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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.)

Hope you’re quite frankly having the most delicious Sunday ever! I don’t actually have too much to report, other than the usual…family, life, love and shopping. Today has been dedicated to the magnificent art of ‘le chill.’ I woke up to the beautiful eyes of my gorgeous little girl this morning, who smiled at me, after a long night of open mouthed sleeping and kissed the tip of my nose. We then had a pyjama morning, where Rubes, Keiran and I all bundle into one bed and relax for hours, until we can be bothered to get on with our day. But that’s what Sunday’s are about. It was sort of reminiscent, as it’s exactly what my own Mum used to do. Each Sunday we’d all bundle into or onto her bed in our comfies and chill. My mum used to love it, as she never got to do that as a child. Keiran’s quite like that, as everything he never had as a child he wants to give his family and his own children. I had everything as a child, so I just want to keep the tradition going, yet take it to the next level. Sometimes I feel under pressure to ‘take things to the next level.’

Last night was ‘cuddle’ night. Rubes and I shopped, as Keiran tended to cricket playing. He won ‘best fielder’ again. He enjoys to win things, so of course, he hero’ed the moment like the ego he is. It’s actually a trait I like about him because I enjoy a man that wins everything…and I don’t mind an ego. I sure as hell have one. Our ego’s like each other and play along nicely these days. They used to spit on each other for power last year, but in the end they calmed down made room for the other and snuggled up. I LOVED laying on Keiran’s chest last night, watching Nicolas Cage movies that stirred love and romance. It reminded us of what was important and it’s always those moments that count. He enjoyed having me on his chest as when he’s at peace  he always falls asleep. The snuggle usually begins with him slapping my bum and why not, I had frilly orange and white see-thru pants on and a tight boobie top…whilst preggo. Then it turned into watch a love movie which reminded us of our love. Then it turned into us telling each other how much we loved each other and how we are meant to me and then just like that, as we both hit  level ‘comfort,’ he’s open mouthed snoring with me snuggled in his arms and I’m napping like a bundle in a blanket like the world could wait a moment for us to get done.

I shocked myself up, watched him snore, then tucked him in. He always denies falling asleep when he falls asleep and acts like a little 5 year old. I talk like a little 5 year old or tantrum. This time he didn’t deny taking a sofa nap with me, he in fact said he thoroughly enjoyed it because he felt comforted. I love that. It makes me feel good when I can make him feel ‘safe,’ or warm…or just loved. You’re meant to bring the best out in your partner…your husband, you’re wife. When you do…they always remember you for it. When you make them a better person, the person that they always wanted to be…then you’re always, deep down… their number 1…

I shopped yesterday in Doncaster, enjoyed it but knackered myself out. I think i’m Superwoman…but pregnant…when i’m really i’m just a floozy with an almost 9 month ready to bloom bump. *Waddle-Waddle.* I had a great day with my family, especially Rubes (we’re really close right now) and well I’ll tells ya, I felt pretty sexy. My hair was diddled, my lips were a pink and pouty, my eyes were smokey and divine…I loved myself a little bit too much. Then I had to play the ‘find everyone’ game. The game when you lose the people that you ventured to a palce with and waste a moment of your time aimlessly searching for them because they are not where they stated they would be. I don’t have the patience when i’m not a preggo-honbtas, for such a game, let alone yesterday. There I was waddling around..sexily…stood by a Peppa Pig rocket, with a melting mango sorbet in my hand, like an idiot.

I found everyone in the end..at Waterstones. Ruby loves it there in the kids section. She thinks it’s her room and gets everything out and off the shelves. Unfortunately for us, yesterday was the day that a 20-something, ugly, long greasy haired, drug taking, in a dirty tracksuit, stank of hideous amounts of booze guy was loitering around the childrens corner and glaring at people’s children, whilst smiling and holding a ‘Where’s Wally’ book, that he occasionally pretended to look through whenever staff passed by. HE STANK and well he was devastatingly creepy. He made all the children actually feel uncomfortable…even Rubes ran back to me with a sheepish look on her face and sat on my knee with an odd look on her face, after calling him a ‘naughty man.’ Lol. Rubes is ace, because when she’s at her happiest she’s so confident that she doesn’t care what she does, she commands her audience. EG/ Stand in a moving supermarket trolley, that she is being pushed in, singing pop songs at the top of her voice, telling people to clap. Or waving at people like they are her fans. OR even (like yesterday) saw a lady pulling a grumpy face, which was her normal face on a bench and as she was being pushed passed her, she screwed her own face up so it looked liked hers and did it right back at her. JESUS!

Now, I don’t know what happened to that weird guy. But he either was a boy lost in a lot of pain.with baggage, a drinking problem and no bath tub. A pedophile…or a drunkard, who for some reason found himself loitering around children’s areas, with a ‘Where’s Wally’ book, glaring at little boys. It was mainly little boys because I was watching him and scowling. After 15 minutes…security and staff approached and plucked him out of the Waterstones corners, with a heave-ho and sent him back to wherever he came from. Now, I don’t really think that he was a child molester…because he lacked panache for such a crime. He was far too obvious,  drunk and smelly and always thought child molesters were far more clever in the sense of,like serial killers come across as normal, warm spirited and loving. Y’know, the good guy, even though they are disgusting creatures who pollute our land of glory. If he is…then he’s a dick. If he wasn’t then I feel bad for him for being so broken or drunk that he ended up with a ‘Where’s Wally’ book in his hand in a kids area on a Saturday afternoon. But if you’re gonna rock up like that, then you deserve to get arrested. There’s no excuse, i’ve been drunk before, never THAT drunk and that’s saying something…but i’ve never glared at little boys behind  a Where’s Wally’ book…in a fucking tracksuit. EWWW!

Maybe he was so drunk he forgot that he had to hide his sinning and like the overly drunk man in the bar just went for it. Either way…glad they got rid of him. I used to like oddballs…but now i’m a mum, i’m more ‘GET THEM AWAY FROM MY CHILD.’ Motherhood changes everything because you actually care about others and yourself a great deal more. You’re not just responsible for you.

Whilst Keiran was in the shower yesterday a having a wee chat with me, as he washed his chest and I perved and pouted with a smile, he said, ‘I love you. Y’know it’s actually taken another baby to make you domesticated and I like it.’

