1. When people tell you to make the most of the time before the baby comes - realise that this is profound advice. Realise also that you will never actually truly appreciate this advice until it's too late. Remember fondly those days you wasted DOING THINGS when you could have been vegging in front of the TV. Idiot.
2. Don't bother buying new clothes for, oh, let's say, a year. I am four months in, and have regurgitated formula milk on the left shoulder of every top I own.
3. Add an hour on to any appointments you might make. Lunch with friends at one? Start trying to leave the house at twelve, and you might make it. Changing bag packed? Check. Nappy changed? Check. My own make up? Hit and miss, but - check. Nappy sniffed again to ensure that was just a massive fart? Check. My shoes on? Check. My lovely heels taken off as totally unsuitable, and replaced with flip flops? Check. Projectile vomit mopped up? Check. Baby in car seat? Check. Tantrum? Check. Keys and purse? Check. Baby straining for enormous shit as we walk to the door? Check. Baby unstrapped and nappy changed? Check. Out the door we go - a breeze. Scrap that, add a fucking day to any appointment you might make. And take a spare top.
4. Never, ever, ever discuss your 'plans' for the baby, before it arrives. Never say "Oh, my child will not be having a dummy". Never say "Goodness no, don't want a clingy baby. I will not be cuddling this one to sleep all the time." Don't think about dismissing anything, and certainly don't make smug speeches about how things will be. You will end up dining out on your words more than once. Batten down the hatches and get some kip in, it's the best you can do.
5. Ignore all of this as the more I write, the more I realise I am perhaps just actually terrible at this. Ha!
6. Don't worry when you feel like you are going clinically insane. Like, literally mad. It's normal apparantly.
7. Make sure none of your friends are midwives, and if they are - ditch them.
8. Grit your teeth when people tell you to 'sleep when the baby sleeps'. Great idea in theory. In practice, you have 400 million things to do while baby sleeps, and you can guarantee one of them is to eat. Mind you, baby will snap it's eyes open just as you lift the fork to your mouth, so don't buy expensive food. It will all go to waste.
9. Ignore anyone who wants to force their BIRTH STORY onto you. It will scare you, cos, well; it's fucking scary. Tell them to shut up and don't allow yourself to envisage their ripped gooch. I don't remember a great deal from my BIRTH STORY, as I was off my tits on all the drugs they could give me. I can remember pissing myself and shouting at the midwife about it, and my mum and sister having a chinese (meal, not person) delivered. Some faff and noise and pain later, I saw my lovely boy being lifted out of my midsection like a prize from a tombola. Not sure I captured the emotion of the moment by slurring "why's it covered in custard?" before passing out.
10. Enjoy it. Apparantly.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Friday, June 29, 2007
List Of Gripes: Supermarket
There are certain rules that regular, polite shoppers adhere to. My main gripe is with those imbeciles who break The Rules:
Don’t park your trolley in front of a whole row of produce/an entire shelf. COS THE REST OF US CAN’T GET TO THE STUFF THEN, CAN WE?! Put your trolley elsewhere. You’re not the only one who cares about how fresh the potatoes are.
If I am in your way, employ ‘real world’ tactics, and ask me to move. This can be achieved through using the ever popular ‘excuse me…’ or the more risqué ‘sorry, can I just…?’ with a smile. Standing behind me sighing will just ensure I dither longer over which pasta to buy. Fucking sap.
Don’t allow your child to push the trolley. When they bleat on at you to let them push it, PLEASE JUST LET ME PUSH IT MUMMY – use your parental control and tell them NO. Small child with weak arms + mahoosive shopping trolley with rusty wheels = anarchy / strangers with bruised shins. Those little seats at the front of the trolley is where your child belongs.
Do not linger in the middle of aisles, chatting (whether it be on your phone or to your mate who also has a trolley) – you’re taking up valuable trolley space.
