How A Baby Whose Name Isn’t Jesus Came To Live With Dotty

 

So, I’m back on my blog and eager to start annoying y’all again but I won’t be annoying y’all as much as I used to annoy y’all because, unbelievable as it might sound, I’m helping to look after the BABY who lives here, and babies (even good babies like the one who lives here) are demanding little fuckers who take up a LOT OF TIME.

How did I end up with a baby in my house? This is how…

 

 

It was almost midnight on Christmas Eve. I was sitting on my sofa watching Christmas shite on the telly when I heard a tap-tap-tap on the back door. Who could it be? Lottie and THE BERSERKERS? Nope, I know what their knocks sound like. Branwell? Nope, he’d be hiding under a pew at midnight mass necking down the Christmas wine. Little Emily? Kumblant? No, it wasn’t them. I’d never heard a tap-tap-tap like it – it scared me. But then suddenly I wasn’t scared because it dawned on me that the only other person who’d be knocking on my door at almost midnight on Christmas Eve was SANTA CLAUS so I jumped up off the sofa and ran to the back door to let him in and to give him his glass of milk and Cumberland sausage sandwich (which he never usually TOUCHES, the ungrateful twat), and to see how many CHRISTMAS PRESENTS he had for me in his sack, and to see if the jingle bells I’d been hearing all week were REAL jingle bells, but when I flung open the door all I saw was a BIG BELLY and a SAD FACE, neither of which belonged to Santa. I know this because —

1. The BIG BELLY was BIGGER than Santa’s big belly.

2. The SAD FACE didn’t have a big bushy white beard at the bottom of it.

3.  Whoever the BIG BELLY and the SAD FACE belonged to wasn’t dressed in RED (it was a sort of manky beige).

4. Between the BIG BELLY and the SAD FACE sat a HUGE pair of BAZONKAS that definitely didn’t belong to Santa (unless there’s something he isn’t telling us). The presence of the HUGE BAZONKAS suggested to me that the person standing in front of me was a woman.

She said, ‘Are you Dotty? Dotty Headbanger?’

‘I might be.’

‘Oh God, Dotty, I’ve been looking for you all day, I’ve been up and down the streets trying to find your house but no one knows who you are or where you live so I had to knock on every single door to find you and I need a wee and I haven’t had a cup of tea or anything to eat for hours. I know you don’t know me but pleasepleaseplease will you let me go for a wee and give me a bed for the night?’

‘Are you pregnant?’

‘Seven and a half months. And I need a wee. Please. And a bed. I’ll sleep on the floor if you don’t have anything else, I’m just so tired and I need to get warm.’

Why do I attract all the nutters in the area, even at Christmas? I was just about to say, ‘Go away. Do I look like a stable?’ when I heard the first chime of my grandfather clock and I thought, fucking hell it’s Christmas, I can’t turn her away on Christmas Day or Santa will find out and he won’t leave me any presents at all. So I let her in and she’s been here ever since.

 

 

Because she turned up looking for a bed on Christmas Eve you’d think her name would be Mary. Her name isn’t Mary. Well, yes it IS Mary, but she’s only half a Mary. She’s called Mary-Mona, the poor cow. Mary-Mona Onken. And the baby’s name isn’t Jesus and he wasn’t born at Christmas, (he arrived at the beginning of February, which makes him, to date, almost 4 months old). And the baby, whose name isn’t Jesus, is NOT the son of God, he’s the son of my feckless fucker of a brother, Scotty.

The baby’s name is BUSTER. Buster Onken-Headbanger. Hyphenated because when it came to registering his birth I told Mary-Mona I’d throw them out on the streets if she didn’t give him the Headbanger name, even if she does want to kill Scotty (she’ll have to get to him before I do or she’ll have lost her chance, I’m going to FUCKING SLAUGHTER him when I see him). I insisted on Headbanger, she wanted Onken (for fuck’s sake) so we compromised and added the hyphen.

So here they are and here they stay and, surprisingly, I haven’t (yet) drop-kicked the baby into the bin or shoved a foul nappy into Mary-Mona’s mouth to shut her up. I’m patient and caring and kind to them because with the baby’s arrival I’ve discovered something new about myself –

I am a BABY LOVER.

Dotty the BABY LOVER.

Who’d have ever thunk it?

