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Sunday, 27 September 2015

10 Things I've Learned As a Parent This Week #2

1.Running out of baby wipes mid-change is scarier than any of the Saw movies.

2.It’s pointless emptying the nappy bin as it will always be full. Always.

3.Joking to your wife that you really appreciate her ‘doing her 49% share of everything’ is definitely not funny.

4.Nothing can prepare you for the first time they poo in the bath. It’s horrific.

5.Trying to find the right position to soothe a crying baby is like trying to find phone signal at a music festival.

6.Some baby bowel movements are like an exorcism – pain – fear – relief. Followed by unbridled joy.

7.The smell of a bad nappy lingers in your house longer than the last few coffee Quality Streets at Christmas.

8.It’s possible to drink that much coffee you can hear your teeth.

9.Few things are sadder than reaching for a bottle of wine from the rack and remembering that’s now where you store the kitchen roll.

10.Nothing brings you back down to earth quicker after a really good gig than cleaning a pair of rancid arses.

(Read #3 here)

Sunday, 20 September 2015

10 Things I've Learned as a Parent This Week #1

1.The grime inside a baby’s neck folds is worse than anything found on a nightclub floor.

2.Coffee is more important than oxygen.

3.Someone has told my lads that solid food is ingested via the ears and nose.

4.Dirty nappies after solids get a very bad press. I’m a fan.

5.It’s possible to get so excited about going to sleep that you can’t sleep.

6.Babies should be born with teeth.

7.If something looks like poo and smells like poo, it’s poo.

8.If something looks like Marmite and smells like Marmite, it’s poo.

9.Both twins simultaneously weeing in the bath to create a live water feature is much funnier than I thought.

10.Playing with my kids is amazing but nap time is just as amazing (and sometimes more so).

(Read #2 here)

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

#43 My First Solo Day with the Twins (& a new level of respect for my wife)

*I wave goodbye to my wife and close the front door*

Right boys. It’s just us. Yeah?

They seem happy on their mat, the kettle's on and there’s some biscuits in the cupboard. Get the cricket on, sit back and enjoy the bonding. I'll prob grab a nap when they sleep actually, feeling a bit tired from last night. You can’t beat a daytime kip. Piece of piss, this.

Maybe I'll watch a few episodes of Homeland while they're asleep. I can probably polish off the third season if I play it right.

He’s kicking his legs a lot today. I'm sure that means something. Is it wind? I hope it's not a poo. He’s had three today already. I can’t handle any more shit under my fingernails.

So much wriggling. I wish we could harness the energy from it, we'd save a fortune on our gas bill.

The gas bill. We haven't paid it. Shit. Where's that number? It's written on the bill but there’s more chance of finding the remote control than any paperwork. The house is a bloody tip. That's not it. That's not it either. What's this? A nursery bill? They've only just left the womb and we already owe money to a fucking nursery?

I’ll sort this later. They seem too restless. Maybe they’re picking it up from me. Time to sing a song. Wheels On The Bus? Classic. Let’s hit it.

*sings Wheels On The Bus*

Well that kept them occupied for a bit. What next? I don’t know any more kids songs, unless Chas and Dave counts?

They seem ready for a nap now actually. Keep your bloody dummy in will you? Can’t believe how against those things we were till they started screaming. Stroking their heads seems to help. Can I stop yet? No? Yes? No? And….they’re down.

Right, let’s get that telly on! Although I should probably clean the kitchen first. And wash those bottles. And put a wash on. And strip their cots. Better hop to it then. It'll only take 5 minutes.

*40 minutes later*

Jesus, I'm knackered. And that cuppa's gone cold, ugh. I know what I’ll do to get some brownie points. I'll cut Zac’s nails. She hates doing that. He's fast asleep so this'll be a doddle. Where’s the nail clippers? Bloody nappy bags everywhere. That’s the remote control. THE REMOTE CONTROL! I swore we’d lost that for good. Either that or we’d put it in the fridge again. Sleep deprivation really is a strange beast. Like taking bad acid, the stuff they warned you about on that Woodstock film.

Yeah he’s definitely asleep. Right, do the little finger first. Nice. Now for the next one. Perfect. This is easy, I should do this professionally. Let’s do the thumb. Oh fucking hell, I’ve cut him. Oh shit shit shit. SHIT. He’s crying his little head off. Oh fuck. FUCK. Shit, there’s blood everywhere. Definitely a hospital trip, this. Probably a social services visit too. I’ve failed big time, here. As a human and as a father. I’m a terrible person.

