The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Monday, 21 April 2014
Parental responsibility and parental guilt.
I carry this concept of 'more' with me in everything I do; most of all in parenting. Should I be doing more as a Mother? Does my son need more? Does he want more? Can I give him more? How can I provide more? More time. More of a home. More of a future.
This is not to say that our life is in any way lacking. We are incredibly lucky to have a home, my income and each other. However, I cannot help but think on a daily basis that I should own a home for Ethan, have savings ready for his future and just provide more for him. Perhaps this is the price we pay for modern existence. We want for more when our lives already hold so much. Or maybe this is something of a personal nature. Something far less political; far less of a social study.
I have been thinking about where this idea comes from and have come to several conclusions. The first is that I have always pushed myself. Whether this be in my career or personal life, I have always expected a lot of myself. I was an 'average' student who achieved highly, I was the unpopular girl who became the centre of attention, I was the goth who settled down to have a family. I always worked hard at whatever my focus was and this still stands today in my rather unusual life.
As a Mother it is impossible for me to reach the heights I aspire to, for what I yearn for is my child to want for nothing and always be happy. Impossible. As parents we want this from the second we are aware of the existence of our child, but it literally isn't possible. Children will be unhappy, as babies, teenagers and adults. As parents I guess all we can do is be there to make the unhappiness slightly less unbearable. What a horrible job that is in reality.
Underneath all of this, at the root of this feeling is a fear of failure. I fear I have suffered failure as a writer, as a singer and as a wife. Now, these things may may not necessarily seem as though they link to a fear of failure as a parent, but one ultimately makes me feel as though I have already failed my son. I wanted my child to grow up with both his parents together as a unit. Maybe I am old fashioned, maybe I was dreaming, maybe it was all a joke.
Jokes aside, I know that my son still has both of his parents and that I am here for him in every way. I do my best for him and he will hopefully grow up understanding that. However much I know this, it doesn't stop my from thinking otherwise. Maybe this is the curse of parenting, or the curse of an analytically inclined mind.
I am not sure exactly.
Perhaps I should just be.
Friday, 11 April 2014
Need, want and independence.
A boisterous toddler, Ethan now has real personality, holds the most basic of conversations and yet has far more complex needs and, moreover, wants than as a baby.
At the weekend, we went for lunch at our local The Alex with friends and got to discussing when Ethan gets older and starts to work. Maybe he will work in a pub. Maybe Auntie Sam, Auntie Katie and Mum will embarrass him by popping in for lunch. What kind of young man will Ethan become? I have an image in my head of what he will look like, what he will sound like, who he will be. The frightening thing is that I have a feeling it won't take long to get to this point.
The last ten years since I was a teenager myself have passed in what seems likes minutes. All of a sudden I am a Mother, with relationships and marriages behind me, sitting on the brink of thirty. This is not to sound negative at all as my life now is richer and fuller than that of my 19 year old self. It has just taken years, yet moments to get here.
Ethan is no longer a baby. That part of his and my life has passed. The night waking, breast feeding and endless rocking is finished. Done. The Ethan of now is loud, excited and sometimes seems to need me less.
Or, does he simply need me differently?
On his first trip into London on Monday, this was more obvious, wonderful and alarming than usual. As we walked the streets of Camden, made friends with animals in the zoo and travelled by train and underground, Ethan seemed to grow even more into a little boy in front of my eyes. He ran with confidence, laughed as an emotional, not biological reaction and was wild with excitement.
There were moments, however, when my little boy still needed me. He didn't need to suckle for nutrition and comfort, but needed to tell me or show me things, to share chips with me and to hold hands while running through puddles.
Similarly, he needs my Mum, his Nan, for cuddles, for laughs and for playtime. He needs his Grandad, my Dad, for walks to the shop, noisy games and secret sweets. Ethan may not need me solely, but he still does. The difference is the wonderful independence he now has. It may feel like rejection and loss at times but, ultimately, I have utilised our close relationship and Ethan's reliance and trust of me to give him an independent and brave spirit. If this gives any prediction of his future young man, he will be an incredible young man indeed.
From this...
...to this...
...to now...
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Magical.
