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Friday, August 23, 2013

Newborn necessities

It's easy to be critical.  And also, I'm actually very naturally talented at it.  But - hand on heart - there are a few baby items that were worth their... well, not weight in gold, that would be ridiculous... but I'd definitely have swapped Monty Cat for them, if push came to shove.

So, here we go.  Stuff What We Found Dead Useful.

Buy one of these
A tumble dryer  Or a "tumbler dryer" as Mrs Nunn insists on calling them.  This one is non-negotiable.  I would say this is the single most useful thing we bought prior to the baby's arrival.  It arrived about a month before she did - previously we had survived with a combination of indoor airers, occasional garden drying, and running an indoor dehumidifier pretty much constantly.  It was fine, because there were only two of us, and TheBloke (TM) wears his pants and socks for at least a week before changing them.

Buy a lot of this.
I was sceptical about how much laundry a baby would create.  I mean, they can stay in their babygro pretty much indefinitely, surely?  And they're only drinking milk, so it's not like they're going to get beetroot down their front.  Well, that is all correct.  But tiny babies poo constantly, poo spitefully and poo bright yellow.  They also vom, and delight in weeing everywhere as soon as you take their nappy off.  They also do not restrict their pooing and vomming activity to their own clothes.  They like to share.  So you will run your washing machine at least once a day for the first three months.  Your energy bill will triple.

 In the first 16 weeks you will get through at least three bottles of Vanish stain remover.  Your hands will be cracked and chapped from rinsing poo in cold water, and then washing your hands in hot water, and then covering them in antibacterial gel.  You will begin to not bother changing the baby's outfit if the spot of poo is smaller than your little fingernail.  I know you don't think this is true right now, but it will be.  It will be.

A tumble dryer doesn't solve this problem, but it makes your house less depressing without dripping puddles of shit-stained laundry hanging from every surface, and a constant wailing in the background.  Sometimes it'll be the baby.  Sometimes it'll be you.


A one-month free Which? magazine trial  This one is actually worth doing a month or so before the baby is due.  We used it a lot to help us decide everything from which brand of tumble dryer to buy (Bosch) to which baby monitor is most highly recommended to what baby buggy would suit our needs best (don't be fooled - they all cost the price of a second hand car and are all fucking awful).  You can cancel it without obligation after a month.  We've actually kept it, and generally get our £10 monthly subscription's worth out of it.

Buy this.
A playmat  Something simple is fine.  We got ours for about £15 from Argos (TheBloke (TM)'s favourite shop).  Other friends had a range of all-singing, all-dancing playmats.  Basically, it comes down to the issue that you're leaving your baby lying on the floor whilst you go for a wee.  The fact that you're leaving the baby lying on something with primary colours and shiny bits just assuages your guilt slightly.  You are a terrible parent.  How dare you go to the toilet?  You'll only use it for a maximum of six months (as soon as they can roll, it's game over for the playmat), but it's nice whilst it lasts.


Buy one of these. Not the baby though.  That's ours.


A baby bath  We were lent one of these, and it was the absolute highlight of the day for all of us.  Not all babies like baths.  Ours did, and splashing Daddy was her (and my) favourite part of the day. It would stop her crying.  It would make her laugh.  It would make me laugh.  It would make TheBloke (TM) soggy.  It was a sad day when she grew out of it.  Even if your baby doesn't like baths, it will still need one occasionally, and easier to do it on something that can go on a tabletop rather than trying to bath them in the grown-up bath.


A mobile  The first few weeks were hell.  The worst thing was, she'd cry whenever I put her down.  Even if she was asleep and I was super careful, lying her down an atom at a time, her Spidey Sense would kick in, she'd wake up and immediately start bawling.  If I wasn't holding her and she wasn't asleep, she would be crying.  I even had to do a poo whilst holding her.  This was fine until I realised I needed to wipe.  Don't tell anyone, but at one point, I placed her in the bathroom sink, just to have a hand free.  Unsurprisingly, being placed into a cold enamel sink woke her up.  This mobile was a revelation.  It wasn't cheap, but she would watch it delightedly from about six weeks of age for at least twenty minutes.  Long enough for me to have a shower, or to have sex twice.  I guarantee at some point you will work out exactly how much you would be willing to pay for a nice long shower.  (You might also work out exactly how much you might be willing to be paid for sex.  This is probably a separate issue.) And I also guarantee it will be at least £50 (the shower, not the sex).

