Dental nightmares again

A while ago I spoke about my first nightmare trip to the hygienist when I turned up to have my teeth tortured but was unable to because I hadn't taken my antibiotics ( I have a heart murmur need to take them because there is a slight chance dental work will release bacteria which will cause an infection - weird but true). Second time I went was fine, apart from the pain, and I was told to come for a follow up appointment a couple of months later. Unfortunately Pokr Chop had to come to as I couldn't find a baby sitter.

Normally she is fine, a joy to behold and people marvel at what a good baby she is. Yesterday I strongly suspect Satan decided to possess her, either that or she was just being a kantankerous little moo cow. Less than 30 seconds into the procedure Pork Chop, who was sitting opposite me in her pram, began to scream from the top of her lungs. We are not talking a little whimper or small cry of protest at the indignity of watching while Mummy has her teeth done, we are talking about a full-blown screaming session which makes everyone in a five mile radius run for cover. I tried to to calme her down - that didn't work. I tried bribery next, toys, rice cakes (normally a guaranteed winner) - still no luck and she continued to wail with heartrending abandon.

I was sweating profusely and bright red with embarrassment. The hygienist was sitting there with a kindly expression on her face saying, "Don't worry it happens, we're used to it." However, I suspect that she is lesbian and is only being polite and actually thinks, "What a complete nightmare, thank God I drink from the furry cup instead."

So sheepishly I left with my crying nightmare child tucked firmly under my arm. Fortunately they didn't charge me which was nice but I have had to rebook for January now.

The moral of this story - get a babysitter for dental appointments at all costs.

As an aside, just when you think you know someone.....My neighbours are a lovely couple and we go out with them every so often. I run with the girl and The Other Half has a nice time with her partner. Last night though I discovered they go cruising, for want of a better expression, in bars looking for girls to join them in threesomes. It's not my bag at all but it doesn't bother me and certainly won't affect our friendship (at least if they don't try it on) but whoever would have thought it? Just goes to show the old cliche is true - you can't judge a book by it's cover.

Waking up early and weird lights

I am fortunate enough that Pork Chop now sleeps through the night at eight months. Pretty much 7 to 7 which is wonderful. Yet, my sleep is till broken by The Other Half getting up very very early to go to work at the moment. I feel rather bad about complaining about this as he is after all the one who is bringing home the bacon while I am merely sitting on my arse all day watching Jeremy Kyle (or at least that is what he thinks).

However, I reckon he could do it a teensy weensy little bit quieter than he actually does now which generally involves the moo cow alarm clock going off very loudly at 6am, him leaping out of bed, stomping around the room and managing to turn every single light in the house on. A few more crashes and bangs, plus him jumping on me and telling me he has to go to work (as if I hadn't already realised and wasn't already woken up) is enough to make sure I am not going to go back to sleep any time soon.

Is it too much to ask that he does it a little quieter or am I being really mean?

Anyway, we bought some new lights for our lounge the other day, or to be more precise, some new light shades. They are these white round tooth-like lights which look fabulous once up but are a bugger to put together because they come in 60+ plastic sections which all have to be folded and clipped into place in the right order. There should surely be a warning on the box, something along the lines of don't buy this unless you have at least a degree or better still a membership to Mensa because they are stupidly difficult to put together. The Other Half did one two nights ago and I did the other last night. I now have raw skin on my fingers from folding sharp plastic for hours on end. On top of all that Pork Chop was looking gleefully at the one still on the floor earlier and it was by only diving after her that I managed to stop her chubby little fingers from death gripping it into pieces.

Still despite our toiling and toubles it is worth it and they look great.

Not looking forward to dusting the buggers though....

Swimming babies and poo in the pool

Pork Chop is currently sitting on the floor tearing Sunday's newspapers to shreds. She is now covered in black ink which makes it look like she is severely bruised and social services need to be called at once. I hasten to add THEY DON'T, IT IS JUST INK. Having social services poke their sticky beaks into my life one day in the future because Pork Chop might have got a small bruise from falling over is a constant irrational fear of mine. I suspect it doesn't help when there are so many stories in the media of parents losing their children because of over zealous so-called childcare experts.