Over the past year our not so little boy has gone from a 10lbs 13oz fragile (yes, really!) baby who needed nothing more than his parents, boobs and warmth to a walking, babbling and very funny toddler who goes to nursery, eats spaghetti bolognese and shares it with the cat! Twice this week already I have genuinely cried just watching him and thinking how truly magical the whole thing is. So much has changed and yet the centre is the same; that of our family. The three of us.
There are times when I've been exhausted, rundown and at the end of any patience I ever had but when I watch that silly boy waddle over to me, laughing, clutching 'That's not my monster' for me to read again I cannot help but feel blessed.
As he dances to the hot dog song, turning around with a toothy grin to check we are watching, I can't help but think of my life and where I have ended up. Really, I've ended up at the beginning. The beginning of a new life which we created, which I carried safely and which I bought into the world on a hot, steamy night in our little flat in Leigh, Florence and the Machine as our soundtrack.
I don't think it will ever cease to amaze me each time a new life enters the world. The potential in that one tiny person, who has no idea yet which lies before them. Adventure, love, sadness. They have all of this to come and have no idea where they will be heading.
As I gaze upon our first born now, his personality is clear, his tastes confident. Ethan likes beans, not carrots. Ethan likes 'Jake and the Neverland Pirates', not 'In the Night Garden.' Ethan likes attention and will NOT be ignored by anyone, even the old man on the bus. So, predominately, if he doesn't change much, Ethan is going to be a dramatic, farting buccaneer! Lovely stuff!
Seriously though, I am so blessed and feel I should never forget this. As parents we should never forget how lucky we are. There are women and men everywhere who can't have children or have lost children for all number of reasons. You've probably spoken to one of them without realising it. So next time someone gazes over at your family or giggles at your baby, they could just be being friendly or that gaze and giggle could be masking all kinds of pain we can only imagine.
Be kind to your friends with children; we all make different choices for different reasons. Be thoughtful of the kindness of strangers; it is wonderful. Be understanding of childless friends; they have their own problems which are no less important than yours as a parent.
Feel blessed. Everyday. However hard it can be.
I love you Ethan George Hadley. More than you will ever know. You are my inspiration in everything I do, my dream turned to reality and my greatest creation. One day I hope you read this blog (you'll be asking what the hell a blog is) and feel proud. I would have achieved everything as a writer if that day comes.
Also, I will apologise in advance for all the swearing Son. Bad Mummy.
Monday, 8 July 2013
Why I am a great Mum!
I have decided to start each week with a proclamation of exactly why I am actually a great Mum and my achievements over the past week! Now, please don't think that I am bragging about how amazing I am; I just figured after all the self doubt and guilt we feel as Mothers it is about time we started praising ourselves. After all, being a Mum can be a pretty thankless job at times.
So, last week I have been a great Mum because of the following:
1.) Each night I had a relaxing bath with Ethan before bed.
2.) We took Ethan to a friend's 2nd Birthday party where he ran around and played like crazy, loving the attention.
3.) I cooked nutritious and tasty meals for the family.
4.) I went to work for long hours, including extra tuition and events which helps provide for Ethan and his future.
5.) I spent Sunday with Ethan and Charlie at the park where he ate ice cream, playing on the swings and running barefoot on the grass.
6.) I breastfed Ethan everyday, even at night when totally exhausted from long work days.
7.) When not with him, I left Ethan in a safe and caring environment with people he knows and trusts.
8.) I cuddled and kissed him everyday.
9.) I told him I love him everyday.
10.) I made sure he was as happy as possible everyday.
I am sure we all have our own list of things we do all the time which make us great parents. Why not write yours?
Ethan is my reason behind all of the choices I make. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that I have made the right choices for my family.
Saturday, 6 July 2013
Missing out.
Now, I love my job but a lot of what we do outside 'normal' work hours is 'normal' in the profession. It's necessary in order to do our job well and there is no option of retesting less hours. The work needs to be done, kids need our help, the school needs us. That's it.
Probably, some of you will read this and think my Son needs me more and my priorities are wrong but what can I do? I need to keep my job in a difficult time and I need to earn my wage to pay the rent and bills. No option.
Its tough going though and I'm ashamed to admit that every Facebook update or conversation with friends who stay at home with their babies fills me with jealousy. When they tell me about the new things their child has learnt or funny things they have done it hurts. It's not their fault obviously and it is also lovely to hear their stories. I can't help but feel shit though that actually I don't know what my son has achieved this week, other than second hand from his nursery or my Mum. I'm lucky to have excellent care for Ethan while I'm at work and know he's happy but I'm still not there. I'm not the one holding his hand everyday. I'm not the one guiding him everyday.
