It’s me again. I’ve finally got some free time to write a new post. Contrary to what I thought would happen since I’ve been able to come back online, I’ve had no time to sit down and write and very little time to catch up on blog reading. Why? Because of THE BABY. Everything revolves around THE BABY. He’s four months old now - surely that’s old enough for him to look after himself but NO, he still needs feeding and changing and bathing and playing with, and in between the feeds and the changes and the baths and the playtimes his bottles have to be washed and sterilised, his clothes have to be washed and dried and sorted - ( SCRATCH MITTENS! Tiny little fiddly fucking things that are worse than SOCKS for losing their pairs. I HATE WASHING SCRATCH MITTENS but there has to be a constant supply of them or Buster would gouge chunks out of his face – and yes, his nails are regularly trimmed but have you ever tried making a baby’s fingernails completely UNPOINTY? Not going to happen) – and a thousand million other baby-related things that have to be done. It never ends. And that’s before I start cleaning up after Mary-Mona (which merits a whole new post of its own that I’ll do another day when I HAVE THE TIME).
Moaning aside, I love baby Buster more than ANYTHING IN THE WORLD. He’s a happy little chappy, smiley and gurgly and good as gold, and so laid back he falls over when I try to get him to stand at the cooker to cook my Cumberland sausages. Actually, he’s not much use round the house AT ALL but I’m in the process of rectifying that with the new inventions I’m inventing, such as THE DOTTY DRAINING BOARD BABY BOUNCER©, a baby-bouncing seat carefully adapted to fit on a draining board, allowing the baby to sit safely whilst peeling potatoes and other vegetables of your choice - and they can do the washing up, though I’m having a bit of a problem working out where the draining rack will go. Also I have in the pipeline THE DOTTY MOTORISED BABY-WALKING VACUUM CLEANER©, THE DOTTY WINDOW CLEANING BABY SWING©, and THE DOTTY UPSIDE DOWN BABY HARNESS© (with roof attachments that enable the baby to clean your floors and baths).
People will buy my inventions because babies have an inbuilt BABY PRODUCT & CLOTHES MAGNET that works by controlling the minds of all the adult females around them so that when the adult females go shopping and spy baby products or baby clothes, we go ‘OOOO, LOOK, BABY STUFF!!!‘ and we buy and we buy and we buy, and we come out of the shop laden up with unnecessary SHITE and no money left to spend on ourselves. (My favourite, favourite baby product is a brand of colic drops called INFACOL. Infacol is my favourite product because it contains SECRET SWEARING in its name – INFACOL – INFUCKALL. Now that’s class). Cot, Moses basket, bouncy chair, bath, toys, steriliser, wardrobe, pram, etc etc etc, and all the toiletries and bum-changing stuff that comes with a baby - give me the days when you swaddled it in a blanket, stuffed it in a drawer or a shoe box, gave it a stick and a stone to play with, and cut up a few raggy clouts for its arse. Babies have too many things. Baby Buster has so many clothes he could open his own baby clothes shop (that’s if he was able to raise the capital by discussing a business loan with his bank manager, but seeing as his bank manager doesn’t speak Baby, it’s not possible yet). It’s NOT NECESSARY. Babies grow out of their clothes before they’ve worn them 3 times and they’re happier playing with a teething ring and a pair of singing sock glove-puppets (I do the singing – socks can’t really sing), than with their expensive brightly-coloured jingly-jangly toys. But still we buy ALL THE BABY THINGS WE THINK WE MUST HAVE.
So, yes, my inventions will FLY off the shelves and make me a fortune and then Mary-Mona and I can BUY A NANNY to look after baby Buster, freeing up our time to do other, less boring things like SLEEP because although I’m not as tired as I used to be before baby Buster started to sleep through the night (Mary-Mona had him sleeping through BEFORE HE WAS 2 MONTHS OLD and all the other mothers she’s met are as jealous as fuck), I’m still trying to catch up on my sleep.
Baby sleepless nights are different from normal sleepless nights because at any given second during a baby sleepless night I’d be perfectly capable of falling asleep if it wasn’t for THE BABY. Why do they need to be fed at night? Why do they need so many feeds in the first place? It would make more sense to give them one BIG feed to last 24 hours and then I could just GO TO SLEEP and set my alarm clock for 23 hours later. Also, one BIG feed would be a better indicator of when a baby is hungry – after the BIG feed their belly would inflate and they’d look like a little SPACE HOPPER and then over the hours it would slowly DEFLATE until it was back to empty – and what does empty equal? Hungry, that’s what.
One BIG feed would also solve the problem of having to regularly change baby’s nappy because having to change a baby’s nappy umpteen times a day should be included in the TORTURER’S HANDBOOK as number one on the torture list. Hideous things come out of babies. Horrific, ghastly things. Things poor Dotty (ME!) should never have to see or smell or touch, or get on my hands or in my hair (POO!) or down my cleavage (SICK!) or on my clothes (BOTH!). What vileness can match a baby’s full nappy or a bout of projectile vomiting? NONE. And the noises that come out of them – baby Buster does MAN-BURPS that a big fat BIKER would be proud of, and after he does a MAN-BURP he LAUGHS. And he farts like ten machine guns going off in unison – pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu-pu. And he thinks it’s funny to kick his way through every nappy change, especially the horrible ones. And he likes to sneeze in my face when he’s having his baby porridge for breakfast. And he’s recently discovered he can spit – properly spit, not just his usual dribble – so avoiding an eye full of Calpol when he needs some medicine has become an art in itself in this house. Oh, and he’s started teething, so when he needs to chew on something and the closest something happens to be my FACE he becomes an ATTACK BABY, kicking and punching and repeatedly shouting ’AAAAHHH‘ while he tries with all his might to gum me.
Oops, I’ve just noticed how long this post is. Oh well, it’ll make up for the posts I won’t be able to do until next time I get a free afternoon.
P.S. To all the depressy people reading this – if you haven’t got one, borrow a baby who smiles a lot to brighten your day, but only if it’s a beautiful cute baby with a beautiful cute smile that lights up the world and makes your heart dazzle. Ugly babies won’t help you with their ugly twisted little smiles, all you’ll feel is pity and sadness. And before anyone starts moaning about every baby being beautiful – NO THEY ARE NOT. To their mothers they might be, but anyone else with eyes in their heads can see an ugly baby for what it is – A FUCKING UGLY BABY.