Copy cat

Eliza obnoxiously copied Hamish’s cry this morning.

“Wah wah wah” she looks to me, rolling her eyes.

I’m afraid she might have learnt that from me. I totally make fun of her when she’s annoying me.

The teasing starts early.



Every single mum ever who has ever used a dummy has racked her brain trying to think of a SIDs safe way to stop their babies spitting the fricken thing out.

Every. Single. One.

I can’t decide if it’s amusing or alarming that no one has figured it out.

Dear Delivery Man,

If you thought you were met with a blank stare this morning, it’s because I was trying really hard not to cry.

In the beginning, you knocked. It was an eager, insistent kind of knocking. The aggressiveness was always enough to make me jump.

Very quickly, knocking didn’t satisfy you. You discovered our doorbell. I don’t know if you know how a doorbell works, but generally, one push will do it. Several bursts is too much, even for a button happy toddler.

Also, you should never combine knocking and the doorbell. There is no reason.

Today you have sinned beyond that.

Not only did you knock on my door like you were trying to break it. Not only did you finger my doorbell like you were trying to satisfy it.

You frantically started yelling “IS ANYONE THERE?!”

I just don’t know if I can continue this relationship, delivery man. The urgency in your voice convinced me that it had to be more important than a parcel. I thought it must be the police, coming to evacuate us because of the incoming zombie apocalypse.

With a now screaming newborn I bolted down the stairs. I barely managed to put my boobs away.

So if you thought I was less than pleased by seeing you this morning, that’s because I was trying to bring my keyboard warriorism into real life. I was trying to find the confidence to tell you that your job isn’t so important that you need to molest my mornings the way you do.

Hell, even if you delivered organs you’d be too keen!

Cease. Desist. Or I might end up crying at you and you’ll feel really bad.


Mum fail

I could smell something kind of weird. Kind of almost metallic and sort of damp. I sniffed my husband, my armpits, my couch. Nothing.

Wrote it off as a brain tumour. A short time later, I was feeling all lovey dovey. There’s nothing better than the smell of a newborn,  right?


I forgot you’re supposed to wash them.

How can they smell so nasty when they do nothing?

Day 9

Quote me: newborns suck, no one will ever convince me otherwise.

Except maybe for the beautiful baby boy in my arms.

My bond with Mish just really makes me realise how little I really bonded with Eliza, and that makes me feel terrible. There was a lot of horrible things surrounding her birth and first months, but I can’t help but feel like it may have really fucked her up to not be as bonded with.

I dunno. Late night ramblings. Me and Eliza are bros now, but in the beginning? I really resented her.

I guess I can’t believe that no one noticed.

Day 5

I’m so glad to be part of this generation. Late night feedings would be a bitch if we didn’t have a giant tv which hooks up to a specially made computer, which has a VPN so that we can connect via an American IP, so that I can binge watch Gilmore Girls on Netflix.

I’m also thankful that I can tell a bunch of ladies in a similar situation about this via my smartphone.

I mean really, what the hell did my mum do? Watch infomercials?