Real men don't wear dressing gowns

The other half is rubbish at Birthdays, or any occasion where a card may be necessary. My son was born in February and it was mother’s day a few weeks later. After several subtle reminders (IT’S MOTHERS DAY ON SUNDAY. MY SON WANTS TO BUY ME A PRESENT ETC ETC) I was presented with two tea-towels, three bars of soap and a blank card signed off with 'Regards'. I kid you not. Of course I didn't tell him this was unacceptable, I sulked for about 6 weeks.  Having said that throwing the bars of soap across the room in a breast feeding hormonal frenzy should’ve served as some kind of hint. Seventeen months later they are still on the bathroom shelf, gathering dust. The other half refers to them as my 'best' soaps as if there were some kind of soap hierarchy. In fact they are there in silent protest gathering dust, a tool to be gazed upon when I am feeling particularly angry about something and need that final push into full blown row mode.

Then there was the Birthday where he had 'a surprise' for me. The surprise was lunch at his mothers with four OAP’s. One a ninety year old woman wearing a bad syrup.. which was at least amusing if nothing else?

There was the one where he didn’t get me anything at all because 'he didn’t have time" IT’S ON THE SAME DAY EVERY YEAR! and the one where he brought me a pair of latex pants as if I were a member of the cast of Hollyoaks. I really can’t think of anything else to say about them other than that one night when id had a few wines I thought I’d try them on. It took me 15 mins to get them on and 45 mins to get them off and even though I am a size 8 there were bits of fat poking out of them defiantly. One side effect was a Brazilian wax and I think other half would’ve been disappointed with the sight so I didn’t inflict it on him.

This year I’m trying to promote harmony at home so I took it upon myself to organise my own birthday and gave clear instruction as to what was expected. “buy a card with the words MUMMY on the front from the little man and let step-daughter choose her own... nothing funny and nothing that’s reduced. Things get reduced for a reason. Oh, and get the little man to scribble on it or something”. “Don’t waste your money on a gift (and I meant it), we are getting married in four months time and I want it to go ahead. “

I set about finding something for us to do ‘together, sans kids’ and settled on a weekend at a health spa. We have only been out twice together in 18 months and have not had a night away in two years, but that needn’t matter because I have a pre planned list of topics suitable for discussion should we found ourselves alone for more than five minutes.

When I mentioned the spa to the other half he went pale and for once was lost for words. I suggested a look at the website might reassure him. I’m not wearing a dressing gown he protested.  I’m not eighty and besides real men don’t wear dressing gowns.  It might be appropriate at this point to mention that other half is 15 years older than me and rather sensitive about his age.

The website did nothing to ease his fears, the first photo we saw a snap shot of a couple in their 60’s (I’m being conservative with the ages on the off chance they read this) dressed in white gowns walking across a lawn as if heading back to the home or to some swiss clinic to be ‘put down’. I burst out laughing but the other half ‘put his foot down’ and declared we could go to the hotel half a mile up the road instead.

Still... I am in charge and after dropping off the little man at my mother’s we were on our way.

On arrival I was greeted by a sickeningly attractive but sour faced looking lady who offered to check us in before reeling off a list of the treatments ‘tailor made for a pregnant woman’! I would’ve been offended but I in no way look pregnant so I chose to play along with her instead. Encouraging her by saying “looks lovely, can’t wait and when I got carried away...I think the baby will like that one aswell”. Strange thing was the other half didn’t bat an eyelid; he just sat there grinning like Jack Nicholson playing the joker. When she got to the end of the list I noticed the two treatments I had actually booked tagged on and her face suddenly dropped, becoming more sullen as if that were possible. “there must be a mistake here” she stated. You can’t have these in your condition”, picking up the phone with her manicured nails. Caught out I ushered her to put it down and just blurted out “ACTUALLY, IM NOT PREGNANT BUT I JUST DIDNT BOTHER TO TELL YOU”. She looked at me as if I’d just stepped off a spaceship and said “BUT MADAM, YOU JUST SAID YOU WERE”. Other half must’ve realised that this could be a long fruitless conversation and interjected “SHE’S NOT WELL, SORRY, THATS WHY WERE HERE”. Grinning. Sour face laughed awquardly and grinned back at him.

Our room was travel inn fare but with the added bonus of complimentary slippers and robes, i felt instantly at home. Other half spent the day acting as if his manhood were being challenged by strutting around in horrendously tight trunks that I didn’t even know he owned and proclaiming to any female that would listen that I had forced him there. Unfortunately for me lots of females did listen to him. It was probably the pants... it was difficult to look anywhere else.