It’s so true. But I don’t mess around. I’m not shit at everything. I’m someone who wants to be good at most things i do or take on. I’ll  all…motherhood, wifeydom, money making, career, entertainment, lifestyle, glamour and boujiness..and i’ll do it with swagger.

I’m ready to have this baby,we both are and well…Keiran and I have both changed and both grown up so much. Different things make us happy now and  having an amazing family…creating one…is so gratifying it makes us want to do well. We want success, love, millions, and all for our new family.

Life is great right now..and in 2 weeks and a bit…I welcome my little boy. (I wish he’d hurry up though.)

Frick-a-doo-dee! It’s Friday! I’m bra-less on the sofa in celebration, which is simply code for ‘in boobie pain because i’m a preggo.’ I don’t know what’s wrong with my assets right now. I can’t get them comfy. In a bra..they decide to utterly kill. Yet they don’t just ‘pain’ in silence, they like to bitch and moan at me, until I set them free. I don’t blame them really, as I raised them all wrong. I taught them that being exposed for picture taking, which was pretty much for attention and money was a good thing. Now they don’t understand why they have to be hidden, especially when they’re ‘preggo-growing,’ and especially when Keiran and Ruby love them so much. When set free..they don’t thank me for it. They just sort of *flop* down like they’re lazy and need a Red Bull. They’re like maungy grannies. I mean ‘milk’ preggo boobies and implants, combined must be heavy. I should be running through a jungle like a Zulu Warrior, with spears and a scowl. But it’s the ‘dangle’ on them that hurts when they’re released. The ONLY way they feel chipper and like they’ve had a happy tequila, is when I sit down with my ‘set free’ boobs, cupped in my own hands. Obviously, I can’t do that ALL fricking day. I can’t just walk around holding them up for a bit of painless smile.. Again..this is why I need staff. It’s beyond me how I get through my day without a team of willing beings, who work for peanuts aiding my every mood.

Last night was great. Ruby’s speech is coming along amazingly right now and both Keiran and I cannot BELIEVE the stuff that she can say. I mean we don’t have baby 2 year old conversations with her. We have full on adult convo’s with her and they also do at nursery and she just understands it all and chats away with us. She’s like ‘Stewie’ on Family Guy. She laid on her tummy in her bubble bath yesterday, hair scrunched up on top of her head, bum out of the bubbles a little, smiling, kicking her legs up and chatting away about life…like she was a teenager. I just looked at her and thought, ‘You’re meant to be TWO.’ This is ridiculous. But she’s copied everything she knows from us and from nursery…so it’s insane how quickly she’s developed. Our little son is next and he’s already set to start nursery at 3 months. They’re getting ready for his arrival. Keiran’s in deep thought about everything right now because yesterday when he was up working in the office, sorting out his security company schedules, and I asked him what he wanted for tea. He out of nowhere asked me about Pete and why I left him, what I didn’t like about him and that it was great that we were all so amicable. It showed that we really DO have Ruby as our best interest. Pete’s a good guy (as is Keiran, it’s just that Keiran looks glitzier in his manner, kinda like I do)  and the funny thing is neither boy wants the family to feel separated in any way. Like we don’t want it to be apparent that Ruby goes off to see Pete and ‘the bump’ can’t go, because when we venture on holiday, we take Rubes …and we’ll certainly take the new arrival. Of course we would. Plus, it’s odd if we all go to nursery and one of us picks up Ruby and the other picks up ‘le bump.’ It’s be odd. So a lot is going to get sorted out and it feels great that everyone’s on the same page. I then gave him a head massage and baked him some pasta. He loves the idea of his wifey rubbing his head as he talks about his stresses of the day. It’s funny to me. I enjoy ‘playing’ wifey. It’s hot.

So, today is all about cleaning and clearing. I don’t love to tend to such nonsense, yet i’m in the mood to today and simply because I want to get everything ready for ‘the bump.’ I’m in the mood for de-cluttering. I adore to throw things out and I don’t know why? It just satisfies me completely and well until I get my million dollar mansion and pay people to chuck things out for me. Here I am…armed with the best weave,t he biggest eyelashes and my bin bag. Sexy! Be Me!

I wonder when my baby boy is a coming? I mean, i’m ready now. I’ve tanned, I’ve got my hair layered. My nails are in good shape. I’m showered, fresh and ready to push. The hospital bag in ready in the kitchen and I can’t honestly get any fatter than I am now, without bursting. I’m bursting at the fleshy seams here!  So where is he? I’ve got a couple more weeks until the big day and I’m too excited now to wait any more. Keiran wants me to wait, so he’s born on the 21st AND because he wants me to wait until the new beds and wardrobes, sheets and everything else arrives. Lol. #priorities If i’m being honest, i feel like there’s NO SIGNS on him coming any time early anymore. He seems too snug in my belly-rumpus. He’s on chill mode. Keiran can’t wait to have him in his arms…and I love that he’s seeing all of us as a complete family…which we are. He see’s Rubes as his own because he’s raised her and well he see’s his son as his world because it’s his first chance at a proper ‘father/son’ relationship. He doesn’t know his dad, so the first time he gets to properly experience it, is with his own son and with him as ‘The Father.’ I love that. It means it’s very special and I sort of believe it was meant to be that way.

I also found out that Keiran had secretly gone through a whole lot of personal stress recently, yet didn’t tell me about it because he didn’t want to stress me out. He told me all about it last night because it all finally got achieved and championed. I told him that I’ve always believed in him and know that he can handle anything…so I’m really proud that he’s managed to turn things around and make his dreams come true. We have big dreams and we’re an ambitious couple. We want the absolute best for our children and our family. We want to work hard, make millions, put our names on the map and then sit back so we can not just celebrate…we do that all the time with love…but to sit back and see what we’ve achieved and with a smile breathe and pat ourselves on the back, with a ‘Yeah baby.’

Okay, I’m off to eat a doughnut and get to throwing things out. You have my sincerest apologies if this blogs a bit boring…but it kinda mirrors the way I feel right now. I’m in that dulls-ville waiting stage, where i’m waiting for the exciting *pop.* I totally bought groceries with porn star lips today. So, lif eis still dandy. I haven’t lost my touch.