As the baby got more grabby at about four months, we had to lower the cot bed, as the mobile is
not designed for little fingers.  And unfortunately, once she learned to sit up, whilst she's still entertained by it, it's not really safe to leave her alone with it, in case she pulls off a part and puts it in her mouth.  The one we got though had a detachable music part, meaning we can still play the songs, even though the entertaining giraffe is consigned to a cupboard.

I might do more of these.  If they're useful.  Or if they're not.  Especially if they're not.  I like to Plog spitefully.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Newborn nonsense

My maternity leave officially ended this week.  Thankfully, I have six weeks of accrued holiday left, so no massive rush to get back into the office.  I did try and explain to TheBloke (TM) that now I was on holiday, not maternity leave, so technically I didn't have to look after the baby any more.

He looked at me with the same expression he does every morning when I try and convince him for the 137th day in a row that it's "Take your Daughter to Work Day".

The last 12 months have been a huge learning curve.  From those early days of reading every baby manual on the market, to being something of a seasoned pro (read: blagger).  We were very lucky and were lent a lot of baby stuff, so didn't have to buy huge amounts.  Even so, there were things we used and things we absolutely didn't.

So here is my guide to things you absolutely do not need when you have a new baby.

Don't buy this.

A "top and tail" bowl.  It wasn't until the baby was about two weeks old that I realised what this was supposed to be for.  It's essentially a dish with two compartments for water and a shallow bit for a piece of cotton wool.  It allows you to wash a baby's face and its arse with one bowl.  You will literally never use this.  What you (and any halfway sensible parent) will do is dip some cotton wool in the baby's bath water prior to adding baby wash, in order to wash their face (eyes, nose etc.).  And dunk their arse in the bath itself.  If its arse is particularly icky, use a wet-wipe before putting the baby in the bath.  It's hardly rocket science.  If you think you might be the sort of person who wants to give a "mini bath" to their baby in between its daily bath, let me be the first to break it to you; you won't.



Don't buy more than one pack of these

More than two bassinet fitted sheets.  I bought four of these from John Lewis, in the certainty that motherhood would turn me into someone who changes bedding every two days.  In reality, everything  in your whole life is so godawful and overwhelming in those first few weeks, you can barely be bothered to peel off your own beshitted clothing, let alone change an already-clean sheet.  The baby will refuse to sleep anywhere other than on you, so will not actually touch said sheet in order to necessitate its washing.  On the offchance the baby does sleep in its basket (good baby), you will do laundry every two hours anyway.  So if you do find yourself needing to wash the bassinet sheet, nothing remains in the laundry basket for longer than about half a morning.  And then the bastard baby will spitefully grow out of its bassinet basket after about two months, leaving you with at least two completely unused - and unusable - John Lewis sheets.

Don't buy this
Any type of expensive / irreplaceable teddy bear  I was savvy about this.  I was given a lovely teddy bear from The White Company when I left work to go on maternity leave; I carefully checked its washing instructions (machine washable).  Once it became clear that the baby had formed a unbreakable bond with Toby Bear, I went out and bought another one, in case the original got lost.  Twoby Bear currently lives in the spare room, hidden in a drawer, awaiting a Toby-related emergency.  Don't tell the baby.  The point is, whilst you might love the idea of your baby having the same Steiff teddy you had as a child, your baby will inevitably shit on, vomit on and chew your beloved bear. And you will resent them for it.  Buy something cheap and machine washable.  And buy a back-up.