Ethan is changing so rapidly and I'm missing out. I'm lucky to have the weekends and we will soon have the holiday but essentially I may as well not be here and come to visit for the summer. How sad is that?
Monday, 1 July 2013
Was breastfeeding the right choice?
There are days, however, when I think formula feeding would just be simpler. Mainly when people tell me how their formula fed babies sleep through for several hours at a time! With 11 months without a single full night of sleep behind me, it cuts deep!
Now, I'm sure formula feeding Mums sometimes wish they were breastfeeding for the convenience of no sterilising and making up bottles with the added bonus of comfort through boob! I for one don't envy all that hard work sterilising and mixing powders. I'd be crap at being that organised; my boobs aren't going anywhere after all!
I'm still glad I've breastfed Ethan and he's showing no sign of stopping any time soon. Further, I am fully aware that not all formula fed babies sleep all night but the prospect of it is still a wonderful dream for me to behold. It is, for the majority of the time, a seemingly unattainable dream in our household.
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Why I like the bus (sometimes).
So everyday I get the bus from down the road to the village where I work and most of the time I actually really enjoy it. On the days I don't have Ethan I listen to music, drink tea and either get some marking done or read. It's a rare time to relax on my own or get some work done so I have more family time at the weekend.
For the most part I like it on the days I have Ethan with me going to our on site nursery. While he is a handful on the bus, he experiences meeting a whole range of people, some eager to meet him and some not.
A perfect example is the two ladies who we see most evenings who Ethan has made great friends with. One has wild orange hair, which waves and shakes as she constantly smiles and giggles. Her companion is a tall, strong minded South African woman, who tells fantastic stories of how different South African parenting can be compared to English parenting. Namely giving salty biltong to babies as a teething aid, something our South African friend has spoken about too. Ethan really likes these two ladies and it adds a sweetness to our day.
Next, my students. Fascinated, scared and mainly amused as teenagers would be, it's amazing to see Ethan point and call out to the 'big kids' and just lovely to see them respond to him. One of my students found it quite magical that Ethan was 'talking' to her and holding her hand contently. It's a lovely part of the day.
Don't think it's all smiles, giggles and charming baby talk. It isn't. Some of the time, Ethan screams and wails the bus down when just before he was fine. On one particular day he did a shit of epic standards which I thought was some dirty bastard farting on the bus! I'm opening windows while Ethan sits there smiling literally like a piglet in shit.
The staring is the worst bit. The way people stare as though I need to DO SOMETHING! As though I've not thought of trying teething powder, or a cuddle or a drink or any other idea you may have. I understand a screaming babe is annoying but he is just that, a baby. At times he is an exhausted, teething wind filled baby! He's just telling us all about it!
Anyway, I've now just persuaded myself I actually hate the bus. Thanks blog. It's all your fault.
Thursday, 13 June 2013
Motherhood vs Life.
One of the articles inside focused on the choice by women to have or not have children. It turns out women are leaving it later in life generally to have children. No surprise. With women moving further forward in their careers, often with more stereotypically masculine attitudes to relationships (think Samantha from 'Sex and the City') and ever advancing medical science it's hardly news.
My issue with this piece is the clear distinction between 'I'm a success and didn't have kids; look at my fabulous life!' with 'I was a success but gave it all up; look at my wonderful mothering.' Either way, both hold a tone of 'you there! Yes you, the one reading? You're fucking shit and will never be this awesome.' Whether you are the 28 year old without children or the 25 year old with 2 or 3 at your feet, you can never be as successful as these women.
Now, I'm not blaming these women at all. They both seem to be great examples of women, when you dig beneath the bullshit. It's the journalism which I hold issue with. We are in a time now where women are forced to seek extreme ideals. While the idea of 'having it all' was once marketed as real womanhood, we are now faced with two opposing ideals. A choice with no middle ground, only perfection.