Enjoy! (Oh and Ladies, I learnt today that if you carry LARGE handbags, it makes you look smaller. )

Two hearts work better than one…and a good spray tan helps.

Morning all! I’ll whistle at you with a wink and shimmie at  you with a wiggle and whilst I add a pair of nipple tassels, I’ll wish you the best ‘Happy Thursday ever. It is Thursday right? I’ve lost track. But yes.

(That’s how my morning began….I wrote the above at 9.50am. It all went down hill from there because my electric flicked it’s merry way off, due to my washing machine going *bust,* causing a lovely bit of a flood, a few panic phone calls, no joy and then a ‘whatever’ as I gathered my glitzy belongings, committed to a *hair-toss* and strutted out the door.)

If in doubt, ignore it and hopefully it’ll go away.

Thursday’s usually such a great day to!  I mean, it’s one of those days that means it’s almost the end of the week. One of those days that is sort of on the edge of excitement. It’s not as whole and happy as a Friday, but not shit like a Tuesday. It sort of resembles an odd number, when mixed with ‘evens’…it just works. Having no electric all day was fun. I spent the majority of the day OUT, in order to practice the art of running away from your dramas. Yipppeee! I’m far too preggo to be arsed to deal with such Tom Foolery.

Okay, so nursery run went Fabulously. (Ruby actually stated that I was ‘FABULOUS’ today. It’s the first time she’s ever said it so she scored major points. I’ve spent the entire evening loving and adoring her, with new DVD players and cuddles, alongside ‘have anything you wants.’ Nursery also reported that she stated that her ‘Daddy Keiran’ was ‘Perfect’ and that he had a willy. Hmm…? I enjoy that they can find her rudeness funny…because really her sense of humour and basic logic seems to unfortunately be stemming from the old ‘Chrissie Wunna’ branch, making her basic chitter-chatter awkward for most, yet  quite normal if you’re being raised in Wunna land.

She’s in bed now after cuddles and well to be honest, i’m really adoring being a mother. I had a 37 week scan today because (and I only found this out mid-scan) my baby was measuring small. I like how I find myself in bizarre situations, yet not knowing why the hell i’m there? Now, I know. The baby bump is healthy, live and kicking and even growing correctly, in the exact right position. He’s right on cue…yet is just small…and I don’t mean ‘small’ as in tragically unhealthy small or a dwarf..just more of a 6lb baby, than a 10lb baby…and because i’m apparently of slight Asian frame. THANK GOD FOR THAT! For the first time ever i’ve appreciated Science. Genetics rock. The thought of squeezing out a 10lb- der is terrifying to say the least and i’d need a gallon of rum, served to me by a pirate. But yes. I’m lucky, I’m happy, I have a wonderful family and we’re all excited to meet our baby boy. So much has gone one during this pregnancy…from new marriages, ups, downs, utter bliss, utter strife, baby Ruby, life, filming, hotels, work…you name it, it’s been a circus. Coming to the birth kinda signifies the champion finish line of the whole thing…where you’ve won the war and you’re given a trophy in a confetti shower. I don’t know how i’ve ended up with such a good life, especially after all the sinning. But i think deep down…I kinda deserved it.

All that done…I then went to lunch with my mum. It was a much better idea than sitting in a house with no electric. It was raining and the rain always makes no electricity…feel worse. Plus, I love my Mum, Dad and brother. I didn’t get to spend the majority of my 20′s with them because I was galavanting around Hollywood searching for stardom. Life is great now because i’m back and being a grown up. I’m a lot less trouble in my 30′s. Yet even when I was a shitty teenager and annoying 20-something…my family ALWAYS ALWAYS adored, supported and we there for me.

Got home, hoping that the electrical drama would’ve sorted itself out. It hadn’t and still wasn’t working, so I did what any drama queen would do and Tweet how pissed off you were with life. I was all tired, it was raining, I still had errands to run, I had no electric, Ruby’s playhouse had blown over in the wind and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to get it all up and working. I pulled faces, stomped around, Tweeted angrily that little bit more…then weirdly did the sensible thing and called my service provider and made them make a Rapid Response house call, due to me having  2 year old and a 37 week old bump.

In the next hour they arrived. Good job to, because it had all got the better of me and I was looking for things to blame. I actually passed out. (Not glitzy ‘passed out’ after a wild night of umbrella drinks. It wasn’t sexy like that.) I just fell asleep without realizing on the sofa, in my fur boots, and a giant beige faux fur, with one leg on the sofa, one leg off and my mouth open. I previously arranged for my mum to pick Ruby up from nursery, simply because I had to stay in my home for the following 4 hours to ‘be in’ for the electric guy.

I woke up once, checked the time, passed out again…and before you know it there was a crazy loud knock at my front door…and he was here! At the same time, my mum was just pulling up with Ruby AND it was now pissing it down with rain. I ran outside to help everyone involved…picked up a play house on the way. Hated every minute of the rain. Then had the rapid response guy pop in, show me a switch in the kitchen and within one second ‘flick’ the electric back on.

I’m a spaz. This is way all glamour pusses need a handy man.

But on the whole, i’m happy now, rested, I have lights on…and life is good.

The baby is in bed, Keiran is home and in love. He text me the other day with a,

‘I belong to you, you belong to me…you’re my sweetheart. x’

How adorable!

AND last night on the sofa he laid down, cuddled me and said,

‘I’m really in love with you. I love you SO much. I love you. You love me. It feels good.’

AWWWWW.

I actually have a lot more to report, but for now…it’s family time.

Kisses,

C x

WOW! I feel great today. NOT! I don’t feel like a massively preggo zombie at all! NOT! I thoroughly adore being woken up by my 2 year old this morning, who entered this world via my own vagina, singing ‘LA LA LA LA LAAAAAA’ in my ear, followed by ‘MUMMY WAKE UP…I’M COUNTING TO 3…PUT YA EYES IN AND GET UP NOW.’ Not!

The sun’s gone in and now so has my ‘ooh laa.’ My ‘ooh laa’s like a hard-on, it only pops up for a peeky when it thinks things are gonna be sunny. Yet once the dreariness rings in, tiredness and the cold, it shrivels back in with a ‘peeky squeeky’..then gets yelled at by hormonal 2 year olds. (In fact, that last part is nothing like a Hard-on…why would a 2 year old be yelling at you’re hard-on. Rubes does run around trying to find Keiran’s willy though. It’s like ‘Where’s Wally’ to her…but she never finds it and he’s not in a bobble hat and scarf.

