Leaving the house

have you got his Diddy?.. His DIDDY?! Have you got his fucking Diddy?!” screamed.. Up the stairs over the piercing sound of Oscar who is blue, planking in my arms, punching me in the face whilst I’m trying desperately to put him in his stupid shitty car chair. Then.. It’s the change bag checklist, long gone are the days where you just POP anywhere… There’s no POPPING up the road.. Or popping to the petrol station, no we need at least :

5nappies (if not more if prone to a poonami) 

Wipes, but not waterwipes no.. Because we need more than one wipe per nappy, and quite frankly I’d need to take out a friggin’ mortgage for the amount of waterwipes I’d need.

Diddys… Lots and lots of Diddys incase of screaming fits, to shove in when you want an extra 5mins before a bottle, like when your in the queue for Costa waiting for that liquid gold.

Travel changing mat- Probably not one that’s stained in korma poo.. Like mine.

Spare clothes-now… Don’t make the same mistake as me of shoving something in and not realising it hasn’t fit since he was born and probably wouldn’t cover one of those chunky thighs now. But having to use them anyway cos he’s shat all over himself. So he looks like a fat girl in a croptop and hotpants. Think vicky pollard.

Spare clothes – nope.. Not a typo.. Spare clothes for yourself, nickers! Those pelvic floor exercises that the midwifes banged on about, that you did only when she was talking –  were no joke girls! Sneezing is a liability. You are gonna piss yourself!  And a spare top for when your baby sick covered one is no longer just WIPEABLE,  a HAIRBOBBLE for when your adorable bambino is ragging your hair out of your head, and some trousers in case your baby poonamis in your lap.

Bottles, preferably sterilised but… Who’s gonna know?  and if your a well prepared  mother, bottle lids, (I am not). chuck in a few premade milks. Jobs a good’un

Last but definitely not least vodka, because you know… You’re gonna need it if your planning on leaving the house. Pop a drop in your Costa.

All of these things you must shout lovingly.. Up the stairs to the other half, demanding he find them, but he knows where absolutely NONE OF THEM are. But you refuse to get them because as you mutter under your breath “I do fucking everything”

Meaning your always 45mins late to everywhere you go. Without fail.

Only when in the car, do you realise you’ve forgotten nappy sacks and a muslin cloth.

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Published by The Dempsey diaries

Just a mother, telling you of my shit stories, trying too hard to make you laugh.

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