With new found confidence other half began settling in “YOUVE ONLY BEEN IN THE STEAM ROOM FOR FIVE MINUITES HUN, YOU REALLY NEED TEN TO SEE ANY BENEFIT” AND “I CAN TELL YOU USE A GYM”, with a wink to the old lady next to me. Eventually this display got the better of me and I retreated to our room agreeing to meet up later.

An hour into ‘brides’ magazine and several texts to my mother asking if the little man was ok later (me: All ok? Mum: stop texting me while i’m drinking gin me: very bloody funny, how’s the little one, mum: pissed), other half burst into the room. “I COULD GET USED TO THIS, IVE JUST BEEN CHATTING TO A LOVELY YOUNG LADY ABOUT COLON HYDROTHERAPY” he stated, pulling his robe from its hanger and donning it like Hugh Heffner. “YOU MEAN COLONIC IRRIGATION?” I asked, “NO HYDROTHERAPY, ITS MORE OF A HOLISTIC EXPERIENCE HERE”, he informed me.  Wishing Id brought along the rubber pants I suddenly felt insecure.

Dinner did nothing to allay those feelings as we walked into the restaurant and several attractive women waved or grinned at him. Once I had consumed my half a chicken leg and beetroot jus I found my eyes darting about suspiciously.

By mid morning on the day of our departure we had completed several ‘group treatments’ whereby every female knew other half’s name and I had become invisible. He was strutting through the place like a peacock telling me that he felt 30 again. WELL YOU ARE 48 SO SOD OFF, I replied grumpily.

At ‘check out’ other half told sour face that we’d definitely be back soon and referred to her as Amanda. As we walked to the car she shouted. “GOOD LUCK WITH THE BABY”. Bitch.

By the time we were back at my mum’s I was stressed to boiling point. When I walked through her front door I was met by a scene that wouldn’t have been out of place in ‘saving Private Ryan’. There was ‘stuff’ everywhere... food on the floor, cushions removed from sofas and mini cheddars sticking out of the DVD player. As I scrambled around tidying up, with little man grappling to be picked up my mother asked “HOW WAS IT?” to which other half replied “BEST BIRTHDAY EVER”. Next year I will ask for soap.

The caravan of love

Anyone who knows me will be aware that prior to the birth of my son I was a 'work hard, play hard' kind of person. (I cringe at the use of such phrases but its appropriate in this case). My holidays were taken in exotic places and were usually over priced. This year my holiday cost 50 pounds 5 people and (shudder) was taken in a caravan.

It seemed like a good idea when my mother proposed the idea 5 months ago. It was a particularly rainy day, i'd recently returned to work from maternity leave and was having a 'im a bad mother' crisis.
It was sold to me as being 'a bit like a cottage on wheels' and I got sucked in.

On Friday I started to realise just what I had done and frantically began searching for a reason not to go. "The weather forecast is for torrential rain" I protested. "I think the little man has a temperature" and finally in a last ditch attempt "I haven't got anything to wear and you don't love me anymore anyway" in a pathetic baby voice. Unfortunately for me my other half is a glass half full kind of guy and wise to my tricks. "It will be an adventure he chirped", "the kids will love it rain or otherwise", and "you are as beautiful as the day I met you" (an obvious lie as I had spent four hrs preening that day and didn't smell of baby pooh). sweet nevertheless.
So it was with a sigh that I found myself squashed into the car with enough luggage for three months and several umbrellas my other half chucked in 'to make you feel better about the rain'.

2 hrs of are we there yet's later and an incident involving an open car door and a motorway later we pulled into the crazy dog campsite (I've changed the names so as not to cause offence)
My worst fears were confirmed when I saw row upon row of mobile homes crammed together like sardines and several wandering children who appeared to have escaped from lord of the flies. Even the other half appeared lost for words, his permanent smile drooping a bit.

"Don't worry, we'll make the most of it" he offered when glancing across at me.

