All sorts of things

Been a while ain't it? 

Excuses being:

1. I am now back at work, which has taken a lot of mental build up if not very much actual work to achieve.

2. I have two children. Duh.

3. I gave up smoking. Well, I gave up smoking ages ago, but after the last blogging episode, and then I was VERY ANGRY for a few days (weeks) and that sapped all my sense of humour away so I didn't think blogging would be wise. Who wants to hear about how much I hate everything for no reason? It wouldn't have been a good time. For my lungs it was a pretty good time. But then I had some teeth out and had to stop sucking my thumb, combined with going back to work and starting a new (amazing) diet I am now smoking again. But less than I was (I am prepared to lie more freely about how much I smoke now) and as a result all is rosy. La la la la.

4. Nothing ever happens.

Ok so now I'm getting around to it I actually have a bunch of stuff to write about. Ingredients for the latest blog-a-thon are:

1. My teeth.

2. My diet

3. My buggy.

4. Softplay. And twatbags. The two go hand in hand.

Here goes!

Chapter 1 - My Teeth.

My dad says I was a really good baby. His standard story goes that after I was born I cried a load, then he put my thumb in my mouth and I never cried again. Although this is probably the romanticised embellishment of an over-proud and possibly tipsy typical dad-type, fundamentally the lesson to learn is that I have always sucked my thumb. As a result I also smoke - because thumb-sucking is NOT cool when you're a teenager and it sets you up for always needing to have something going on between your hands and your mouth. I hid my thumb sucking for a long time. All through university I had my blankie in my cupboard and only got it out when no one was around. Luckily I didn't have very many friends so I basically sat in my room with my blankie for three years. I know what you're thinking...but you can't be me, I'm taken. #Soz.

So now I'm almost 30 and my thumb sucking has RUINED my teeth, have a look at your own, doubtlessly beautiful, gnashers. At the bottom there, you see your front ones? You see how you have four in a row...gleaming with colgatesque brilliance and practically screaming "I am loved"? Well one of mine was shunned behind the other three. Shamefully hiding it's plaquey nastiness from the world. This hiding tooth has been something of the bane of my life.

Since it was hiding, it was always a total arse to clean, I had to have hygienist appointments every 6 weeks and had to brush my teeth at least 3 times a day through my teen years (again, not cool in the lunch hour to be manouvering a toothbrush around your gnarly pegs). Then the solution was suggested by the orthodontist that I could have my jaws broken in 4 places, my mouth wired back together and 4 back teeth removed. So I'd be completely unable to chew for 6 weeks, but then regain about 40% chewing function after that. I was 16. They said they'd do it over the summer so I wouldn't miss any school. Yeah...thanks...I never went back. The tooth wanted to hide, so I let it hide and generally speaking people didn't see it unless I pointed it out. But remember, I was drunk a lot.

So now I'm all new-baby-having, denistry is free (woohoo!) and my new, sombre and scary dentist said I should just have it taken out. The heavens sang like...in a film...imagine one. Oh I know, when Harry Potter finds his wand for the first time in Ollivanders and a shaft of light shines down upon him like he's Jesus. Maybe that was a hidden metaphor. Not very well hidden let's be honest. I digress, anyway that happened. In my mind obviously, I'm not sure Jesus K. Rowling gives a monkeys about my incisors. I was on the road to freedom!! Opted for a general anaesthetic as they had to take out some wisdom teeth too and what, like, 400 weeks later off to the hospital I go. La la la la la.....

To most people, the wisdom teeth would be a big deal. I cared not. For when I awoke from the (terrifying) anaesthetic I would have something like the teeth of a normal person. I. Was. Excited. I told the nurse my tale of woe and went through the procedure with the surgeon. Like, 400 hours later, off I am wheeled to surgery. The anaesthetic was horrible by the way, felt like a plastic rod being thrust up my arm.


Imagine the scene...I awake...a nurse is looking over me asking if I feel ok, calling my name...hello...hello...is it me you're looking for?

And I'm awake! Woo flipping hoo!! Genuinely, a tear formed in my eye at the joy that it was all over and the evil hiding tooth was gone, GONE!!! GOOOOOONNNNNEEEEEEE!!!

I had a feel with my tongue...

What the f....it's still there. My tooth is still in my mouth. I have not had my tooth removed. My tooth. Stayed. In.

Nurse lady says "don't worry now, it's just the anaesthetic, it'll wear off soon and everything will be clearer, it all went fine" NO! IT'S STILL IN MY SODDING MOUTH, WOMAN! It was like I was in a coma and no one knew I was still totally there. Ok it was nothing like that, she just didn't believe me. But same sort of thing.

Back on the ward the nice nurse came to ask me how wonderful it was to be free and I showed her and burst into tears. The surgeon was promptly called for and her explanation of what went wrong was "oh, I forgot that one. That's never happened before" Wicked. Well I'll just leave it then shall I? "You can come back next week?" WHAT??? NOOOOO!!!!! I've said my goodbyes to my thumb now! Sob sob sob!! "OK, We'll put you back under" thanks.

So I had two general anaesthetics that day, but the tooth is now confirmedly gone forever. So I've stopped sucking my thumb and blankie lives in a box. That is the story of my teeth.