Don't buy one of these

A nasal aspirator  When the baby got her first ever cold, yes, I felt sorry for her, but I was also massively grossed out.  She had a lot of green snot and I just didn't feel I was the sort of person who wanted to be dealing with another human being's nasal excretions.  So I wimped out and bought one of these.  The idea is that you pop the little nozzle up your baby's nose, squeeze the bulb and out pops the green nastiness.  What they leave out of their marketing campaigns is that - if this actually works (it usually doesn't), you've then got a bulb full of snot to deal with.  Which is somehow even more revolting than if it was just lurking in the baby's nostril area.  And, let me tell you, the resale value on these items is not good.  (Anyone want to buy one?  Slightly used.  Comes with free snot.)

Tune in again soon for what you should actually buy.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

EABE - the review

Ploggers, I admire you.  I'm not sure how you've survived.  I promised you I would tell you all about the Eighth Annual Barbecue Extravaganza (EABE) and I've kept you waiting all this time.  It's like an end-of-season cliffhanger, but with more burgers.

So - essentially - it was lovely.  Dean was sadly unable to join us this year, but our baby joined us for the first time, thus making the numbers up.  I mean, technically she was there last year, but she was very much eating food second hand.

So yes, there were burgers.  Yes, there were sausages.  Of course there was plastic cheese.  And for the first time this year, we had professionally-branded cupcakes, made by the fantastic Pip's Puds.  If you live in the Midlands, I highly recommend her.  In fact, despite never actually having met her, I'm wondering if I can twist her arm and give me the recipe for her lemon cupcake.  A lighter lemon sponge I have never tasted.  If you don't live in the Midlands, I still highly recommend her.  Perhaps you could make a special trip.  Or convince her to move to where you live.  Go on.  Give it a try.  But not to the extent she takes out a restraining order against you.  I very much disapprove of my readers actually stalking bakers.  Perhaps I digress.

After lunch, we played an exciting round of "Mr Sheep Puppet is going to nibble your toes", which perturbed some of the guests more than the others (Erica, bless her, is still having nightmares).  Then we finished with a game of "TheBloke (TM) will chase you into the other room and threaten to tickle you".  This was especially funny as the baby has just learned to crawl, and - excitably - was trying to keep up by crawling into each room, just as the more mobile EABE members were turning 180 degrees and running back in the other direction.  Seeing the baby's efforts to keep up was like watching an enthusiastic, patient but gradually-tiring tortoise.

The weather was good, the food was good, the company was good, the cupcakes were good.  Overall EABE score - 10/10.

See you all next year for the NABE.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Whipping boy

So, yesterday - out of the blue - I was contacted by an ITV researcher who had read my Plog, and was looking to interview someone about their negative experience of maternity services at Whipps Cross hospital.

See, there is a report out today that is the equivalent of a "could do better" from the headteacher.

The researcher who approached me was very polite - but a) I did not want to be on TV b) I'm not available today anyway and c) news items are generally edited down to a soundbite or two, and I categorically did not want my 15 minutes of fame to be the sentence, "Yes, I shat myself.  Twice."  I already had visions of it going viral.

Besides which, it's a complex issue, and everyone has a different experience.  Even within my small NCT group of 6 or so who delivered at Whipps Cross over the course of about a month, there is a vastly different experience - from those who said that staff could not have been more lovely, to the person (me) who was told 12 hours after a C-section, when I still had no feeling in my legs, "You need to get out of bed and stop being lazy.", to the person that would not hesitate to describe them all as a massive bunch of cunts.

I am glad the NHS is there.  If I had unlimited resources, yes, I would probably go private, but giving birth privately costs around £20,000, so it's not like saying, "Oh, maybe we'll just not go out for a meal this month."  £20,000 is unaffordable for the vast, vast majority, and (unlike in the USA) I haven't yet seen a private medical insurance policy that covers childbirth.

Yes, my experience of Whipps Cross was also "could do better" (though the birth itself - horrific as it was, was nowhere near as badly managed as when I got labyrinthitis and ended up lying on the corridor floor of Whipps Cross hospital maternity unit, throwing up into a bucket, because they said they had no beds.  Two midwives stepped over me and a third told me to get up because the floor was dirty.).

But "could do better" is surely an improvement on no service at all.  Already one local maternity hospital to us has closed.