I haven’t even seen Keiran’s willy in ages. He’s felt my bits up whenever he’s felt like it. He did the get my bare boobs out last night for a perv, under the false disguise of ‘wow, your pregnant body is beautiful. My son’s in there. I just can’t believe how all this has happened.’  It is true though. We’ve been together just over a year and a half. We crossed paths at a gym, where we initially just smiled at one another. 5 weeks later we were engaged. 11 months later we were married. Immediately after…we fell pregnant and in 3 weeks, we’re a happy family of 4..with a baby boy and a toddling girl. CRAZY! We’re fast movers. But I wouldn’t have it nay other way. He’s lovely. We’ve found our balance. I love being his wife and although that sounds soppy…it is. I love him. He’s made me really get back to who I want to be..what I want to stand for. We’re gonna do well in life…and just when he doesn’t realize it. I’m good at surprises. Be they ‘on purpose’ or ‘by surprise.’

Okay, so this morning, after a rubbish night’s sleep I woke up roughly, have no idea how I managed to pull myself together to get Ruby dressed and ready for nursery. She didn’t want to go today because she wanted to go to Meadowhall. Lol. She’s lovely right now because she’s so excited about everything and discovering life. Yeah she’s bossy and headstrong..but i’d rather have a girl be that way that a walk over. No man will trample all over my loin fruit…he’l have her own wrath to deal with..followed by mine…followed by my mothers. It’s a jolly chain of events.

Almost fell asleep at the wheel on the nursery run. Still knackered now. Had chatty banter when I dropped Baby Ruby off. (Everyone’s very eager for the birth of the new arrival. They see me every day growing…waddling…struggling, then pissing my self at how tragic I am.) It’s like i’m having a second ‘IT’ baby, as I remember there being all this fuss over Ruby when she resided ‘RENT FREE’ in my belly. The town is excited and I’m so knackered that i’m walking into things. Yipppeee. I need a wine. The only thing that’s changed is that i’m not taking iron tablets. I thought these things were meant to make me more energetic. I have another scan tomorrow and I have no idea why? Scans are apparently just to check the growth and positioning of the baby. Yet yesterday the doctor said the positioning was fine..she even saw it on the monitor herself..and well i guess the size is fine? However, a lady at nursery said (and she said it by growing cress) that because i’m slight in frame and my bump is quite massive…they might need to have a looky to see if he needs to be induced. (Keiran and his giant baby sperm. UGH!)

I think i need to get my groove on and get this baby OUT. Lisa who owns the nursery says that spicy food won’t work for me because i’m ethnic, so I’ve decided that i need the ‘i’m not white’ rule book to help induce my baby. I mean people have suggested bouncing on a yoga ball. WHAT? Now, I have no shame in my game..ever. Yet even I can’t bring myself to sit in my living room, under the chandelier, bouncing up and down on a giant yoga ball, in my bump, on my own…like the comedy Queen of nonsense. I’d feel awkward and rude. It reminds me of the time when I dated that random Mexican and when I went out to the shops, he secretly put on a porn of a Latina girl, with her floppy boobs out bouncing up and down on a yoga ball. It was hilarious because I knew he was addicted to porn, so Instead of bursting back in, i watched him through the blinds when I returned to spy. He wanked to it and everything…then I walked in. he acted like nothing had happened and flicked it onto Facebook at the speed of light. Idiot. Pahaha. Maybe that’s why I fear yoga balls now?

He was so addicted to porn, that even if I took a trip to the corner shop in LA, in that 5 minutes of me being gone, he would whop out his willy and try to wank at comedy speed, whilst I was gone, in secret. I’m sooooo glad to not be with him anymore. I’m happy with my dream man, new country, little girl, telly stints, marriage and baby on the way…with an upcoming career. He had a bedsit and a wanking problem. What was I thinking? He’s the guy that had a pitbull, that I ended up setting on him to attack him when he pissed me off. Why by pitbulls if you don’t want me to use them as my own weapon on you? He was a knob in the end and also ended up being quite domestically violent. He held me hostage…in a bedsit….not glamourous at all.  :) I had to get arrested just to get free…long story. Funny now though. NOT! What a twat!  He used to wrestle me publicly in restaurants out of anger. What a twat!

Okay, so…after dropping Ruby off, i decided I needed to drive into Ponty to run a few errands. I was so knackered that I actually felt like a zombie and banged into the curb TWICE…whilst driving. JEEPERS. I had no idea how I managed to get there, but i did and parked really badly, whilst forgetting why I had ventured into town. I had a look at more wardrobes and skimmed a market place…had nothing to really do, so just went to Boots because I needed comfort in good lighting by beauty products in my preggo haze.

I honestly must’ve walked into everything, dropped everything twice over, forgotten everything, lost my mind, waddled around aimlessly…forgotten more stuff, needed to be in bed, got stressed..craved a burger…and just heavy, lazy and preggo exhausted. I shouldn’t have gone into town because as soon as I was there, I realized that I didn’t need to be there, but just wanted to blink and be at home.

I drove myself so insane with my own carelessness that in the end I gave in with a’ fuck you life, ‘bought ‘Mummy & Me’ foam bath, that’s meant to thoroughly relax any pregnant woman with a waddle and a stressy cloud over her, then purchased everything else I could see..including this random lavender mist, that i’m supposedly meant to spray over Ruby’s bed to make her sleep. Some use tranquilizers..:) I’m just going with the ‘mist’ and so one day I can win ‘Mummy of the year.’

I bought everything..then went to Cooplands and almost cried at how much I purchased to eat. It made me really sad. Hello hormones. What is wrong with me today?

Got in the car, stuffed my face and dreamt of bath time.

Just got home and it’s now running. I’m starting the day again and i’m doing it the way I wanted! Give me bubbles. Give me bath. Give me a magical relaxing preggo formula to get me through this day merrily.

The bath..will be my entire day…with a touch of ‘Real Houswives…’ bliss! I really do need an ethnic girl, ‘bring on the labour’ rule book.