Inside the box were two 'bedrooms', a shower and a living area. The other half and I were relegated to a sofa bed in the living room. Almost the second we sucked ourselves out of the cramped car the kids began grinning. My toddler began running round in circles and bumping into things and my step daughter chanted ca ra van, ca ra van over and over. Indeed, such was there excitement that I found the corners of my lips upturning slightly.
By the end of day one both kids were tucked up in bed (having worn themselves out running the length of the van over and over) and my other half and I were giggling on our camp bed like a couple of teenagers. Caravan fever over came us and we thought wed take advantage of having both children asleep. Apologies if i offend but just as we began rolling between the sheets there was an almighty scream a bit like a cat fighting and I sprung up in the air in terror. "HELP HELP" my step daughter screeched. Both my partner and I ran to her like our lives depended upon it fully expecting to find a stranger in her room or similar. She was sat bolt upright in floods of tears. "WHATS WRONG?" I asked in fear. "SOMEONE KEEPS MOVING MY BED" she said. Glancing around the room I relaxed a little and assumed she had been dreaming.
"its ok... there is no one in here" i replied, "YES THERE IS, THEY KEEP MOVING MY BED" she argued. "LIKE THIS" and she began rocking from side to side. I felt the entire caravan moving beneath my feet and with horror realised that my other half and I had been the offenders. After explaining it away as best we could she seemed satisfied and said 'night night' again to us both. As we were leaving her room she glanced over at us with a concerned look on her face and said "Daddy, next time you see me can you wear pants. I'm worried you will get a cold" and I realised that we had failed to get dressed in our panic.  
That night we slept about as far away from one another as is possible in a double sofa bed.

As the weekend progressed my toddler picked up on the fact that you can hear a pin drop in a caravan and began commentating on our bowel movements "DADDY POOH POOH", "MUMMY WEE WEE" and so on. I found myself suffering from performance nerves and saved trips to the loo for restaurants, pubs and the like. The plus side of this was that we got to eat out every day, twice a day.

The final day of the 'holiday' was by far the best. We packed up the car in the morning and decided on a trip to the beach before going home.  I'm not sure if it was knowing that i was leaving but I relaxed somewhat and even found myself chirping a little. Yes you can have two ice creams I told step daughter. Yes you can eat biscuits I told toddler and no, you don't have to have dinner i danced merrily. At 5 both were crazy from the sugar and tired from digging holes in the sand, jumping in the sea etc. Toddler began to get a bit niggly. NO MUMMY he protested when i tried to put him in the buggy. NO MUMMY when I tried to get him in the car and NO MMMMUUUUUMMMMMYYYY when I suggested we change his nappy.
The final no ended in him throwing himself down on the ground in the style of someone elses badly behaved child and drew glances from passers by. It was then I noticed the pooh seeping from below his shorts and called upon my other half to assist.
It must have looked a sight two adults, literally pinning down a toddler on the grass to remove his nappy wwf style (thats the world wrestling federation for those of you that don't know), and this was confirmed when one of the cast of lord of the flies walked by with his parents (extras from 'fat club') and asked "Why are those people doing that to the baby?"......the mother glanced over while expertly balancing her chips in one hand and her 'fag' in the other and replied "looks like hes got shi* down him" in a north london accent, as toddler broke free and rolled through soiled nappy triumphantly.
When I finally regained control it was with horror that I discovered I had committed the worst of those unwritten mummy sins and run out of nappies.
After a brief row about who was the worst parent we bundled toddler into his car seat and wrapped him in a towel, sumo style. Both toddler and step daughter laughing at the sight.
As we progressed I allowed myself to drift off to sleep knowing that within 2 hrs I would be home.
Around half an hour from our front door i awoke once again to my step daughter screaming and turned to see what was happening like a startled rabbit. The other half driving erratically one hand behind the seat rubbing step daughters knee and saying "its ok, try not to panic". The scene that met me was like something out of charlie and the chocolate factory, only less tasty!
Toddler had produced a pooh worthy of an Oscar, only this time he had taken matters into his own hands, quite literally and attempted to pass it to stepdaughter. When she had refused he had dropped it onto the seat between them and rubbed his hands over whatever was in reach... step daughters soft toy had been the main victim.
For once lost for words I just looked at the scene for a second attempting to regain composure.

Shi* toddler said in north london accent. I had to agree.

The mad house

Before I start, I should probably give brief mention to the shocking rioting in London and across the UK. I wont pass opinion on it as it wouldn't be appropriate given my occupation but I will say I have had a small involvement (in the policing part not the looting) and that its one of those times that I'm really proud of the people I work with. We all pull together in a crisis and I have found some of the scenes and reports I have heard in relation to the police service truly upsetting. Its the individuals that make it work and some of them are pushed to their limits, yet they get on with the job in hand. Just saying.

