Sorry Doctor

Scene: Awkward postnatal appointment with a Doctor who was not my doctor...

Doctor: When you have your next baby...

Me: * cutting off doctor before he finishes that sentence * There won't be a next baby.

Doctor: Well, accidents to happen.

Me: Trust me. There won't be a next baby.

Doctor: We would like to make you feel happier about that.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry Doctor, how many next children would you like me to have???

(Of course I didn't actually say that. I sat in silence looking at him as though he had two heads, but I wish I had said it).

If You Have Children...

... you will never again trust that a warm feeling in your groin area is a safe and good thing. You will always be wondering if something spectacularly unpleasant has escaped from your infant's nappy.

I'm just warning you. 

You're welcome. 

Conversations With Mr B : Where Would Starbucks Live?

Me: I need new books thank you please.

Mr B: Okay, are you getting them for the Kindle, or actual books.

Me: Both.

Mr B: And are you getting your actual books from Amazon?

Me: No, from Waterstones.

Mr B: Why?

Me: Because I can use my points card * pause* and also because if I buy them from Amazon, I am not supporting actual book shops like Waterstones and then those shops might go bust and then where would Starbucks live?

Oops

Or, more appropriately, bollocks and arse. I have lost all my blog pictures in a moment of epic stupidity.

I joined Google + by accident one evening, and in my hurry to work out what it was, I managed to delete my album of blog pictures off the internets for all eternity by not reading the warning.

This is going to be terribly time-consuming to fix as I appear to have misplaced (read: deleted) the majority of my paint drawings from my laptop.

I am the queen of muppets.

Tales From Gas and Air...

At some point in the future, I will entertain you with the wonderfully traumatic tale of my son's birth. For now, here are some snippets of things I said / did whilst under the influence of gas and air (the most marvellous drug in the world) and which I instructed Mr B to keep a note of in case I needed them in future (presumably for this blog post...)

1. Whilst Mr B was taking photos of the delivery room (and I was sucking on my gas and air) I asked him: "does my hair look messy in that photo?"

2. I developed a preoccupation with taking off my leggings because "they'll stop the baby getting out" (yes, that was precisely the problem...)

3. I advised Mr B that without my gas and air everything was "a whole world of pain"

4. I needed a drink and asked Mr B to "pass me the light water because this bottle is full of heavy water"

5. I developed a preoccupation with "the butterflies". For clarification, there were no butterflies in my delivery room, I was talking about the vibration from my TENS machine. It did bugger all to help the pain, but I did like the butterflies.

Just Keep Breathing

Stop press. I've got it. The magic knowledge that means giving birth will not be as horrendously painful as I've been led to believe. Are you ready? ....

Apparently the trick is to breathe.

Yep, breathing is the future. That's it. You don't need medication, or injections, or gas and air. You just need air.

So says the woman who ran my Parent Craft class. All you have to do is remember to breathe. This information took two hours of my life to acquire. I learnt how to breathe in a variety of different ways (well, apparently it was all different ways, but it was effectively breathing in and out over and over again) and then got yelled at and told to pretend to have a contraction. I don't really know how you pretend to have them... I was always under the impression they just kind of happened. In our class, you close your eyes and relax (as much as you can relax on a gym mat in a room full of other pregnant women) and then get yelled at to breathe and then to breathe a different way and then to breathe another different way.

This is the cure for all pain in childbirth.

Personally, I think I shall be relying on a large quantity of chilled chardonnay.

The Saga of James The Delivery Van Man

It's that time again folks ... mobile phone renewal time! Hurrah! You may remember the sage I had last year in attempting to renew my mobile phone company and the resulting complaints (yes, this particularly company's customer service was so shocking I had to make two complaints!!) Following this, I decided that in no uncertain terms was I ever going to renew my contract with them, whatever the circumstances.

I therefore found myself another contract with an entirely different company and a shiny new phone. I also found another saga. I call this The Saga of James the Delivery Van Man.

My new phone was due to arrive next day by courier delivery at some point between 7.30am and 9.30pm. The timings were very vague. Armed with my parcel tracking number, I saw that my delivery left the depot at 8.30am and satisfied that it should arrive that day and sat around the house waiting and doing little jobs, mainly weeding the front garden.

My phone did not arrive. At 9.30pm I checked the online parcel tracker and discovered that the delivery company had updated their records to say that they had "attempted delivery" at 11am and had left a card. It must have been the most bizarre attempted delivery to ever take place. At 11am I was weeding in the front garden. The only way a delivery man attempted to get past me was if he, his van and his parcel were invisible. There was also no card. I was tres disappointed.

The next morning, I called to find out what was happening and was advised to call James, my personal delivery driver for an update. I called and was promised it would be delivered by 9.30pm. 9.30pm came and went and there was no sign of my parcel. I was beginning to get more than a little annoyed.

The following day was Saturday. I called the company I ordered the phone from and was told that James the delivery driver had gone AWOL with my parcel, had not returned to the depot and was uncontactable. The customer service assistant promised to call back as soon as she had any news and advised me to stay in just in case the parcel was delivered in the meantime. I waited for 3 hours. I thought this was quite long enough on a Saturday and called back to be advised by a different assistant that the delivery company stop work at 12.30 on a  Saturday (by this point it was almost 3pm) and I was very furious. I enquired about cancelling my order so that I could just go into a shop and sort this out myself (convinced that the stress of awaiting James the Delivery Man would put me into an early labour), but was told that I would need to send my phone etc back, they could not cancel the order until it had been delivered. I was also told that if I called back on Monday they would raise an enquiry with the delivery driver.

On Monday, I called and was advised that it would be delivered absolutely definitely by 10.30am. It did not arrive. I continued with my morning. At 3pm, I decided to chase them up. I was told the driver was 5 minutes away from my house. I waited ... and waited ... and waited ... and waited. James the Delivery Van Man eventually arrived about an hour later.

I was ready to give him my full furious. Then I opened the door to the stench of cigarette smoke. It was not a little bit, it was as if I had been sat in a smoking room with about 500 smokers for the day. I signed for my parcel and shut the door quickly.

In James's case, it turns out smoking actually saves lives! He will never know how lucky he is...