Well…it’s Tuesday.


Jeepers! I’m shattered! Who would’ve thought that a few days on an Easter break who ladder ya stockings in such a manner that you wake up Tuesday morning feeling hungover, yet without the fun wine part.

Yep, it certainly took us some time to get going this morning. I had a poorly Baby Ruby who just needed cuddles and to wee on me constantly. I had a human in my belly trying to force his way out, with swagger. (I’m not looking forward to the old ‘push-push’ part of having a child. It’s suddenly dawned on me that it’s really soon and i’m really sober…and i’m not in a glittery mess, meaning it will all be much harder for me. Let’s just say that I’m a kitten who has just had trouble on the loo this morning, with the usual day to day toilet affairs…I have zero idea how I’m going to be able to heave-ho ‘PUSH-PUSH’ a child out of my vagina…with a smile (and you kinda have to do these things with a smile, otherwise ti’s makes the delivery pointless. It’s good customer service and well will fool my little man-bump into believing the world is a happy place, full of rainbows and love…and hospital drugs. 🙂

I’m not quite sure how Keiran’s feeling about it all now. He’s been a dream of a husband and an absolute Ken Doll of help. (Not that Ken Doll is helpful, as he looks a little stiff, but he has a great body..well a great body for a blond girl. If you date a blond girl, all you need is a stiff body. If you date a brunette, that great body of stiff, needs to be able to move. We adore a bit of the snake hips, the ‘ooh laa,’ the mysterious swiggedy.)

But yes, we’re in love and he’s being truly helpful, however there’s part of him that’s quite distance. If I ask him if he loves me or if he’s excited about the baby, he’ll just sort of ‘yes; it, dismissively, like he doesn’t’ want to let anything out. Maybe he’s nervous? Hes been focusing a great deal on work of recent…and the rest of his time on golf. I think times like this are also emotionally overwhelming for the guy part of the tango. Well not for ALL men, but for my man. I mean, if he cried at me walking down the isle in a frock, then seeing his little son for the first time ever, will surely make him collapse. I’m letting him get on with it, with a giggle…he’s holding up fine. I…on the other hand…well….i’m shitting myself. I’m now 32/40 weeks pregnant.

Yesterday was the last day of the Easter break and so my mum decided to take Ruby and I shopping, with a side of lunch. Keiran went to play golf at some ridiculous 6.50am o’clock hour. We laid in bed and dribbled.  Now, i’ve pretty much shopped all Easter long, as has the glitzy fruit of my loins. (Shopping really is her favourite past time. Not only have I birthed a genius, but my child can also throw herself the perfect outfit together in a jiffy…without me calling the fashion police.) Anyway, yesterday I was KNACKERED. We all were and well there was no waddle left in me. All i needed was a lay down and a chill dome. Yet, i pushed myself to the limit, making myself get grumpy :)…exhausting my preggo body and feeling like rubbish for the rest of the evening and all of this morning. Not sure why I do that, but I do. It’s not really fun for anyone, as I get really short tempered and  in THIS weave, you won’t find me hanging up my ‘DIVA’ shoes just yet. I love it.

I think this is meant to be the ‘nesting’ time of your pregnancy, yet weirdly i’ve been nesting the entire time and NOW, i’ve wanting to do everything. I’ve cleaning pans, hoovering floors, folding clothes, running errands, driving the car and grooming. I HAVE SOOOOOO GOT MY PAMPER ON. I always refuse to give birth looking rubbish. I want to look like a glamour puss and I always get called names for it, by the masses, which we do find delightful here in Wunna land. Yet, I don’t care. If i want eyelashes, a tan and a weave in when I give birth to my second bit of child, I WILL. I already feel better for it and because if anything, it comforts me. SO THERE. I’ll leave the bare faced sweating to you lot. My baby floods out in a shower of glitter and fanfare not a puff of smoke.

I will say that after seeing the line for the car washing place I decided that it would be quicker for me to wash the Mercedes myself. I mean, when I was young little teenagers used to knock om my mums door and ask to wash her car for a fiver….so i figured I could do it myself. (They once actually stole a Michael Jackson cassette. 🙂 I find that hilarious for some reason. It was the ‘Bad’ album. Times must’ve been hard, yet at least they had great taste in music. Wash the fucking car, when people have given you £5, not rummage through their glove compartments, stealing Michael Jackson goods.)

Anyway, I told Keiran (who’s decided he’s knackered today and can’t possibly drive, meaning I have to, *rolls eyes,*) that i was going to wash the car myself and HOLY SHIT, he got on his high horse, which isn’t higher than mine and began giving me the ‘NO, YOU’RE PREGNANT SPEECH.’ He won’t let me do it…AT ALL…and I have no idea why? How am I okay enough to drive around on the roads…which if you know my ‘behind the wheel’ skills, you’d be very worried to the point of panic, yet not be allowed to get a bucket and sponge and rub down a parked car, OUTSIDE MY OWN HOME? I just looked at him and said, ‘Why? I don’t get why I can’t?? It’s not like i’m lifting heavy treasure.’ (Once a pirate, always a pirate.)

I think, i’m just gonna do it anyway. I need things to do, menial things to take my mind off the fact that shortly a human will be push it’s entire body out of my floozy.

That’s not even the hard part, that’s the painful part. The hard part is having a 2 year old and a newborn all at the same time. But whatever, i’m dipped in tinsel, i’ll be fine. Plus, Ruby is actually a darling. Not a difficult bambino at all.

The other night Keiran looked at me and said, ‘I can’t tell whether you’ve been horrible over the last 7 month because you’re just evil or because you’re pregnant.’ Comforting init. 🙂 How about just telling me i’m beautiful and leaving it at that. He did leave Ruby and I a little note the other morning, when he trolled off to golf, stating that he loved us and missed us. But I’ve never really been called ‘EVIL’ before. All the boys i’ve dated think i’ve been the best girlfriend they’ve ever had.

Well…maybe not all of them…not the one that I set pitbulls on. 🙂





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