Anyway, I digress as that wasn't really the point of this post. Yesterday we took Pork Chop for an underwater baby shoot. Before anyone reacts in horror she has been doing Little Dipper classes for ages, absolutely loves it and is probably more confident in the water than Nemo. Had an argument with The Other Half before we left over Huggies Swim Pants which went something like this:

Me: "Damn, have run out of swim pants. Need to go and get some."

Him sitting on sofa doing fuck all while I try to dress Pork Chop, feed her, dress myself, feed me, make beds and unload dishwasher: "Well stop eating your bloody toast and go and get some or we will be late."

Me: "There is no need to shout, I've been busy getting your daughter fed and ready. You know you can be very mean sometimes."

Him: "That's just nasty, I'm not mean. Listen to you nagging all the time. I'm just trying to help. Go get the pants from Boots and I'll look after Pork Chop or we WILL be late."

Me: "Fine whatever." (fucking bastard)

Him: "Fine whatever." (stropy fucking bitch)

So I rushed to Boots for the swim pants. Boots didn't open until 11am so I stood there with several other mums and stampeded the door as soon as it was unlocked. I then ran, yes ran, all the way up a very steep hill home and we still managed to arrive at the shoot 20 minutes early only to be told we didn't need to put them in swim pants as they looked bulky and spoilt the lines in the photos.

Suffice to say, swim pants or not, Pork Chop loved it. However, it does slightly concern me that they don't wear pants. Within five minutes we were told to "evacuate" the pool because one of the little darlings had had a big shit. Pork Chop also burped and threw up a little milk which landed in the pool before I had time to blink. I surreptitiously splashed the water a bit to disguise it and watched guilty as the little white bits sunk below the surface, no doubt obscuring the camera somewhat. And there is also the huge numbers of wees they must all be doing in there as well.

Five babies per session, roughly eight sessions - that equals a lot of wee.

The nursery nightmare

I am currently in the process of trying to find a nursery for Pork Chop in the event that I do decide to go back to work. I am already limited in my options because unlike certain supermums I didn't put her name down when she was still just a twinkle in her daddy's ....

Still, there are plenty to choose from out there. It is just deciding which one is best which is the problem. Admittedly I have only visited three so far but my first thoughts are these:

Number 1: The worst one of all. All the girls working there were fat and ugly and the place smelt of shit. The baby room had just one cot and other babies were expected to sleep on the floor. the garden was a small patch of concrete and the whole place generally had the air of a Romanian orphanage if that is possible. I was shown around by a girl, who though pleasant enough, clearly didn't want to be showing me round with any great enthusiasm. Where was the manager, the professionalism? The only thing it really had going for it was being two hundred yards from our house.

Number 2: I was greeted by the manager. All the girls working there were young, fit and good looking (this is a requirement of The Other Half's, not mine but I can see his point). It was opposite a lovely park where they take the kids twice a day, weather permitting, and it had lots of sensory rooms for the children to throw themselves around in without getting hurt. Bonus - it also had one cot for every baby and was ten quid cheaper than the Romanian lookalike. Oh and it also had a lovely garden with real grass and a vegetable patch.

Number 3: Higly professional, about the same price as number 2 but looked more like a school than a nursery and was on a very busy main road. I may be a little pushy but even I don't think Pork Chop is ready yet to learn her 12 times table and how to join up her writing. We were greeted by an overly friendly, slightly rotund manager. Very very talkative but a little bit strange. "Hello, and how are you today?" (I'm not the child, daughter is you don't have to speak to me like I'm three).