 

 

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33 Comments

  1. What is this BIG BLOG thing? WHATISIT? I needed a lie down from looking at it. Do I need to join in? Am I British? Am I funny? Who AM I? (I only know I am not Jean Valjean)

    Reply
  2. Awe, Dotty the baby lover. I too have a secret spot for babies ( no not under the stairs) that’s very kind of you Ms.Dotty. Do you think the tiny will like sausages? I hope so. Me think “dad” better beware. Happy Hunting.
    Much love and diapers
    Benjamin

    Reply
    • Dear Benjamin,

      I wrote to Cow & Gate to ask why they don’t do Cumberland sausage flavoured baby formula but they didn’t reply. I can’t wait till he can have his first bite. :-)

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply
  3. I’m welling up and whistling Hark The Herald Angels…..

    Reply
  4. I don’t even know how to explain how great it feels to read your cussing, wonderful updates on your life — I’ve missed the fuckers and twats, etc. even more than I realized. I only knew when I read this post, (good for you, giving Mary-Mona and little Buster a home,) and couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. I have become too sedate, but now that you’re back, that is going to change! 8-)

    Reply
    • Dear Judith,

      Oh-oh, I hope I’m not corrupting you again! ;-)

      I must say, I’ve missed the fuckers and twats too – particularly since Buster was born because now I can’t swear out loud with a baby in the house; I don’t think his mother would thank me if his first word turns out to be ‘SHITE’.

      Love Dotty xxx
      8-)

      Reply
  5. Dear Dotty,

    Well, as names go, it could be a heck of a lot worse. It would be amusing if Buster’s first word were to be a curse word, but yes, it wouldn’t go down well with his mother.

    Part of me wants to feel sorry for your brother, with the two of you on the warpath, but actually, I’m totally on your side.

    I think when you find him, you should torture him. Start by making him read 50 Shades of Rubbish – er, I mean Grey – and watch his brains start to ooze out of his ears.

    Faith x

    Reply
    • Dear Faith (may I call you Faith? Or do you prefer fhc? ;-) )

      If his first word is ‘dada’ then he WILL be swearing!

      I’m going to start by ripping his wallet out of his pocket and giving the contents to Mary-Mona. Then I’ll practice my torture lessons on him.

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply
  6. Welcome back! The blogosphere has been dulled by your absence. :)

    Reply
  7. Oooh, a baby… they’re ok… but the fun starts when they get a bit older… Under the auspices of auntyhood you and little Buster will be able to get away with heaps… choccie biccies for breakfast, hours of TV/kids movie watching… anything that parents hate, you get to do. All aunty care, no responsibility :)

    Reply
    • Dear Ella,

      And because he’s living in my house I’ll have an ENORMOUS influence on his upbringing and any stupid, fancy, woolly-minded child-rearing ideas Mary-Mona might have will be BLITZED by me. I’ll make a good MAN out of him. :-)

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply
  8. Dear Dotty the Baby Lover,
    I need make you a new award.
    Do they make baby Cumberland Sausages?
    I’m joyous that you are back!
    Love, Maggie

    Reply
    • Dear Maggie,

      Hiya!! :-)

      He’s started on solids already but it’s just a bit of baby porridge with his first bottle – as soon as he starts eating lunch I’ll have my hand blender out and blast him up some Cumberland sausages, baked beans and chips. He’ll LOVE IT. :-)

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply
  9. I knew it. I couldn’t like you as much as I do if there wasn’t a baby lover somewhere inside you… okay, that sounded wrong… you know what I mean.

    Reply
    • Dear pmao,

      I do know what you mean. He’s made me go all soft and gooey and cuddly. I’m mesmerised by him. I think I DO have a heart after all. :-)

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply
  10. Dear Dotty, missed you!
    Welcome back to the mad world of blogging, and give Buster a hug from the old banana here. ( And that is not something for Yew Tree to get carried away with, I do assure you!)
    xxx

    Reply
  11. Dear Dotty,

    I was SO hoping the baby was the product of your long-awaited union with Branwell. I’m disappointed.

    xoxo Madame Weebles

    Reply
    • Dear Mme Weebles,

      Don’t be disappointed. Many things have happened, many things haven’t happened. It’s up to you to decide what’s what. ;-)

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply
  12. This warms the cockles of my — well — congratulations Dotty!

    Reply
  13. Dear Dotty,
    It’s so great to see you’re back. I’ve been away too but try to get a post in now and then. I love babies so I am envious. Good luck with the late nights and early morning feeds.
    Something different now….
    Andy Murray’s back. Yay!! Come on Wimbledon!
    Will you have time to watch it? I hope so.
    Bye for now,
    Christine :)

    Reply
    • Dear Chris,

      Thank you. :-)

      I don’t think I’ll be able to watch much of it, if any, this year. At least, I won’t be able to sit down and become engrossed in the full matches like I want to, I might just catch bits here and there. :-(

      Love Dotty xxx

      Reply

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