Finally. When you make it to the checkout, and have no doubt transferred your shopping from trolley to belt in chaotic order; there are long plastic dividers in front of you, with NEXT CUSTOMER PLEASE or something similar, emblazoned down each side. Etiquette states that it is your job to place this between your shopping and mine. Because if you don’t, I will begin transferring my shopping from trolley to belt (in a carefully disciplined order, of course) – RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS! That’s right buddy. Whereupon you will probably panic, and make a grab for one of those little plastic dividers, and SLAM it down behind your multipacks of crisps, white bread, and sugary cereals. (yep, I’m a judgmental shopping snob. But only when I am doing non-hangover shopping).
Don’t park your trolley in front of a whole row of produce/an entire shelf. COS THE REST OF US CAN’T GET TO THE STUFF THEN, CAN WE?! Put your trolley elsewhere. You’re not the only one who cares about how fresh the potatoes are.
If I am in your way, employ ‘real world’ tactics, and ask me to move. This can be achieved through using the ever popular ‘excuse me…’ or the more risqué ‘sorry, can I just…?’ with a smile. Standing behind me sighing will just ensure I dither longer over which pasta to buy. Fucking sap.
Don’t allow your child to push the trolley. When they bleat on at you to let them push it, PLEASE JUST LET ME PUSH IT MUMMY – use your parental control and tell them NO. Small child with weak arms + mahoosive shopping trolley with rusty wheels = anarchy / strangers with bruised shins. Those little seats at the front of the trolley is where your child belongs.
Do not linger in the middle of aisles, chatting (whether it be on your phone or to your mate who also has a trolley) – you’re taking up valuable trolley space.
Finally. When you make it to the checkout, and have no doubt transferred your shopping from trolley to belt in chaotic order; there are long plastic dividers in front of you, with NEXT CUSTOMER PLEASE or something similar, emblazoned down each side. Etiquette states that it is your job to place this between your shopping and mine. Because if you don’t, I will begin transferring my shopping from trolley to belt (in a carefully disciplined order, of course) – RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS! That’s right buddy. Whereupon you will probably panic, and make a grab for one of those little plastic dividers, and SLAM it down behind your multipacks of crisps, white bread, and sugary cereals. (yep, I’m a judgmental shopping snob. But only when I am doing non-hangover shopping).
List Of Gripes: Work (office)
People who stand behind you at your desk silently, not announcing their presence. Acting as if you should have known they were lurking behind you (reading your emails) when you finally turn around and jump. Feels akin to waking up to someone staring at you intently.
When someone holds the door open for you – BUT YOU’RE STILL A TEN MINUTE WALK AWAY FROM THE DOOR. So you end up having to do a stupid TROT because THEY chose to hold open the door. Then you have to say thank you!
Middle aged men/women quoting Peter Kay or Catherine Tate. Cringe. ‘and we have this really funny joke in this one meeting where Tony will say something and I go ‘do I look bovvered Tony?’ – ha ha! Honestly it is so funny. So funny.” Yep. Sure.
Sitting next to a very heavy smoker in an office. Some people take fag breaks CONSTANTLY, and come back reeking of foul cigarettes – I’m not even sure where you buy fags that smell like that. Camels mixed with Marlborough Reds. Its actually extremely offensive. I am saying all this as a smoker, too. Albeit a light smoker...
‘Dress down days’. An opportunity for software developers to show off their ‘hilarious’ t-shirts and general sense of style. Cringe again. Far too many shiny white trainers and too much Red Dwarf for my liking. Nothing wrong with Red Dwarf you understand, I am just adverse to men wearing T-Shirts advertising their love for the show.
Women who bring their newborns into the office. This should actually be top of the list. I just don’t get it. Much as I am a complete skiver, I do have a weirdly unshakeable belief in professional behaviour (or pretend professional behaviour, at least).