So number two is looking good if I go back and that's by no means definite. Have had meeting with editor and he is thinking about my request for part time hours. In reality because he is a mysogynist it means he was paying me lip service and will consider my request only because he is legally obliged to until he can come up with some credible reasons why it won't work. Hmmm watch this s pace

P.S. still loving I'm a Celeb - it's a close run thing between David Gest and Dean Gaffney right now but Lauren Booth just really gets on my tits.

I'm a Celebrity

It is official. I am addicted to the current series of I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. It is now the highlight of mine and The Other Half's evenings in front of the telly. Already the bitchiness and cattiness which makes it so watchable has started and David Gest is my new hero. Scot Henshall on the other hand is a conniving arrogant little twat, or at least that is how he comes across in the editing.

But Gest is just fabulous. I admit I was somewhat biased to begin with having followed the Minelli split and read all the salacious gossip in the papers which made him out to be a vain and pompous control freak with tattooed eyebrows and outrageous demands. However, over the last three days he has proved himself to be extremely funny, entertaining, intelligent and brave - he did after all get six meals for the camp and had me and The Other Half in stitches when he did his bushtucker trial. Not at all like Henshall who I am told freaked out, had a hissy fit and failed to get a single meal for the unhappy campers last night.

So I reckon we should all vote for Gest to win. I think he deserves it.

The topsy turvy world of health and safety

It is official- the world has gone mad, or at least this country has when it comes to health and safety. Children arent't allowed to play conkers in school because they might hurt themselves, teachers are scared to teach them outside in case they get sunburnt/frostbite (delete as appropriate) and the parents sue. We are told by welfare officers how many pieces of fruit to eat each day, how to brush our teeth and how to recycle our rubbish. We are monitored, checked, re-checked, tracked and controlled. Freedom really is just an illusion in this horribly Big Brotherish society we now live in.

And I personally was confronted by yet another element of this absurd, overbearing nanny state at the weekend in a restaurant.

"Shall we pop up to Richmon to see C?" suggested The Other Half.
"Lovely idea, " I said. "I shall pack Pork Chop's bags with food, shouldn't be a problem."

We set off to Richmond, we were on time, the journey was smooth, the car was comfy and Pork Chop was in a good mood. C was wonderful and looking well, our mutual friend M and her baby Fat Chops who is not yet three months old were also wonderful and relaxed. We took a lazy walk down to the river front, settled into a beautiful "child friendly" restaurant and got set to order our food. Problem.

"Can you heat Pork Chop's food for her, a couple of minutes in the microwave would be grand," I asked the waitress.
"Um, I'm sorry but health and safety won't allow us to do that. We are not allowed to take anything into the kitchen that hasn't been prepared in the kitchen."
"Oh, right. But it is frozen. In ice cubes. What do you expect me to do? She has not teeth."
"I'm sorry but health and safety just won't let us."

The female maitre'd then said they normally did it and it must be because they were busy but she would swing it for us. Cue the male maitre'd who obviously thought we hadn't got it first time round.

"Hi there are ya'all havin a good day? I'm sorry maybe you didn't understand yes we did perfectly well and we don't need to be spoken to like we are really really thick but carry on we'll humour you) but because of hot spots from a microwave health and safety won't allow us to heat the food up. I'm really sorry."]
Me: "But it is frozen. In. To. Ice. Cubes. (you stupid fuckhead) What I am supposed to do now then?"
Him: "Well she could always have something off the baby menu. We do organic spaghetti and meatballs."
Me: "She is seven months old. She has no teeth, she can't eat it unless it is pureed up. (You stupid stupid fuckhead I don't care whether it is organic or not at this point. If it isn't pureed it could be from the Queen's personal chef and she still wouldn't be able to eat it. Stupid fuckhead).
Him: "Well I suppose we could blend it for you, we have blenders in the kitchen. (but it will cost you £7 for the meal we are now forcing you to buy).
Me: "As long as you can definitely chop it all up then I suppose that would be okay, thanks. (stupid stupid childless waiter fuckhead)
Him: "Great I will get that sorted for you then." (stupid stupid breeding heterosexual bitch)

So after that little exchange Pork Chop, who was by now getting a bit pissed off at not having any food, did finally get her minced up meat balls. It was a lot more chunky than I wanted and she normally likes but thank God she did eat it.