Hey sexy munchkins! Just got home after a looong wait and visit to the Doctors. Things in hospitals take forever for some reason, and I’m really not a kitty fan of waiting rooms, simply because they firstly bore me and secondly it’s an intrusive moment of the most bizarre behaviour, when people who don’t know each other, are FORCED to sit facing one another…in quite a tight spot and either completely go with ‘the ignore’ or ‘fake smile.’

It was ever so joyous on the way. Everything was going my way, I kissed my gorgeous hubby on his way to golf. He kissed me liked he loved me and like he felt so great to be back in love.  It was delicious. Then I had errands. I used to hate errand running, but when preggo and with not much to do, earrands can be exciting, provided they’re only little ones and not ones where i’m actually responsible for lifting heavy things or well responsible for anything too important really. The heavy lifting isn’t because i’m pregnant, it’s simply because i’m a glamour puss. I don’t lift things that are heavy. I summon men to do such a task…no matter where I am, who they are, or if I know them.

Sorted out the gas, registered at the dentist, went to the cash machine, did a bit of grocery shopping in the sun, and completely in the name of nesting. I’m always ‘Godda get some food. Godda feed my family.’ I’m never like that…hence why we know it’s the art of ‘nesting.’ I’m more…’Oh you’re not taking me out to dinner? Oh? Shall we get take out then?’ Not really…I can cook a bit now. When you’re a mum, you have to and there’s NO MICROWAVE ‘special’s in Wunna land. We don’t own one and we never use one to cook. Keeps you with a waistline and everything. You should try it. Plus, i’ve dated loads of chefs..(one ) and they never had a microwave, so I must be doing something right. (Honestly..whocares…lets have a rum.)

Tried to buy a watering can, but the queue was far too long for me to be stood in it, on such a beautiful day, especially because I was in WAG joggers and and flats. I wanna be in booty shorts like the rest of you swines. Yet, back to what I was going on about previously, I couldn’t bare the thought of waiting in a long boring line for 15 minutes with an ‘on sale’ watering can in my hand. I ‘Peaced out’ and got back in the Mercedes.

Afterall that, I then revisited the post office which was closed for lunch simply because I needed it to be open. They’re only closed on Tuesday and Wednesday for lunch…charming. Everything’s always ‘closed for lunch’ in Ackworth. I don’t get it. But whatever, it was open by 1.30pm and so I tottered in gleefully and showed the guy every piece of car paper I owned. He rummaged through it chatting to me about happy nonsense, laughed at the fact that I had no idea what paperwork was what, then took my payment…of course. I’ve been driving the car around ILLEGALLY for the last 7 days and haven’t even known. My tax disc fell off in the heat today and I was like, ‘Shit, it expired April 30th?’ Oops! I’d been everywhere too! So, I went and paid my dues with a wiggle. In fact, I don’t know if I should’ve even admitted to that? Can I still get into trouble? I don’t think so! But whatever, it’s paid now and the post office guy was actually lovely because he’s usually a bastard to Keiran. He liked me because..and in his own words…’didn’t fight with him over who was right.’ The old Wunna ‘just shut up and give me my tax disc’ charm.

Did all that, popped back in the car, next to an old lady who didn’t seem to be impressed by me, as she wished for ‘quiet time’ so she could read her book in the sun. Well how about NOT READING YOUR BOOK IN A CAR PARK. If I want Nelly to sing ‘Hey Porsche’ at you for a couple seconds, whilst I pack my bump into the car and adjust my boobs…I will. I’m respectful because I love old people. Yet I despise it when they have no respect for me. It’s not like I was blaring techno out my open car window and wearing a pikey shirt, whilst snarling at her and swearing, with my limp walk. Jeeze!

Drove to Pontefract hospital, in the blistering sunshine. Loved every minute of it. Got to the car park, every spot had GONE…which is always devastating, until I closed my eyes and had a peek on the next row and BOOM, the LAST SPOT WAS MINE!! Yeah baby! How lucky was that! Joyfully leapt out, paid my ticket for the ‘pay and display.’ It ate my money up…£2.70 and didn’t bother giving me a ticket…so I had to put it in again!!! FFS! I wasn’t too bothered though because I was oddly chipper.

Walked to the ward. Went toe the X-ray department instead of the Maternity department. (School is cool. ) The receptionist just looked at me and said, ‘Are you having an X-ray because you’re not on my list?’

Finally got to the maternity ward, where I was given a pot to piss in, so to speak. I couldn’t go, so I had to drink 3 cups of water…then I went and wee’d into a tube, which ended up being a nightmare. I can never ctach my wee in the pot if i sit normal, so I have to take ALL of my bottoms off..FULLY…in the loo and ‘REVERSE COWGIRL’ the actual toilet, like I’m a horny stripper and wee, whilst catching. It works every time…except I got it on my hand and on the floor.

Filled the tube up though. CHAMPION. Then I had to quickly wipe wee spots off the floor and myself before placing my bottoms back on and washing my hands..and the pot. It was so funny to be waddling around with no pants on, with my tushie out, with dolly eyes trying to swiftly clean the loo, so I could pretend that I was dignified.

Got back to the waiting room and WAITED. I waited for ages and stared in the face of every type of mum going. Big mums, small mums, young mums, old mums, mums with partners, single mums, tall mums, short mums, fat mums, thin mums, posh mums, chav mums, mums with mums…just all mums, waiting to do the same thing..shortly. They didn’t half look poorly though. It made me feel odd. For the FIRST TIME EVER….I felt like the skinny preggo. I rocked my 9 month bump with swagger. I felt all thin and pretty. All glamourous and fit in comparison. In fact the preggo’s made me feel quite bad because they looked in so much pain. Sweating, panting, giantly over weight and swelling in ever place that would hold a swell. There was one lady sat next to me who was ‘out loud’ moaning. I hate ‘out loud’ moaners. I mean we’re all in the same boat here. She was about 40 stone, panting, sweating, making her beau do EVERYTHING for her, crying out loud because she was in so much pain…and being far to dramatic for a waiting room. Does she not know the waiting room rules of ‘ignore’ or ‘fake smile?’

Just because she out loud moaned, I had no sympathy for her. Hahah. I’m awful like that. Any real attention whore knows that it is done subtly and distinctly for maximum effect. Her boyfriend..I saw no ring…was young and timid and in fact wearing a ‘Superman’ t-shirt. He cradled her, like she was Baby Jesus, as she yelled at him for more water and to fan her.