For the woman without children reading along, she is goaded into thinking her life should be as sophisticated and jet setting as woman A, rather than spending the odd night in front of 'The Voice' shovelling in popcorn in her PJs with the cat. Equally, for the mother (working or at home) she is faced with a frightening example of motherhood perfection; think a beautiful, baking, smiling miracle worker. This mother looks at woman B and then at herself; a milky bile or chocolate biscuit covered display in joggers cooking up fish fingers. How does she feel?
I come at this from the view of having been both these women. It doesn't take having children to make you a full, pure woman. Just as you don't need to live the life of a glamour girl 24/7. We just need to be left to live.
The whole portrayal of women in the Media gets on my wick anyway, but that's a whole other blog or ten. This article just goes to show that public attitudes to women haven't changed that much. You're either a sexy singleton or an angelic earth mother. Case and point.
Come on, have a day off Media. Don't you have a Mum too?
Thursday, 6 June 2013
Kids are just kids.
Teaching Year 7 and suddenly they jump up, pointing with excitement. It turned up we were on the route of the 'buggy bus', which can only be described as a high tech trailer with seat belts which the poor nursery nurses drag behind them like some kind of farmer's mule while the babies sit back and relax! Seriously, it is fabulous and hilarious at the same time. Turns out Ethan was one of the passengers and we all gave a wave out the window, with lots of 'aahhhhs' from my sweeties of a class.
Once the 'buggy bus' had passed it was time to get back to work: poetry writing. What prevailed was a discussion by the boys in my class of how great it would be to take a ride in the buggy bus and in fact be a baby again! Followed by poems on this very topic.
Turns out kids are always just kids at heart.
Monday, 3 June 2013
Putting your foot in it. Literally.
I am obviously an excited and proud Mother every time Ethan lifts his size 3 1/2 G foot to take a couple of heavy steps like a miniature Godzilla until he falls to his reliable crawling, laughing as he goes down. It's amazing to see his face light up with the strength he is ever building. However, I could do without him trying out this new skill through a shitty nappy change. Being full of energy and an urge to destruct, Ethan isn't exactly enthusiastic about laying still for any length of time. Wriggling with such power it is almost impossible to hold him down, his current playtime is to push to standing, with what can't even be described as a turtle-head hanging out of his bare arse. Giggling and panting he then takes messy steps into raisin fuelled excrement, printing shitty footprints all over the change matt and beyond. Like at nursery when the girls got the babies using paint to forever mark sugar paper with their comparitively tiny handprint; except with shit.
Anyway, I hope you weren't eating lunch when you read this. I also hope that some of you read this and recognise the stamp of shitty footprints in your own lives. That't not a metaphor for parenthood, I promise. I hope you too literally have shitty footprints in your household, just so we aren't the only ones. Let me know your thoughts on putting your foot in it in the comments below.
Thursday, 23 May 2013
Even superheroes struggle some mornings.
As the day has progressed I have been busy and distracted of course but still looking forward to getting home to my boys. Still yearning for home.
Days like these are less frequent now but some mornings I still feel overcome with guilt, like a shroud sharply tightened, catching my breath the best I can. More than guilt though is the longing on these mornings. The longing to just wake up and be with my Son, the longing to give him everything, the longing to just be Mummy.
At least I am off next week, so while I have lots of work to get through at home, the Mummy days I long for are close in sight.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Keep Rollin', Rollin', Rollin'
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| Knackered from the rolling! |
The most challenging part of the whole thing was probably getting it attached to the door frame in the first place. It seems baby equipment really isn't built to be easy to make or set up at all. The pram/car seat/transformer is the worst, with its secret buttons and straps and parts it really is one of the biggest challenges of having a baby!
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| Woooooooooooooah! |
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| Happy in this awesome number! |
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| Modelling my new H&M outfit! |
Monday, 22 October 2012
Diablo Jo's Rockabilly Accessories: Treats for Mamma and Bambino!
In writing this blog I realised I have missed one thing which is probably more important to me than I like to make out: fashion. To clarify, when I say fashion I mean unique and original ideas and creations which make you look and feel good, not TOWIE inspired dullness. I like to think that I am far too interesting and clever to be bothered about silly things like clothes, make-up and hair but the truth is I am a girl and I like pretty things! Like I say to the teenage girls I teach, there is nothing wrong with enjoying these things but this doesn't stop you being a creative, intelligent individual! My style, if you can call it that, varies between poetic bohemian (ha!) to indie comic book geek to 50s rock 'n' roll. The later of the three is my favourite look but the one I have always struggled with. To embody real 50s glamour you need to maintain yourself well, from your hair to your nails it works best when you make an effort. Sadly, I don't have great nails and wear my hair short. While I love having short hair and think it suits me, it doesn't quite fit the 50s chic look. Here is where the rock 'n' roll comes in!