But here comes the really screwy health and safety bit. Okay so they are not allowed to heat food in the kitchen for whatever stupid stupid reason and they are not allowed to heat her bottle either in the microwave. But, they are allowed to give us a boiling hot pot of water which spills all over the table and is within Pork Chop's reach to heat up the milk. So the tiny chance of a microwave hotspot is not allowed to be entertained but the very real possibility of my daughter pulling a kettle of scalding water all over herself is okay.

Hmm, how fucked up is that?

Feeling better

Okay, so my stomach still feels like it has been punched repeatedly by Mike Tyson and I am finding it hard to eat even fresh basic veggies but at least I am no longer puking my guts up like it is going out of fashion. Thankfully Pork Chop slept through last night so I was able to get a good night's sleep as well.

It was rather unfortunate though that I was sick on the very day I was supposed to meet my boss for discussion about returning to work and I have had to reschedule for Monday. I wouldn't be surprised if that isn't in my favour but better that than vomiting in his bin mid sentence. I am hoping to go back for three days a week but am not convinced I will be offered anything suitable. I shall keep you posted.

In the meantime I have far more important things to do like writing Pork Chop's christening thank you letters and avoiding the ironing of which there is now tons.

I'm so ill

I am writing this having had about two hours' sleep not because of Pork Chop for once but because my stomach is rebelling against me. I seem to have picked up a stomach bug or maybe a touch of food poisoning which means I have been periodically throwing up and suffering diarroea every half an hour. It has got to the point where there is nothing left but stomach acid and my bottom is like a tap. You know the scenario - where your head is over the toilet bowl and you heaving your guts up and baying like a donkey as if your life depends on it. Well that has been me today.

I have had to cancel a nursery viewing and a meeting with my boss about returning to work and am now sitting on the sofa feeling like death warmed and watching crappy day time television.

Isn't life grand!

Christening successes and computer nightmares

I am afraid I have not been able to post anything for a few days because our whole internet system went down on Thursday. The Other Half reckons it was down to me looking at internet porn. I admit I was but I don't think it was that. Well, at least I hope not because it is already rather embarrassing him knowing I took a peep at bigblackcocks.com when I was a bit bored one day. Fortunately though it is all sorted out now which means I can tell you all about Pork Chop's christening which we had yesterday.

I had been extremely nervous because of all the politics involving the post christening location but in the end the buffet in the Indian went down very well and we didn't get too stuffed on people taking the piss on the bar either. My mother, who got quite pissed, talked happily with my father and his wife and Pork Chop, eventually, went to sleep quietly in her pram.

The church was a tiny medieval one which probably hadn't seen a congregation so large for many years. We must have at least quadrupled the number of regulars there. Pork Chop was so well behaved and I am so proud of her. She was incredibly tired and a bit fractious. Calpol did nothing to calm her down but she only really screamed when the priest took her in his arms and blessed her in the font not so much putting a little water on her head but by drenching her and her beautiful christening robe. The poor little mite didn't know what was going on and understandably like you or I would having water poured over our heads, got a little upset.

However, she is one lucky litle girl with a lot of people who really love her. She received some wonderful presents. In fact, I can't believe how generous people were because I told them not to worry too much about that sort of thing. But she now has a lovely selection of diamond necklaces, bracelets, charms, jewellery boxes and even a nativity set. Her jewellery collection is better than mine.

And the God part of it all wasn't too bad either. Our singing was atrocious but at least we all tried and we even said all the words to all the prayers. I'm seriously considering going back to church again on a semi regular basis and I'm not even religious!

In the end a good time was had by all. I am knackered today because Pork Chop was awake during the night as usual - if anyone knows how to make a seven month old sleep through without just letting her scream I'd love to hear it.