FFS Friday... we're back!

Hello there FFS Friday. I've enoyed reading everyone else's gripes, but I haven't really missed writing it. I know. There's something wrong with me. But today I appear to have cracked the hormonal sads so what an opportunity to get things off my ample property-of-Pippa chest.


  • Contrary to my experiences last time, I'm not hating breastfeeding. It's easy and SO much easier than dealing with sterilising bottles. It's hard enough to keep up with sterilising dummies because Child A keeps stealing Child B's dummy... I'll let you guess who is who... FFS.
  • I got this month's Bellabox, and I'm suitably unimpressed again. I contacted them last month in the height of pregnancy Angry because no matter what my profile says they keep sending me makeup, and my friends who actually WEAR makeup keep getting sent nail products. I have a deal going with Mel from Honey You Baked, where we compare our boxes and swap what we don't want. So far she's a perfect match for me, and me her. FFS.
  • I'd forgotten a newborn's ability to awaken the moment food is present. Suffice to say Pippa is often covered in crumbs. FFS.
  • Millie was a pooer. We were prepared for that this time around. There's one small problem here... Pippa is a chucker. Actually, make that a POWERSPEWER. Like, 80's style rock and roll spewer. Most feeds. And she's quiet about it, too. We're currently doing two or three loads of washing per day to keep up with the towel/bedding/Mummy clothing quota. FFS.
  • That said, she is the best thing since sliced bread and coffee, so it's okay...
  • Millie has launched into terrible twos with gusto. Everything, repeat, EVERYTHING is the end of the world. I heard some terrible screaming from the bathroom the other night complete with throwing-self-on-ground sounds and 'NO NO NO NO NO NO NO'. Turns out Mr S was drying her hair gently with a towel. She's not even two. Help. FFS.
  • I made the mistake of opening the credit card statement, instead of giving to Mr S unopened as I usually do. FFS.
  • I am three weeks in to my six week confinement, where I cannot drive, pick things up off the floor (but I have been, often without realising until I'm stuck on the floor and my shitty blood pressure prevents me from getting up easily), cannot pick up Millie (this is breaking both our hearts), cannot change Millie's nappy (involves lifting her, not heartbroken about this one at all), lift heavy things etc etc. It's safe to say it's driving me crackers. I am quite deft at picking things up with my feet, but seriously? This sucks. FFS.
  • I know I need to slow down because there's one stitch hole that just won't heal. Or, it does until I bend down. FFS.
  • I've had a headache for three weeks now. It's not a spinal headache, and thankfully the migraines I had every day in hospital have gone away, but most days there comes a point where I literally can't see straight. Also driving me crackers. FFS.
  • Sitting at my desk makes it worse. I'll never blog regularly again at this rate. FFS.
  • The amount of painkillers I'm taking should be knocking that bad boy on the head. FFS.
  • Mr S goes back to work on Tuesday. BOOOOOOOOO.


Shiny Things Friday


THE FEETS.

Our first lunch date, Pippa was a week old.

Millie had a great time with her GrandMarg. Pigtails and babycinos...

Millie shows Pippa how it's done.

I keep finding Millie selfies on my phone.

Millie cow-watches next door...

My two loves.

She's totally awesome, right?

Millie helps me take my shoes off.

Aaand takes them 'to the front door'...
I found them on the couch. Almost at the front door.

Pippa was given this beautiful hanging from Jane at Life on Planet Baby.
She has an Etsy shop here.

I found these on my phone...

Pippa and I at Lymington beach this week, soaking up the sun.

Speaking of Lady Pippa.

Very awake, very alert, and smiles a lot.

Finally, I was given this by my lovely friend Annette. I feel very
spoiled as I have a cup each day. It's important to spoil new mamas, I've decided.

Linking up with my favourite Sarah at Dear Baby G.
Dear Baby G