I was waiting for ages..and so long that I actually thought they had really forgotten about me. I am so big headed that I actually thought, ‘no they really can’t of, I’m off the telly and the skinny preggo.’ I’m an idiot..I apologize.

Saw the Doc, saw the midwife…everything was fine…everything was perfect,. the baby is the right way…the Doctor didn’t know why I was there, but booked me in for a scan on Thursday anyhow? I have no idea why? Lovely Doctor because she was bossy. I like that. She liked me because she saw ‘ooh laa’ in me. She also told me that I was smiley for a pregnant lady and more active than most…so I was happy. I didn’t like that she heavy handed prodded me though. It hurt like hell. They aren’t gentle are they? I mean kitten gloves much! Saying that, that’s probably how I’d prod if I was a Doctor and simply out of humour. It was so rough I thought i’d wee myself. But then…i figured it was better than a surprise ‘sweep and stretch.’ I hate people’s fingers jabbing into my lady part. There was none of that! Hurrah!

I’m back in Thursday. I don’t really need a scan do I? Plus, she’s booked me in for a blood test in a couple weeks. I will have had him in a couple weeks. Do I just not know something here or what?

Skipped home, everyone had been delightful to me. Itr’s good when you’re a Wunna and you have babies when you’re mum is a family planning doctor, and ‘le boss.’ You get people fussing over you for no reason and it’s ace.

Got to the car, ate 2 doughnuts out of happiness…drove home to make a quick spag bol for the shortly arriving troops. Rubes will be home from nursery like NOW and Keiran from golf in a wee bit. Now, i’m relaxing with a bag of Doritos (the blue ones) enjoying life and watching ‘Real Housewives.’ Life couldn’t be better. I’m excited to see my son! We all are!

Keiran and I are madly in love. It’s wonderful and is making this time of our lives bliss. Ruby is adding deliciousness to it all. I feel really lucky. I have an AMAZING little family!

GOOD MORNING my perky pinks of pretty perv! Delicious weather. Great nights sleep, completely enjoying the sunshine..’HEEELLLLOOOO SUMMER,’ and actually looking forward to blogging for you today. Maybe it’s because i’m in a good mood. One of those grand kinda moods, where you feel as though you’re on top of the world. ‘You shall go to the ball Cinders!’

Anyway…over the last two days, during the Bank Holiday weekend, (I’m actually not currently working due to preggoness, so to be honest every weekend is a ‘Bank Holiday Weekend’ to me, yipppeeee,) my hubby and I spent some good old fashioned ‘quality time’ with one another. You see, Keiran and I go through phase blocks. We went from spending every single moment of every single day with one another, to then Tarzan palm swinging to the other end of the spectrum with a ‘Yahoooo’ where work decided to slut strut her way in, with a side of golf and take our constant ‘hanging out’ COMPLETELY away from us, leaving us in the ‘not spending ANY time with one another’ box. Not a bad box by any means, as we’re both independant, yet at the same time needy for love. However, with everything in life, that touch of BALANCE, the old ‘Ying & Yang’ the old bit of ‘Laurel,’ bit of ‘Hardy,’ is essential. Like I always say, a conga line (a line that I truly find detestable) is only great because it STOPS. Fun, must always be punctuated and play must always come with a heavy dollop of work. If not, you’re an idiot and I always use fun and play as examples, simply because no-one needs convincing of having a good time. I think people get more carried away with the aspect of ‘party-party-knickers in the air’ shindigs, than they do work. Unless you’re a money making machine…then you work all the time and have riches. In fact…now I think about it…work does sound better after all. Fuck balance. Just make millions.

So yeah, The Hubbilicious and I have spend chill time with one another, which we truly appreciated because we never really get to do it. We cuddled and kissed and well for the first day simply got back into the swing of things. I actually ENJOYED making him his morning eggs and he was filled with romance. Keiran by trade is a love bunyn and you’re really lucky if you’re the apple of his eye because he will wholeheartedly dote on you romantically, even if at times he doesn’t doesn’t show that he’s utterly sprung. It’s a guy thing to him. A typical Aries trait. That night I felt like we were the best couple in the world and married life couldn’t be better. We’re an Aries and a Sagittarius (for those of you who are into all that…I am) so he has traits that qualify him to be my dream man…he’s romantic, loving, courageous and brave. Hard in all the right ways, yet soft in all the right ways and well we sort of at times reach a kind of harmony that other couples never turly get to experience. He’s been the man that’s been able to sort of tame me. It’s been hard for him, but he finally was able to see beyond a mist of boobies, tan and feist. I mean, my  blunt comments may bruise his innocent heart at times, but my integrity is spotless. Oh and I have boobies. Bottom line…we’re in love and still falling. Always a nice feeling and wonderful when you’re a family and about to celebrate a new addition to the delicious equation. ‘Oooh, I do say Sir!’

That night we actually ’300′ as we laid on the sofa tending to ‘quality time.’  It’s one of his favourite films as it ignites his inner ‘Army Keiran.’ I’m quite good in the fact that I’ll watch anything. I’m easily pleased and not too picky. But I will say, WHY THE HELL did those Spartan boys decide to go into hardcore battle in nothing but Speedo’s and capes. Oh and knee high rocket boots. They were dressed like go-go dancers…with swords. I mean, this was meant to be a serious ‘I only have 300 men’ battle…not a Wunnaland 2004 bedroom parade. Where the fuck is your armour? I’m no where near up on my army knowledge..but for crying out loud, I’d know to put a top on. It’s not Babestation. (You know what…I’ve just relaized how old i’ve become…back in the day, I would’ve LOVED go-go dancing soldier lookalikeys. I’ve lost my touch. Kill me now. I’m complaining because big, buff, warrior men AREN’T wearing any clothes…i’m dead to me. I think i’ve become a great deal more respectful now that i’ve grown up. However saying that, I always was. I only pretended to be whorey, with a roving eye for the gents. Now, don’t get me wrong I lvoe a handsome man and when I was single devoured them with my charm. Yet now that i’m a married bird…i’ve summoned my real me…and well I tend not to be flirty with boys or glare at the sweaty male bods of others and simply because i’m satisfied with my own chunk of man that I have at home. Keiran’s lucky in that sense and it’s a trait he enjoys in me…loyalty, faithfulness.  All my other other traits, apart from boobies, he just puts up with. Yay!