The biggest problems I saw were understaffing, poor processes, yes, a lack of compassion from some of the midwives - and the fact that the "free food for patients" fruit, tea and biscuit stand just contained one lonely digestive.  I would have taken a picture but I was in too much pain.

Oh, that and the shower floor was covered in blood.  But that was partly my fault.  Have you ever tried to take your pants off without bending in half or lifting your legs?  Have a go.  Go on.  Right now.  Now imagine you're bleeding copiously from your foof.  If you're a bloke, substitute "todger" for "foof".

Look - you've made a mess!  Clean it up.  Oh, you can't.  Because you can't bend over.

The above two paragraphs are why I didn't think I'd make good TV viewing.  I can't be trusted not to say "foof" on national television.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

EABE - the build-up

Today is the day of our Eighth Annual Barbecue Extravaganza (EABE).

I am so excited that my knee is jiggling up and down in anticipation.

We have Pimms.  We have lemonade.  We have plastic cheese.  All we need now is Erica* and the festivities can commence.

* Safety announcement: Erica - in this context - is my friend, not a literal barbecue ingredient.  Please do not cook your Erica.

Tuesday, August 06, 2013

Commercial break

So yes, eagle-eyed viewers, I have sold out to da man.  You may notice adverts now on the Plog.  Hopefully they won't be intrusive or spoil your enjoyment.

It's interesting this ad thing; I get a certain amount of say a) where the ads appear and b) what type of ads are allowed - specifically I'm allowed to ban certain categories.  I have so far banned:

- Weight loss
- Get rich quick
- Gambling
- Dating
- Political (after a friend told me an anti-Obamacare ad appeared on my site)

So it's a trial for now.  And if it makes me £2 a month, I'll probably give up and remove them.  If, however, I can retire from the proceeds, I guess I'll keep it up.

However, dear readers, here's how you can help me:


  • If you find the ads distracting, let me know
  • If you find the subject matter of ads offensive (or think that I would), let me know - it's quite easy to prevent irritating ones appearing
Ads are normally targeted, so if you find that you're constantly getting ads for leather whips and gimp masks, it's probably more your fault than mine.

I'm not allowed to encourage you to click on the ads below.  So don't.  Don't click that flashing button.  Don't do it...

Monday, August 05, 2013

Sheepish

Over the last ten months or so, I have become a sort of connoisseur (or connoisseuse if you must) of children's literature and television.  Well, CBeebies, anyway.  I may have given in to the magic glowing box, but fuck me if I'm letting her watch adverts pushing pink mermaids in bikinis and cupcake kitchens.  I think I'd genuinely rather she experimented with cannabis than owned a Barbie.

I digress.

So, over the last ten months I have made a study of the type of things represented in children's media, and have analysed this on a distribution curve against their actual appearance in real life*.

Things that appear in baby's books and TV far more than in real life:


  • Rainbows.  On an average year, I probably see two.  Children's television suggests that there's at least one every five minutes.  And it almost always causes chaos, with the little twonks trying to find the end of it - with predictably unhilarious consequences.  I'm looking at you, Mike the Knight.

  • All types of farm animals.  I have no idea why it's so important that children need to learn the different noises animals are supposed to make.  Looking at the preponderance of animals in children's books and TV, you would imagine that understanding what sheep are and what noise they make is one of the fundamental building blocks of humanity.

  • Justin Fletcher. 
     If he ever dies or pulls a Jimmy Saville, CBeebies will go bankrupt overnight.  This will mean nothing to non-parents.  Basically, Justin Fletcher, aka Mr Tumble, aka Tiny Tumble, aka Timmy, aka Gigglebiz, aka Justin's House is on every single children's television programme.  Originally he gave me the creeps, but I've warmed to him, simply because the baby will watch him with a delight normally reserved for when she gets a really good fistful of Monty Cat tail.  The amount Justin is on television must surely lead babies to believe that he is our leader.  I think we could actually do worse.