Thursday started at around three in the morning, when my other half began his impressions of a wild animal being suffocated, otherwise known as snoring. Its a pretty common occurrence and something which I have become fixated on to the point of obsession. Indeed the second he breaths slightly more heavily than usual or I hear his nose becoming slightly 'fuzzy' I am compelled to shake him violently and proclaim "YOUR DOING IT, ITS WOKEN ME UP, YOU WILL WAKE THE CHILDREN!" etc etc. Truth is I am already awake 'monitoring the situation' and were I not so obsessed id probably be asleep and wouldn't notice it anyway! After around six or seven jabs to the ribs I eventually drift off only to be woken by my son striking something against his cot and shouting "muuuummmmyyy", "daddddyyyy", "mo-mobot", (his current favourite toy).
I sigh heavily, hoping its enough to spur my other half into action but as there is no reaction relinquish and go and get him. Its 6.32 am.
06.33 I am greeted by my son, beaming smile, half naked, rubbing momo bot in what appears to be a pooh on his bed. No sign of the implement used for banging.
06.37 Step daughter runs out of her bedroom and follows me back to my own room where jumping on bed commences. Its only broken up when step daughter jumps on 'something squashy' and other half flies out of bed angrily. (ouch) Secretly pleased because he will now make me a cup of tea.

The rest of the morning is taken up by my other half trying to get ready for work while my step daughter (shes 5 by the way), empties out the contents of her draws onto the floor and proclaims she has nothing to wear as if she were Suri  Cruise. Eventually she squeezes into a pair of shorts aged 2-3 that show her bottom. I tell her id rather she at least wear leggings under them as 'she will catch a cold' (not what I'm thinking, which is something like 'what will the neighbours/her mother and any paedophiles in the area think' ) and she claims that its ok because "mummy lets me wear them". I doubt it. Actually... I don't.

By 1300hrs the pair have left and normality is resumed. The rest of the day is made up of 'feeding time' Son: "mummy biscuit", me "no biscuits, I've made you a banana sandwich", son "biscuit biscuit BISCUITTTTTTT". me "mmm lovely sandwich" son: "AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH", as I shove a biscuit in his mouth to prevent the neighbours from calling social services.
Nappy changes: son "no mummy", me "its ok, just want to give you a change", son "no mummy", rolling away into half removed nappy across the carpet and then running out of the room leaving a trail of.. erm.. crumbs behind him.
And Playing with the garden hose, for which my son currently has an obsession akin to me and the snoring. Ive given up on that one and find that letting him soak himself and everything in sight until his lips start to go blue gives me time for cup of tea.

Tea time it is... 1700hrs is my favourite time of the day. My son starts to get tired and suddenly wants to kiss and cuddle me rather than throw balls in my face of wipe his hands on my jeans, we spend an hour with cbeebies (although I wanted to watch peppa pig) and then he has his bath, which he loves. By 1815 he is laying on my lap and he is my baby again, he smells of baby bath and he drinks from a bottle of milk while drifting off to sleep. I place him down in his cot and then RUN FOR THE HILLS as he struggles to get up before I have left the room and mutters "down", indicating that he wants to go downstairs. On this occasion I win the race and get out of the room before he is on his feet. A few mins later I put my head round the door and he is asleep. For a moment I miss him and am tempted to wake him up but instead I wander downstairs to the kitchen, passing the hallway mirror and make a mental note to wear make-up tomorrow or at least to dress better.
Other half texts to say that he wont be home until at least midnight and while I will miss him and all that I breath a sigh of relief that this evening I may sleep through the heard of Wilder beast and go into Friday feeling refreshed. Who am I kidding.

My first blog

I'm a 32 year old mum to an 18 month old boy. Firstly, let me make it clear that I love him dearly, however, I wouldn't say that the path to motherhood has come naturally to me and at times I feel as if, in that short space of time, I have gone from (to quote Bridget Jones) 'wanton sex goddess', with a career and a carefree attitude to neurotic grumpy frumpy mummy. Usually with some kind of spot. Most days I am harassed but at least I find time to brush my hair and iron my clothes. On the bad days I don't!

I should also mention (rather cautiously) that I am a Police Officer and have been for the past ten (ish) years. I wont labour on my occupation because generally it divides people into marmite groups but I will say that I joined 'the job' with the dream of helping people and that over time I have come to realise that some people don't want help. Having said that I still believe in what I do. It doesn't exactly go hand in hand with motherhood but it does give me a reality check and a sense of belonging and besides, someone has to do it.

Finally, I am a step-mother, not the evil kind I hope, although honestly, I'm not very good at it.
So, that's me!