Then I went to the kitchen to launch a plate into the sink only to find drunks outside my window ready to take on their next bit of public house merriment.  One chubby blond boy saw me, shouted ‘OI’ (romance is alive) and then decided to remove his top, to show me his delightful chubby body, and swirl his shirt around his head for me. That’s what happens in Wunna land when you fling plates into the sink. Madness. Again..not my type..yet flattered. Drunks love me. The bizarre thing is that when you’re chubby, the shirt fling is only at it’s perfect comedic peak if you’re funny about it. He wasn’t. He was doing it as a straight old drunkard, who thought I might fancy his body? All you heard was me shouting, ‘Keiran, there’s a boy taking off his shirt in the window at me?’ His reply…’Is he still doing it?’ I looked and he had gone. ‘No.’ The end.

I enjoy Keiran’s replies to things…’Babe..why are they going into battle in no tops and just pants?’ His answer, ‘…because they’re ninja’s.’

Yesterday was a lovely day…Ruby went to Meadowhall after galloping around the garden with her new bubble lawn mower..only a cheapy…but she loved, it until it broke. Don’t we all. Rube’s is an outside kinda girl, she adores the sun,a frock and a run around the garden. I’m enjoying every bit of being her mummy, especially now that she’s a 2 year old,w hich is odd as they’re mean to be terrible around this time. Don’t get me wrong, she can be a diva, but i expect it from her…meaning it’s water off a ducks back. Bring it, Mini Me. Poor Keiran’s been schooled in the art of ‘Diva-mania’ like a champion. He has Ruby, my Mother and I to deal with on a daily. No wonder he loves golf so much. Anything to get him out the house. He’s till asleep now, as I’m blogging by his feet. This has been his only proper lay in day, because his actually didn’t have work at 6am this morning. I’m being noisy..but whatever, that’s life. I think people who don’t like noise or anything really…need to learn to be smart. Smart people wouldn’t tell the people to ‘shh,’ they would just learn to adapt and be able to sleep in noise. BOOM!

(All grown up Ruby doing ‘Summer’ & Keiran, off to do his ‘anything to get him out the house’ golf.’ I can’t believe how grown up Rubes is now and I can’t believe how gentleman like Keiran looks these days.)

Okay, so yesterday since we had no babies…just the bump, Keiran and I took a walk around Junction 32 in the sun, stopped off at a cafe, then public ‘in clothes’ sunbathed on a grassy patch, that I didn’t know we were allowed on.

‘Are we allowed on here?’

‘God..live a little Chrissie.’

As IF, I got told to ‘live a little,’ helloooo…have you not read this blog…rewind a few years. It’s scary. I just didn’t want to get carted off in my big knickers and bump and have a prison baby. Dramatic I know.

Anyway, ti was a beautiful day, a scorcher…and we laid on the grass, in lvoe and bathed in the sun…we were kinda like zoo animals, as there was a wooden ‘don’t cross, this is garden area” barrier around is. So everyone who passed got to see my big, wibbly ‘wrapped up’ preggo bum. Delightful. I didn’t care because I couldn’t see THEM. I had my back turned. Keiran played his tunes and quite loudly sang along to them. I pouted and tickled him, as I laid…like a beached whale..in pink, in my sunglasses catching some rays. BEAUTIFUL. Twice yesterday, he looked at me and said, ‘today has been lovely. I’ve loved just chilling and spending time with you like this, because i’ve felt like we never get to do it anymore.’ AWWW. The thing about Keiran and I is that we’re always on the same page. A good thing when it comes to pairing up. I’m only rambling on about him so much because firstly..i love him and I can’t actually believe I ever found someone that is my ideal. Your Prince REALLY WILL COME Ladies…and not just all over you…with a diamond, a future and everything. Then secondly…well..just the first thing really.

Got home, chilled some more…made lasagne…Keiran golfed and Ruby returned from shopping as bright as a cheery button still with her Summer gallop and giddy giggly in tact. I love that she’s so happy right now. I mean last night was one of the first night’s in ages where she actually slept through without nightmares and woke up HAPPY. In fact completely wide eyed and cheery, with an ‘i love you.’ Usually I get a weave pull or a slap. TODAY she managed to lay in until 6.30am. I was impressed. There’s no point ot her waking up early simply because SHE can’t handle it. Yesterday was unlike today as she wee’d all over my bed, spilt milkl in it, then ran off to her ‘Hello Kitty’ bed that she NEVER wants to sleep in and slept in it. Charming. Saying htat, i’ve done that before…expect I was 23 in New York. Oh and the wee was vomit. I’m far too glamourous to wee in someone’s sheets. Honest! (I have accidentally poo’ed though. But that was okay…I was 19 and I hate that guy now.)

I don’t think I have anything else to report, other than to wish you a very happy day. I’m off to see the doctor at 2.30pm today to make sure all is well for the upcoming birth, with my dodgy blood levels. Sexy! Oh and Keiran is rather excited about his new bed. Almost too excited. Almost child like excited. He’s turned, ‘Babe i’ve bought a new bed so we can tag team the children’ into ‘OMG, I HAVE MY OWN ROOM.’ Apparently, I’m not allowed in it, only for sex and I need a secret password and he’s delighted because he gets to shut everyone out. Lol. He’s turned into a hermit. It’s hilarious. Grumpy old man Thompson.

Last night, as I feel asleep on his pec on the sofa and shocked myself up. You do that when you’re a mum…i think? If you fall asleep any other place…you jump up ad think, SHIT WHERE AM i…I HAVE CHILDREN AND EVERYTHING.’

Anyway, I can’t lay on the husbands pecs without falling asleep because it just feel so comforted and if cuddle him he usually falls asleep out of comfort also. We’re being’s who need love to relax…and money.  So, I jump up, he’d been slapping my arse all evening…which was a bit ouchy actually. I like tender touches not whacks. I’m in a sleepy haze, I get to standing, I’m dreary and need to get to bed and do you think he does? No..he doesn’t clam me, love me and guide me in the right direction, he lifts up my top to expose my boobies, then pulls down my bright orange, with white polka dots frilly knickers (i looked like a whale in them, they were ace) and he pulled them DOWN!!! None of it to be sexy…just to do it because I was ‘man down.’ I moaned, stomped my feet, pulled up my pants and went to bed.