Don’t cry little man! He’s in actual pain here, this is awful. This isn’t hunger or tiredness, this is an open wound. An open wound caused completely by me.

Need to find that cotton wool. BLOODY NAPPY BAGS. Here it is – bit of water and let’s stop this bleeding. Okay, it seems to be calming down. Let’s just take a peek. And? No, it’s still pissing out. Oh Christ, what if he needs a blood transfusion? I’ll give him all of mine. Every last drop. Drain me dry like a cured meat. I don’t deserve any blood for what I’ve done.

Okay, he’s quietening down now. Although is that a good thing? You need to keep your hand still little fella! Everytime he moves it he starts bleeding again.

I am an awful human.

Collect yourself, Sam. Get a grip.

Yep, I think Ben’s waking up now too. Is that crying or gurgling? He’s definitely waking up. And it’s definitely crying. Probably with all the commotion. Either that or he doesn’t want me to have a go at cutting his nails too. Has he pooed? I can't smell anything. Let's try for a sniff. No, nothing. What’s that on his arm? Seems blotchy. Maybe it's a phantom poo? It’s horrible waking up wet – I did that on a school camping trip one, I wanted to cry then. Best change him pronto.

All the clean clothes are upstairs so time for a quick dash. He'll be okay on the sofa for a minute.

*sprints upstairs*

I swear these stairs are getting steeper. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve fallen up them. At least when you fall down stairs you get sympathy – falling up stairs gets you nothing but ridicule. And carpet burn. Haven’t slept properly for months. Which ones are his? This'll do.

Oh my god, did I leave him far enough into the sofa to stop him wriggling off? I hope so. I'm sure our lads are part-lemming.

No, he's fine. Still crying though. Breathe, son, breathe! I hate it when they do that end-of-days sob, it breaks my heart. And hurts my ears. Don’t panic, Sam. Keep calm.

Time to open the nappy. Feel like I’m on Deal or No Deal. Please make it a good one. That’s not a good one. Not at all. Holy Mother of Jesus, that smells like Quavers. Gonna wretch here.

*coughs and tries not to vomit*

Where’s the fresh nappies? Why aren’t they here, where we change the nappies? What is that on his arm? WHERE ARE THE FUCKING NAPPIES? There must be some here somewhere. Not nappy bags, Jesus. They don’t work anyway, our bin smells like Willy Wonka’s u-bend.

Oh this’ll do. Although this brand always leak, like an old radiator. I’m not running upstairs again. People keep recommending the cloth nappies but I couldn’t handle that. I’m all for saving the environment but life’s too short for cleaning those things. I’ve probably indirectly harmed a few penguins by adding to the landfill problem although I’m sure they’d understand if they lived here. Especially with my son’s prolific arses. They produce more crap than Simon Cowell.

Okay. Nappy on. Clothes next. Either this body suit is too small or I’m being a bit shit. Can't fit him in it. Don’t want to break his arm for fashion purposes. No, hang on, that’s one arm in. Come on son, help me out here. Wait, is this upside down? How have I managed this? For god’s sake WHY DO THEY KEEP CHANGING THE DESIGN? Is that a rash on his arm? Balls to this, I’ll stick him in a romper suit. Much easier.

Where are the nappy bags? There were millions here a minute ago. Sod it, I’ll just wrap it up tight. Like a fajita. The bin stinks anyway.

There we go. Time for a sit down. I am pooped. Best make a fresh brew as never got round to that last one.

Great, he’s puked all over his new outfit. I’ll say one thing - his timing was impeccable. He should be an assassin. And that is definitely  a rash on his arm. Best do the glass-press-check-thing. Okay, it’s disappearing. That’s good. Or is that bad? I’ve no idea. Better check online. Imagine being a parent pre-Google? It’s completely disappeared now anyway. Ah, that’s because it wasn’t a rash at all – it was a piece of fluff. Brilliant.

Need to clean that sick up. Where's the cloth? The puke cloth? How can that have gone missing, it's the most used item in the house? There it is, let's give that a good scrub. Hmm. Seems to be making it worse. Ah shit, is this the cloth we use for poo? It is! It's the fucking poo cloth - it reeks. 

Need to find the other cloth, quickly. Ah, fuck it, I'll just turn this cushion over. No-one will know and it'll dry by the time I have to turn it again.

And by that I mean when there's another stain.