Things that appear in baby's books and TV far less than in real life:

  • Mortgages
  • Divorce
  • Cold-callers
  • Alcoholics
  • Council tax

Therefore, I'm spotting a gap in the market.  I'm off to CBeebies head office (which I'm sure is staffed entirely by Justin Fletchers) to pitch my new show.  It's a cartoon featuring an alcoholic sheep, played by Justin Fletcher (stick to what you know), who tries to keep up with his mortgage and council tax payments by working as a cold-caller.  The extra hours are having an impact on his marriage.

I think I'll call it Justin Fletcher the Alcoholic Sheep. I think it has a ring to it.



* Obviously I haven't actually done this.  Most days I don't have enough time to have a shower.

Saturday, August 03, 2013

Germ warfare

TheBloke (TM) came home last night to be greeted by the words, "There's a dead pigeon on the lawn with your name on it."

Perhaps it was something I said, but the next thing I knew, he was pushing past me, running up the stairs to the bathroom, and then making noises that can only be described as simultaneous vomiting and shitting.

The baby helped by punctuating this with random screams for no good reason.

Monty Cat sat on the top stair and licked his cat lips.  He'd caught a pigeon.  He'd had dinner.  He'd stolen some of the baby's melon (who knows why?).  He'd slept upside down in the conservatory for at least three hours.  Monty was having a good day.

So yes, TheBloke (TM) has now been struck down by the same bug we've all had, and as I've stupidly turned the corner, this means I'm now in charge of dirty nappies and doling out chicken soup.  Most of the time, I even remember to wash my hands between those two tasks.  Most of the time.

Still, give him his due, TheBloke (TM) did indeed dispose of the dead pigeon.  Though our lawn still looks like a pillow-stuffing company.

Anyone want to buy a third-hand ginger cat?

Friday, August 02, 2013

Buggy

As I write this Plog, I am desperately trying to con the baby into taking an afternoon nap, a habit she grew out of about three months ago.  From the video monitor, I can see she isn't playing ball.  In fact, she's sitting bolt upright in her cot, blissfully unaware that Mummy is spying on her, and she hasn't looked more alert for the best part of a week.

The thing is, and you're totally not supposed to say this, I need ten minutes.  Why do I need ten minutes?  Well, it's been a trying couple of days.

The baby alarm went off yesterday at 6.30 a.m. - I mustn't complain.  This is a relative lie-in compared to where we were a month ago.  TheBloke (TM) and I got up, and I felt even more dreadful than usual.  I suspected tiredness and suspected it would pass, but there was a persistent nausea.

The nausea lasted until the baby decided to do the world's most massive, stinky poo.  The type that's so massive and so liquid, it leaves patches on your hardwood floors, which need to be Dettoled immediately.  I can hear what you're asking - "How come the nausea passed then?  If anything, I would imagine it would worsen."

Indeed.  The nausea passed because it quickly turned to uncontrollable vomiting.  This is less fun than it sounds when you're trying to change a wiggly baby covered in poo on a waist-height changing table.

Fast forward eight hours or so.  It's 2 a.m.  I decide to get up for a bit more vomiting, because that's just the sort of person I am.  After driving the porcelain bus for half an hour or so, I pop my head in to check on the baby who is - yes - covered in vomit.  As is Toby Bear and all her sheets.

I change them all.  Toby Bear goes in the washing machine.  We all go back to bed.

This morning, Monty Cat decides to help.  He's hardly a predator.  In his whole ginger furry life he has caught:

- a moth

- a spider, which he accidentally stood on and then looked horrified

- a paintbrush.

So of course today would be the day when he turns killer, with a fresh (though admittedly less-fresh-by-the-moment) pigeon left on our lawn.  To be fair, it might not have been him.  It might have been one of his cat friends helping him to look hard.  But believe me, the poos and vomits I've been dealing with recently (and of course, those I've been doling out myself), I do not have the stomach for dead grouse unless it comes with a jus of some description and is served in an overpriced French restaurant.

I will let that be a little welcome-home present for TheBloke (TM) when he gets back from work.  I'm nice like that.

So yes, I need ten minutes.  Which are now up.  I hope you appreciate it.