You are invited to a friend's party, you both look at each other and soon realise this could be an incredible opportunity to ask grandparents to see whether they could look after baby for a few hours. A chance for us both to have a few hours to ourselves to spend some quality time together without baby.
Tiredness when you have a child does not disappear. It stays with you like eczema. I haven't had a dream in 18 months. In fact, I haven't slept in 18 months. I am currently defying medical science. My brain has basically told its replenishment team to take permanent annual leave as there is no point in replenishing brain cells and restocking my general well-being. They agreed.
If you are reading this from the hours of midnight and sunrise you are probably in the middle of one of the most physically demanding parts of parenthood - the night feeds. Yes, the good ol' middle of the night milk feasts. This post aims to ensure your eyes do not slam shut whilst baby takes a decade to drink a few millilitres of milk.
Hey kids, listen up. We all love soft play, right? You can run indoors. Really fast. And not get told off. You can climb up stuff, jump down from stuff, and you can be loud. Anything your Mum won't let you do at home, you can do here. So here it is the definitive guide to soft play through the ages.
This New Year I have decided things will be different. Not for me the guilt-trip of recrimination that generally follows my orgy of over-indulgence during the Christmas holidays. In short, I have decided that come January I will no longer be making public declarations of unrealistic New Year Resolutions.
I am an American living in London. Aside from the obvious differences - we spell it color, soccer is football, it is tidbit and not titbit (you perverts) - the flagrant, haphazard, and frankly over abundant use of the ubiquitous 'x' (a kiss) sign-off in written correspondences leaves me baffled. What are the rules?
It wasn't until the end of the shift that one of the girls I was working with let it slip that I wouldn't be getting paid for my time. Yes, that is correct. Aside from a few pounds in tips, I wasn't getting compensated or my time. I might as well just have spent the evening engaging in my normal routine of obsessive cleaning and reality television.
I fucking hate cats, usually. Like men, they're either ugly, good-looking but dumb to the point of irrelevance, or else transparently cunning. And, also like men, they do that thing where they treat you with indifference, until you withdraw your affections, and then they're all over you like salt on chips.
Ashton argues that almost a third of under-16s have already had intercourse, so lowering the limit will send a clear message to 14s and under that they absolutely cannot have sex for another 12 months. But where does it end? Over a third of under-16s have tried booze, but that doesn't mean we should let them into pubs. For a start they can't afford to buy a round, the free-loading bastards.
Conversations are now elevated and scrutinized in an amphitheatre of social media. There are those that spectate, speculate, and jump on the bandwagon - whether that's with good intentions, or to kill the show. The Internet means that people don't forget words, and events are recorded forever at the end of a web search. Over time, the moment, context and goodwill crumbles away...