Have a great day. *Wiggles.*

Double blogs today, you shaking blinks of bling-fest. I adore chill days and simply because they’re simple AND I get to blog twice, without the madness scurrying around me like glittery, dramatic pumps of circus. I’ve slipped out of the black maxi dress. I mean there’s only so much dressing up you can do, when you have no where to go. I was sprawled on my sofa like Cleopatra, in my big hair, diamantes, eyelashes and too much lippy…and when the hubby had popped out for a big of golf, (we’ve managed to have some ‘us’ time today, which was very much needed. Yeah I spent some of the time rubbing his tired husband shoulders…whilst I moaned about my tired wifey bump…but on the whole, it was delicious. He’s lovely. I’m lucky. Yet not as lucky as him. ) But yes, where was I? Once he had pulled an ‘Elvis’ and completely left the building, (and I don’t mean ‘pulled’ as in gotten felt up by a Vegas act, who fancied a bit more than a cock tail..reminds me of a time when my friend Gay Adam was pissed up in a Vegas elevator, with a martini in his hand and a bunch of Elvis acts squashed into his lift. He looked around and quite unsure of what was going on, due to his drunken state said, ‘Can you see them too?’) Anyway, yes…(and again ) once Keiran had left, I looked in the mirror and thought why am I dressed like this, when i’m doing nothing but chilling at home at 9 months pregnant? I quickly stripped off, flung my dress in the laundry basket (which I once had a fight with after a drunken night with Harriet) and comfied into a pair of giant blue and white checked boy’s pyjama bottoms and lemon t-shirt. I’ve never felt comfier. (Still no undies on.)

So, my mum pops around to drop off some milk…no real reason for it, other than her being a mum and thinking I might need milk. Sweet. I love all mums. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a yummy mummy, an old school mum, a rocky chick mum, a good mum, a quiet mum, a feisty mum, a working mum or a stay at home mum…if you’re child grows up and says, ‘I have a great mum…’ you did a grand job. I mean, you can even be a BAD mum and have you’re child say, ‘I have a great mum,’ meaning maybe you weren’t as bad as you thought you were after all. I alwayss thought I was on top of the world, yet it wasn’t until I was a ‘Mummy’ aka MI.L.F that i became W.O.M.A.N.

As my mum drops the milk off in the kitchen and check on my bump-a-lumpa…she ventures outside with me, as I do that whole ‘throwing things in the right bins malarky,’ a process I hate because I think it’s a boys job. Yeah, ti’s good to recycle and all that jazz..but can I really be arsed. NO. Give me an imaginary rum any day.

She looks at me, giggles and says, ‘there really is no point to wearing any clothes.’ I had no idea what she was rambling on about. But she was giggling so I figured it must be hilarious in some respect. *Throws mustard glass and orange juice carton in the green recycling bin*

‘You have you’re bum out, because you’ve ripped the back of your pj bottoms. You’re front open, because they are boys pyjama’s meaning you have your button flies open and no knickers on AND THEN you got that too small stretched t-shirt glazed over your top, which is now completely see-thru so I can see your Jelly Baby belly button and nipples. PAHAHAHAHA.’

That’s what she said, whilst I was garden recycling. I looked at myself through the patio window and yeah I didn’t look too bad. Bums are for hanging out…nipples are there for peeking…open crotch is never good…but I really didn’t know and well the rest is magic. We both pissed ourselves…(laughed not wee’d..as that would be awkward by a shed) and then she flew off in her Mercedes to feed my father a curry. I want a curry.

Keiran’s happy today, he loves a bit of love and wifey, so he’s filled to the brim with joy. As he left I told him that he wasn’t allowed to talk to any girls…in fact I screamed it at him out of humour. He did an angry pouty face at me, but smirked like he adored it really.

We’re doing everything new in the bedrooms right now. So before the baby gives us a ‘thumbs up,’ we’re clearing everything out, decorating a little and moving all new furniture in…wardrobes, curtains, beds….not for the baby..but for us. We have no idea how to work it all, as we’l have 2 yr old Ruby and the newborn both throwing hissy fits, so we need to tag team them. Keiran’s getting his own room, hence the new bed etc…with a child and I will have our room…with a child. PARENT TAG TEAM.

Now, all this was MY idea. Yet it’s gotten Keiran a wee bit too excited because he will now have his OWN ROOM. His own ‘CAVE.’ His own ‘Boy Palace.’ I mean for crying out loud. He looked at me today and said, ‘ I can’t wait to get my own room and new wardrobes. It will be ALL MINE and everything will HAVE A PLACE & you’re not allowed in it…the kids can come in…but you can’t.’ What?

I’m going in whatever I want. But really, he’s actually hardcore excited about it all. Apart from the fact that he thinks that the babies will all be in my bed and he’ll have his own room, so (and in his own words…jokingly of course) if he wants to bring back a local and bonk her he can. I laughed in his face with a ‘whatever!’ then told him that I’d set her on fire, so there was no point. He laughed and then decided that I’d do, but did a weird kinky face like having a separate room and inviting me into it was sexy and weird…like an odd yet dirty role play. He can talk the talk can my dearest husband when he believes he wants to play ‘funny.’ But lets talk ‘real life,’ if you can’t contain yourself when I’m simply walking down an isle, with a 60 year old Asian man, in a white frock, without crying your eyes out, in a rather romantic moment of love…then you can’t handle ‘local in the room next door to me’ without fearing the wrath of The Wunna.

We’ve got nothing to worry about because we’re in love. Yeah we have our major dodgy moment mixed in with minor dodgy moment…but most of all there’s love.We’re doing the right thing. If anyone has anything to worry about it’s him when i’m skinny and hot again…hellooo waistline and ego in stilettos. I’ll be a nightmare, i’m sure. Yipppeee! Plus, i’ll venture back into entertainment making me glitzy once more and BAM..you have ‘ooh laa.’

I wonder what time Rubes is home. I should be making use of this time and chilling, not scraping bits from my baby brain and attempting to blog at you about of boredom.

I think I need a snack.