Tag Archives: Health

Entertaining Babies

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I am filled with insensible scorn at a fellow bloggers ideas for entertaining babies..since when did we need to find stuff to do with babies? You feed them, cuddle them, keep them clean and they do the rest. It’s quite miraculous. Among all the motor skills and picking up a language and learning not to snatch and bite, do they really need day spas? The babies that is.

We need day spas.

A day spa is a historically and medically sound part of the human condition. Throughout history the taking of thermal waters, internally and externally have been in and out of favour according to the governing bodies of the time. You turned up, stripped off, dunked and dipped and waded and sipped as long as you could stand it. You were massaged if you liked, and met like minded people along the way with which to shag, inspire or plot.

Filling your bath with bubbles and rubbing your babies feet is not a day spa.

Inviting your friend and her baby round for an afternoon of bathing is not my idea of entertainment, and I’m damn sure it aint no babies.

Let me know, am I just being a stick in the mud? Have I not lived until I’ve had a bathroom filled with the ringing of gurgling babies while they go through £20 worth of indulgent bathing product and 3 days worth of washing towels?

Big Girls Little Men

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I have been overweight since I was 19, when carrying my first son made me crave Greggs pasties and ring doughnuts. Also me and his Dad lived in Whalley Range at the time of the pub shootings and to say I ate my anxiety would be an understatement. I naively thought I would lose all the baby (HA) weight after the birth, but its been 21 years and I’m still struggling with it.

All this flab has never stopped me from living a full sex life when I’ve wanted one however, in case you were wondering. What can I say, black guys like big girls. Sometimes. I get chatted up plenty and asked to dance, but often it’s not the ones I want to dance with.

It’s the little fuckers.

Something about a small mans psyche and a big girls sense of humour means the big girl little man is a combo as finger licking as chicken and fries. They make us laugh. We make them look good. Of course.

Just for once though I would appreciate a big man mountain to try on for size. You know, all bulging muscles and legs you could climb up. But they’re too busy shaking their coke fuelled arses at 18 year old size zero Barbies.

Ah, screw it..where’s little mans number?

Fallout

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I’m bunked up. Typing in my little spare room.

I would feel quite Sylvia Plathesque if I weren’t looking out on municipal style railings and passing ruffians who should be in school. I looked over my Facebook activity this week and saw my sister hadn’t replied to ANY of my charming and/or witty posts. Farmville requests and cute cat pictures all ignored.

Obvious conclusion to me was o-oh, here’s the fallout. Last weekends incident which you can read about HERE and which shall from now on be known as ‘the long walk’ involved my sister and me. We row like hell cats. Not often but when we do, shit goes down. Everyones a c*** or a c**ting bitch and we shake with rage at each other. It comes from nowhere and ends as quickly as it starts.

It would worry me but see, this is the thing. ‘We’ are all I’ve got as far as unconditional love and undying devotion. I slipped into the role of ‘big sister’ when my Dad married her Mum with the relish of a newly signed off Cambridge Dieter at a Chinese Buffet. She’s ma sista from anutha mista and she lends me money, drives all over the place to come and get me, tells me I look gorgeous when I am bra-less and broken assed, and I repay her by teaching her makeup techniques and showing her right up when we go out.

So naturally I thought she was still cross with me. Even though I did make sure we all went out the night after The Long Walk and I behaved impeccably, and watched Twilight Breaking Dawn pt 2 the day after with her, even though with bleeding blisters and 2 nights worth of hangover I should have known it would be traumatising (when the lovely Dad Cullen got his head lopped off I was upset, when Seth-Wolf bit it in the cavern I was TOAST) Hence I thought we were cool when she dropped me off on Sunday and I thought well isn’t that just passive aggressive kick you in the crotch peachy.

Turns out she’s poorly with a stroke expected any second!

Now, how old am I that my baby sister has been told by doctors to look out for stroke symptoms? Plenty old. Forty to be precise, and I am way too flaky to be thrust into the world as an only child again.

So, get better soon Redhead. Don’t have a stroke. Love you

When is liking a drink a problem?

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Dear Internet

I have something on my mind.

I have laboured all my life under the belief that I am dependably appropriate and ‘safe’ to take anywhere. That I will act according to the tone and only be a delightful addition to any social gathering.

Could it be that I am actually a boring, trouble making idiot who can’t handle her drink and is ‘getting too old to be pulling this shit’

Intriguing, you say..tell me more.

It’s too shameful. Friday night I took against EVERYONE I was with, stormed off with no money or phone and actually stomped home, Fuelled by rage on foot in the rain. A distance of 6 miles no less and I swear, I do not remember the first 4. The last 2 consisted of me sobbing and regretting my existence.

I’m built like a brick out house so I was never scared, but I was scared that I was getting hypothermia at one point, and I do suffer from very poor circulation so I was in shit state by the time I got back.

I don’t think it’s the first time I’ve done it either.

I remember a drunken rage where me and my best friend fought with fists, another time of sobbing and screaming at another friend, until I cried myself to sleep, sitting on my ex husbands Sergeant Majors (boss) knee in a  whorre-iffic manner and I’m sure I’ve blocked out a fair few other incidents too.

It’s about once every 4 years I’ll do something drastic and shameful but its a fairly regular occurence that I get flashbacks and really not like what I remember.

I’m sick of it. I’m sick of hurting people I love, or being ‘that’ girl, and always feeling on the back foot. As with most really shy people, I over compensate. I drink too quickly and can’t go out sober. I think I know how stupid I look so I drink to be on a level where I don’t notice anymore.

Saffy from Ab Fab says to Eddie one day ‘You’ve always got the best view in the room because you can’t see yourself’ and that is how I feel about myself. I am shocked the day after a session to remember the dirty dancing, the sweating, the frizzy hair, and say never ever again.

But good old booze gives me that little whisper that says ‘you girl are a fucking stunner’ and I like most people believe anything that is flattering.

I want to stop, but I don’t want to stop.

Don’t know how to.

Write back

VP