The little dude is two and a half and his behaviour is becoming more and more challenging. I’m not proud to admit I’ve cried multiple times a day for a while; normally out of sheer frustration when things go wrong. My head isn’t great at the minute and I know that’s not helping; it feels a […]
I’m so excited to be able to run a competition on my blog, it has amazing prizes and is something I’m really passionate about. To enter all you need to do is be a working mum. There is no catch – just enter below and be in the running to win some awesome prizes.
I could find no better description for this post, it’s about bumholes. If you are easily offended or a little prude, don’t read on. To be honest you probably shouldn’t read any of my posts as I have no filter, but ho hum. I’m still flogging the dead horse that is potty training my two […]
I am not winning at this parenting lark. My plans to be organised and all that jazz are failing on an epic scale; and we woke up this morning at 6am to a fridge containing nothing I could make breakfast out of.
I’ll admit as hard as parenthood is, seeing your child grow and change every year with major holidays such as Christmas is lovely to see and so much fun. It’s like a warm fuzzy feeling of love and happiness; until they poke you in the eye or do a dirty protest in the toy box.
I don’t need to know that after the terrible twos comes other bad ages. The Terrible Two’s should be called the Tragic Terrible Twatting Fucking Horrible Two’s. That would be a better title. Right now it can’t get any worse. I know damn well it can always get worse but I’m having a little pity […]
We popped into town earlier to do some shopping and the small one was a bloody nightmare. I balanced the shopping basket on the hood of the buggy and people looked at me like I’d committed murder. Today is Judgemental Wednesday it seems. Meh. Zero fucks given.
(Original Post Date – 9/2/17 – accidentally deleted the original, bad Lisa) The potty is sending me potty. The mancub was two in November and all I have heard since he was 18 months old is how I should be potty training him.
Dear Me, pre-motherhood, AKA 2013-me. You may not believe this but in four years time you will be a mum to a little shit boisterous free-spirited two year old mancub you named the mancub. Crazy right – they’ve just told you that you can’t conceive naturally, that you don’t ovulate.
I was mega ashamed of myself this morning.