While pregnant I came across some outstanding headscarves which provide the perfect solution to my hair woes. Designed to tie in a typically retro style headscarves come in a range of cute and kitsch designs, from classic flowers to edgy tattoo inspired skulls, each and every one stunning! Throughout my pregnancy and beyond I wear Diablo Jo's creations, not only to help on bad hair days but to make a simple jeans and t-shirt combo far more glamorous! Since finding Diablo Jo's I have found an array of wonderful hair accessories which are just beautiful but the latest addition to the range is 'Bambino Diablo' which includes fabulous pieces for your little rocker! The skirts for girls are gorgeous and I can imagine they would make any little girl look and feel amazing. As for the boys there is an inspired range of beautifully crafted bibs in the same designs as the headscarves. Designed to make your little dude look similar to a cowboy they hold so much more style value than the usual dribble catchers without losing their practical value.
These are two of my favourite designs from the Bambino range:
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| Anchors Away! |
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| Skulls and Roses! |
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
A lesson in poo-cabulary!
Recently Ethan had a bad case of trapped wind which nothing seemed to fix. It just stayed inside. After two days of praying to the Poo Gods we finally had action and it was everywhere! Honestly, my prayers were well and truly answered with that bad boy!
When comparing poo notes with another Mum I was introduced to her term for these poo explosions of a poo-nami! Brilliant! Poo-nami has possibly become my favourite of the poo-cabulary! It is simple, clever and funny with all the makings of a perfect play on words which I hope will one day be included in the Oxford English Dictionary.
Sadly, these poo-cabulary additions to the English Language will just have to stay here in my own personal Dictionary. For now at least.
Poo-cabulary:
Poo-aholic
1: one who feels compulsively the need to talk about poo.
2: one who likes studying and talking about poo to the excess.
Poo Gods
1: the Being perfect in power, wisdom, and goodness who is worshipped as creator and ruler of the universe
2: a being or object believed to have more than natural poo attributes and powers and to require human worship.
2: a being or object believed to have more than natural poo attributes and powers and to require human worship.
3: a person or thing of supreme poo value.
4: a powerful ruler of poo.
4: a powerful ruler of poo.
Poo-nami
1: a great wave produced especially by submarine poo movement or volcanic arse eruption.
Sunday, 23 September 2012
Lazy days, tattooing days and an impending birthday.
As I approach my 28th birthday tomorrow I realise it has taken me some time to reach the point where I am truly happy. Not drunk happy with false smiles, not plastic happy with forced hope, but happy. Smiling so the wrinkles show happy, wearing no make up and baggy PJ bottoms happy, really happy. I can credit this whole heartedly to my husband, who came out of nowhere and shook me into reality, our reality. If someone had told me that I would be sharing my 28th birthday with my 23 year old husband, who I sang Shania Twain to at our reception in a 50s diner while 16 weeks pregnant with our now 7 week old son I would have at least laughed out loud. Here I am though, laying in bed with the most straightforward happiness available; a wonderful husband and beautiful baby boy beside me. Nothing breeds smiles like days like these.
Just to clarify I am not knocking drunk happy. That can still be fun, even for a wrinkly Mummy like me!
I also sit here with a new tattoo to share. Yesterday as a birthday present we both went and had tattoos together. Charlie ended up having a disaster piece repaired, which we had created on a previous lazy Sunday pre-marriage, pre-pregnancy. I, however, am now the proud owner of a gorgeous pink and blue cupcake with 'Ethan' on the band. I am sure in years to come our son will find this highly embarassing and question what his arrival has to do with cakes! Mummy loves Ethan, Mummy loves cakes. Simple. While being tattooed yesterday the in laws looked after Ethan and he was perfectly behaved of course! This was the first time (other than an essential blood test) that I have been out without Ethan in tow and the first time me and Charlie have been out just the 2 of us since his birth. Some may find it strange but getting tattooed was the perfect way to spend this precious time as a couple. We have both always shared a love of tattoo art, Charlie is a tattoo artist himself and one of our first points of contact was when comparing ink. I can see more tattoo outings on the cards in the future.