Chapter 2: My Diet

I do NOT believe in dieting. All the people I've known to diet have only made themselves sadder and rarely any thinner. I also think I haven't the willpower to stick to it properly. Which is a massive bummer because I'm a massive bum...mer? I have a massive...you get the point, I'm a bit fat. I did just have a baby.
I don't actually even care about what size I am, only now I'm back at work I need to wear clothes (that's "the rules" apparently) and none of them fit so what choice do I have? The science diet...yeeeeah. Not like what you feed cats by the way, I mean a diet based on science. And not celebrity "How Mylene Klass lost 6lb in a lift with this simple diet tip and you can too" science, I mean actual science made by science people.
I'm intermittently fasting, so for 2 days a week I limit myself to 600 calories and the rest of the time I eat biscuits. I've lost a bunch of weight and it's brilliant. You should try it. Research it first, don't let's be stupid. I am not a celebrity...keep me in here? So anyway, my point is that two days I week I don't eat much. And now my clothes fit.

Chapter 3: (wow 2 was short wasn't it?) My Buggy

This is just a quick intro to what will probably be my next blog. Given my excessive use of the C word in the first post I don't think the advertising people are going to want to use my influx of readers to hard sell crap to, but that doesn't have to stop me doing my own product placements. I have a mamas and papas sola. It's very pretty. It does a load of cool stuff and I love it. Except the wheel keeps falling off. This is extremely inconvenient, especially as it has done this a mere week after its first birthday which is typically what all expensive items do when they are under a 12 month warranty. Buggies definitely need to have wheels, of all the parts of a buggy that could fall off, the wheel is probably one of the least good. So I called the helpline (open from 8-6:30 mon-fri) at 8:30 and it was shut. If mamas and papas piss me off I will be ranting a lot about them on the internet, brace yourself. However if they pick up my buggy, give me a courtesy buggy, fix my buggy and return my buggy I will be all sweetness and light and will probably start recommending their products all the time. So prep yourselves for the future...watch this space.

Chapter 4: Softplay and twatbags

If you don't own a toddler, know this: they are arseholes. They need constant amusement, food, attention, placation, scolding, activity, stimulation and monitoring. A bored toddler is about as dangerous as a terrorist, and people are just as pissed off about having one on their plane.

One of the worst things about toddlers isn't amusing them, they are frankly very easily amused. However they will insist on you paying attention to them, mine will play quite happily alone with his train set as long as I am actively watching him and making appropriate oooh aaah noises, as well as providing the 24 hour Thomas the Tank Engine Jukebox that is my newfound alternative to exchanging speech with real humans.

One of the best things to combat this barrage of tantrumming, attention insistent, Thomas-jukeboxing is softplay.

At softplay, there is so much fun that adults are not required. We have a coffee, the toddlers go bananas, everyone is happy. Well, until you start noticing the complete idiocy all around you.

Here are the top 10 things to look out for at your own local softplay:

There would be a prize for spotting all ten, except there isn't unless you take your own. I suspect that all prizes must be purchased on the premises or else they are not allowed in the seating area, but you take your own risks.

1. Babies drinking suspect liquids from their bottles. Today I'm pretty sure I saw a baby drinking coffee. It could have been tea but either way that just isn't good.

2. Adults keeping their shoes on whilst they supervise their children. Why the bollocks do they think the children have to check their shoes in? Like danger money? No. There are babies licking the carpet all over the place, keeping your shoes on is just gross.

3. "That parent" (ahem Angry Bird ahem) shouting at the staff for not enforcing the policies of softplay correctly. Those policies are there to ensure that all children (MY child) is able to play equally and fairly (uninterruptedly) with all the toys (my toys. Basically. I paid right?) in the place. God help you if you disobey the printed signs from the 90s. God help you.

4. Table Stalking. A lot like the age old pastime of 'swing stalking', adults will loiter around the seating area, as soon as someone so much as rests their coffee on the table all adults assume the "get set" pose, then if a coat is lifted RRUUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!! Seating is vital. One must not stand at softplay.

5. Escape enablers. The smaller children are protected, in all the softplay centres I have been to, from escaping to their certain death by a gate with a simple latching system designed to be too high for them to reach. How marvellous then that adults are so willing to hold the gate open for unattended toddlers to roam through. Slow clap. Well done you.

6. The look of almost religious awe that small kids get when looking at the big kids area. There is a divide...to cross it means death. Or maybe a bonk on the noggin. At least a telling off. The toddler will yearn for the big kids bit like the terrorist yearns for Jannah. And they're about as likely to get in there. Luckily for the world there is no terror equivalent to the escape enabler as far as I'm aware. So the whole metaphysical wonder of the afterlife is in principle better designed than soft play, but I can't say I'm surprised because I think heaven has been going since before the 90s. Correct me if I'm wrong.

7. You see that kid who looks a bit peaky. Yeah he's got a disease. Could be norovirus, could be conjunctivitis, could just be the shits. Tomorrow, your kid will have that.

8. Big kids, for some reason, seem unhappy with the Valhalla of the big kids area and will invariably sneak into the small kids area and star chucking stuff about. They are usually the children of the escape enablers who apparently run a two way gatekeeping system. They will swear and chuck stuff about, maybe just the toys but maybe also some crisps if you're lucky. Enlist "that parent" to get an incoherent announcement made over the loudspeaker, that should solve (do nothing whatsoever about) the problem.

9. "That kid". Is my one I'm afraid. He's the one going up the slide instead of down. He's the one who has realised you can climb up to that precarious ledge, he's the one who's figured out how to skip past the parentals and get straight to the escape enablers, he's the one who just ran over that lady's foot (if only she'd kept her shoes on eh?), he is the one licking all the fake foods to spread the diseases more efficiently, he is the one eating the crisps off the floor. He is "that kid". All other kids will follow him. He is not Jesus, following is not wise. I am sorry.

10. Music. Why not play some banging house tunes from the 90s? Toddlers love that shit.

I'm done now. Go and share.

If my blog gets a million likes my kid said he won't teach your kid how to use matches.