I would never flirt with a senior man in a meeting, or show too much cleavage in the office. The idea of crying in the office horrifies me – its happened maybe twice in my ‘career’ and both times I’ve felt I was letting the female side down. We want to be treated ‘equally’? That means we can’t blub, or talk about shoes n chocolate, or drop pencils and (oops!) bend over provocatively to pick them up. We just won’t get taken seriously. It therefore baffles me that women who leave to go and give birth then feel the need to bring the product of their wombs into the office environment. To show it off. To shove at ex colleagues who may or may not be interested in holding the little bundle of joy. A baby in the office splits it down the middle – you get the contingent of EARTH MOTHERS who will gather INSTANTLY round mummy regardless of whether they know her or not) and coo at the little one. You then get the other group (to which I belong) who tack on their hardest face and concentrate on their PC, hard. Possibly huffing when the baby inevitably starts screaming, just as your phone rings.
People who comment on what you’re eating. This one might sound a bit weird, but my friend knows where I’m coming from here. This is not restricted to the office, but it is where I get the most irritated by it. So you’ve spent 20 minutes the night before, preparing a salad. Or a sandwich. Or whatever. Or maybe you’ve been and bought something yummy, and are looking forward to eating it, while reading the paper. In peace. Guaranteed, someone will bustle over and go “ooh that looks LOVELY! What is it? WOW!” or – “that salad/sandwich is HUGE! You’re not going to eat all that surely?!”.
Follow me to the loo next time why don’t you, and perch on the cubicle top while I piss! FUCK OFF.
When someone holds the door open for you – BUT YOU’RE STILL A TEN MINUTE WALK AWAY FROM THE DOOR. So you end up having to do a stupid TROT because THEY chose to hold open the door. Then you have to say thank you!
Middle aged men/women quoting Peter Kay or Catherine Tate. Cringe. ‘and we have this really funny joke in this one meeting where Tony will say something and I go ‘do I look bovvered Tony?’ – ha ha! Honestly it is so funny. So funny.” Yep. Sure.
Sitting next to a very heavy smoker in an office. Some people take fag breaks CONSTANTLY, and come back reeking of foul cigarettes – I’m not even sure where you buy fags that smell like that. Camels mixed with Marlborough Reds. Its actually extremely offensive. I am saying all this as a smoker, too. Albeit a light smoker...
‘Dress down days’. An opportunity for software developers to show off their ‘hilarious’ t-shirts and general sense of style. Cringe again. Far too many shiny white trainers and too much Red Dwarf for my liking. Nothing wrong with Red Dwarf you understand, I am just adverse to men wearing T-Shirts advertising their love for the show.
Women who bring their newborns into the office. This should actually be top of the list. I just don’t get it. Much as I am a complete skiver, I do have a weirdly unshakeable belief in professional behaviour (or pretend professional behaviour, at least).
I would never flirt with a senior man in a meeting, or show too much cleavage in the office. The idea of crying in the office horrifies me – its happened maybe twice in my ‘career’ and both times I’ve felt I was letting the female side down. We want to be treated ‘equally’? That means we can’t blub, or talk about shoes n chocolate, or drop pencils and (oops!) bend over provocatively to pick them up. We just won’t get taken seriously. It therefore baffles me that women who leave to go and give birth then feel the need to bring the product of their wombs into the office environment. To show it off. To shove at ex colleagues who may or may not be interested in holding the little bundle of joy. A baby in the office splits it down the middle – you get the contingent of EARTH MOTHERS who will gather INSTANTLY round mummy regardless of whether they know her or not) and coo at the little one. You then get the other group (to which I belong) who tack on their hardest face and concentrate on their PC, hard. Possibly huffing when the baby inevitably starts screaming, just as your phone rings.
People who comment on what you’re eating. This one might sound a bit weird, but my friend knows where I’m coming from here. This is not restricted to the office, but it is where I get the most irritated by it. So you’ve spent 20 minutes the night before, preparing a salad. Or a sandwich. Or whatever. Or maybe you’ve been and bought something yummy, and are looking forward to eating it, while reading the paper. In peace. Guaranteed, someone will bustle over and go “ooh that looks LOVELY! What is it? WOW!” or – “that salad/sandwich is HUGE! You’re not going to eat all that surely?!”.
Follow me to the loo next time why don’t you, and perch on the cubicle top while I piss! FUCK OFF.
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