My new tattoo by Darren at Thundertats, Leigh-on-Sea.
While being tattooed and chatting to the artist he said something which I have been thinking about since: 'a tattoo is the only thing you will take to your grave.' This may sound depressing but it made me reflect on our life and really consider how our family memories which will be tattooed on our hearts and sleeves are the only thing which matters. Do I care if we never afford to buy a house? Am I upset if we can't buy expensive clothes? Does material gain interest me? Not so much. I knew this all along but I think the impending birthday might be getting to me and making me realise that as I head closer to 30 I really haven't done too badly for myself!
Saturday, 11 August 2012
Ethan George Hadley
Ethan is healthy, happy and totally perfect. The Hadley family are overjoyed he has arrived and so proud of him already. Daddy has been so amazing at looking after Mummy and Ethan and we are very lucky to have our extended family around us helping out.
One quick thing is that I cannot stress enough just how amazing giving birth at home is and how much I would suggest trying it if possible, as obviously each pregnancy is very different. The atmosphere was relaxed, even through the pain and difficulty of labour and once Ethan was born it was lovely to have him bought straight to me in our own bed and home with everything here. I love that the first place he experienced was his home.
More at some point soon; expect home birth, bigger babies and the thoughts and feelings of a new Mummy!
Wednesday, 1 August 2012
The good, the bad and the ugly.
I will start with the good but believe me, it is all downhill from here! People tell you about the pregnancy glow right? They may even tell you have it. In the early stages when you have been projectile vomiting for longer than the girl in 'The Exorcist' or even the parody of this legendary scene seen in 'Scary Movie 2' this is a ridiculous. As you move further on in pregnancy and seem to become more tired and aged than the coverage of the Olympic ticket farce already has done it feels on the cusp of offensive. Either this or blame the hormones. While some people may be saying you have the glow on a day when you really do look like shit to try and perk you up, I do believe there is some truth in it. I am not saying we have some kind of teen vampire sparkle but looking back at photos of myself I can see some truth in the preggo glow myth. Either that or blame the hormones. Again.
Next I come to the bad. There are plenty of bases to cover here. A base of constipation with a filling of piles and heart burn all topped off with stretch marks for good measure. Lush. This isn't to say that these aspects of pregnancy have been unbearable or are in any way not worth the final outcome; they are largly just amusing really. My own Mum saw my stretch marks just the other day and seemed surprised but told me, in her Rosie the Riveter manner to be proud of my stretch marks and what they represent. Outstanding advice in my opinion. Hence why these are only finalists in the category of bad. I am talking about the bad which are what I like to call baby wardens, belly monitors or the bump police. We all know them, those people who just love to comment on the size, shape and implication of your bump. They feel the need to tell you either how massive you are and what a beast of a baby you are going to have to push out of your nether regions or how tiny and lucky you are but that your baby will clearly be a tiny, malnourished specimen which will just pop out no trouble! In my case it was the later. From people I actually know to taxi drivers, it seems that bump development could be considered an Olympic spectator sport. I am sure they mean well but take a minute to think about it. At what other point in life do you approach a woman and tell them what a fat bastard or skeletal creature they are?
Time for the best bit. The ugly. If you have ever heard the phrase 'bumping uglies' I may have found where it originates. The challenge of the beaver in pregnancy. Let me take you back to my time in Ghana. My volunteer friend and I were getting dressed for the day and suddenly realised that with a lack of consistent running water or clean facilities we were beginning to develop an au natural approach to tackling said beaver and couldn't wait to tackle that bad boy on our return home. First on the list was a cheese sandwich and cup of tea. Next was the battle of the beaver. Let me tell you something, what I thought was a beaver discovery in Ghana was merely a simple squirrel in comparison to what has emerged over the past 9 months. In the beginning and for some time I was gaining points in the beaver wars but as time progressed and my view of the beast became even more limited I was forced to hold up my white flag and surrender. In the battle of Cat vs Beaver I am sad to say that beaver has well and truly won. KO.
You may as well laugh at the ridiculous bits of pregnancy. Otherwise you might just cry. Or maybe this is all the hormones talking yet again.
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