a cuddle, as he cuddles you right back, to made in Hollywood ‘love stories.’ I think Keiran’s horny right now because he’s always ass smacking and zooming in on sex and liking me to tickle him in parts that I particularly deem as ‘naughty-naughty.’ * Ooh face.*

All was well and we were delighted to be with one another. I was sponged in a glow of happy preggoness, to the point where I felt it was quite bad of me to say how much I didn’t enjoy being pregnant before. I feel really lucky now and I don’t  know whether it’s because our family life and relationship has hit a peak of euphoria, or whether I feel more stable hormonally and emotionally, or just because i’m at the end of the nine months and therefore see the light at the end of the tunnel? Who knows. I still won’t have a gzillion children until I have my millions though. You have to have enough love (which most people have,) enough time and more than enough money. It takes all three and you’re silly if you don’t realize that. For me to raise more than 2 children the way I wish to…I need millions, because I have the love packed in me already. That’s just my own view with knowing what I personally can cope with. As once when I was on a hot tub at home in LA…a guy told me in a hot tub that he was doctor…a decent guy he was, you could tell by his manner. He had 6 brothers and sisters, and they didn’t know their fathers and they were poor. Not chavy. But poor. His mother raised them all by herself…in the good old ‘strong black woman’ way, under the hardest circumstances. Three of them are doctors, two of them lawyers and the final child was a teen, meaning her destiny was yet to be discovered. But a round of applause to that lady!  I don’t know how she did it. However I did actually get to meet her, as she was visiting him the following week, they were really close and loving. This time we all sunbathed. #hardlife She told me that it was easy because she ‘set the example’ by working hard, 2 jobs and loving them immensely, whilst passing on knowledge, her life knowledge, earning their respect and guiding them the right way in life.

It’s a moment…that as you can see..i remember to this day. I was actually married at the time…so I listened to her intently. I love people who have great stories to tell that are short, but direct (the story, not the person ) and hit me with a life lesson to remember. I never listened more, which was odd as at the time I had zero intention of having children, a child…let alone 6..even though my movie star hubby would’ve adored it. That was me at 23. I’m now a decade older, in a completely different part of the world, back where I began…and now learning from this lady. 30 is a good place to be because it’s the place where I was able to take a step down from always making things just ‘about me’..to sacrificing things to care for the people that matter to me. (Currently eating crumpets.) I watched ‘About a boy’ the Hugh Grant movie yesterday and there was a quote in it that resembled how i saw my life and it was the fact that my life was all about me, It was a movie, that I was the STAR of. Everyone else sort of a guest appearance, co-star, or they qualified for reoccurring role..they’d come in and out, but I was the STAR, so I just moved on tending to my life, making everyone else a second class citizen.

Things are different now. (I now have cheese in my hair. UGH! Stupid crumpet.) My life is now of worth. I have things in life that matter. My children, my husband, my family and ofcourse ME. But now i’m able to share my throne, something I never wanted to do before or maybe I thought i wanted to do, but couldn’t when it came down to it.)

Anway, we were watching a romantic comedy, cuddling, Keiran was moaning that my weave itched him chest. THEN he told me that he would be away this weekend…because the security company that he part owns, is ready and set to tend to their first festival of the Summer. I think there’s around 26 or 27 in total. His company is running the security for them all. This weekend..is the first one, in Derbyshire. I didn’t know it was all happening so soon, so now the stress-o-meter has *boinged* up like a clown boner because i’m thinking, ‘Hang on a minute, I have labour in 2 weeks and a couple days!! I could GIVE BIRTH this weekend. What if he’s not there, or misses it, or doesn’t make it in time, or I need him??’ SHIT! It’s scary because my waters could break on Friday night, he’s driven off to work away…and he won’t be around to even drive me to the hospital and be there for me immediately. Like I’d have to wait until he has made it back. It adds a note of terror to it all. It’s not my favourite because it worries me and you all know what ‘sods law’ is like with me. I’ve managed to hide from the Good Lord all this time, so he doesn’t notice that i’m having a baby, because he’ll add drama. But i don’t wanna give birth until after this weekend now because i need him to be there, or make it on time to hand hold and everything! I have my mum..i do, i do. But i’ll feel like a single mum, instead of a loved up wifey. Terrifying. I’ll be fine either way, won’t I. I know I will. It’d just be nice, if he was around for it all. Derbyshire’s not that near Wakefield. He can’t get there in 15 minutes.

I currently have ‘Millionaire Matchmaker’ on my telly box. She’s having to deal with men who have the ‘Peter Pan’ syndrome. When will men learn that women, real women want fully grown up men…not Peter Pannish boys. It’s a saying with boys innit. Even if they don’t mean it. Sort of like when teenage boys say they love lesbians…etc…old story. In fact, Keiran even stated that he was ‘Peter Pan’ and never wanted to grow up. Women don’t like that, we’re not attracted to men of that sort. It’s like a man saying, ‘Hi, I’m still a boy, and I never want to grow up and love you an be faithful to you and care for you like a grown up, and provide for you, love you romantically, be a great man, father husband and work hard to make money. i want to still wear my party shoes, do whatever I want, with the boys, keep geting pissed and fucked up, in stick to the floor nightclubs, flirting with girls and without you complaining and without having to commit to your values and whilst you look after me. I want to always put me first and the things i want, instead of putting what’s best for you, me and the family before my own selfish boyish needs.’ We don’t like that. Why would we, we’re not stupid. These men on this show are hideous…and they’re millionaires. Plus, they’re syaing that they boned everyone, because they can, yet would never marry a girl or commit to a girl who ever had sex with them on the first , third or fifth date. Lol.

‘Peter Pan’ syndrome never works with grown up women. It’s the sort of thing a teen girl or an early 20 something that isn’t so experienced with men put up with because they are not as secure as they need to be just yet. In the past, if i’ve met a ‘Peter Pan’ type boy…i’ve just placed him back on the conveyor belt and let him chug along to the next chica, who can be bothered. It takes a lot to transition over from boy to man. Though once they learn it, they are truly a great species. They do the bins and everything. *Wiggle-Wink*

Talk to you later. Let me get this cheese out of my hair.

This is America’s newest reality tv star. No joke. Her name…. ‘Honey Boo Boo Child,’ aka Alana Thompson. She reminds me of the former version of myself before I became a mum at the bar. She’s 6. I can’t help but adore her, even though I shouldn’t. You can’t pick on kids, they only are what they have learnt from the environment that they are gooey dunked into.

Ps/ Today nursery said, ‘Ruby looks like an advert for holidays.’ Lol. Anyone would think i’d sent her in a tropical bikini, with a beach ball, an umbrella drink and an Ibiza sound track. #maybetomorrow

PPs/ My top lip has swollen up, well sort of looks swelly due to a new fabulous MAC lipstick. It’s ace because it looks likes i’ve either had them done, which I would never do, because I hate pain and well I have big lips anyhow, OR…i’ve eaten squid. (The only think i’m allergic to. It’s makes my top lip McDuckie Pout.)