“That’s Not A Baby’s Name.”

What’s in a name? That is the question that every expectant parent inevitably asks themselves. I recently received a blog comment from someone who was clearly trying to troll me by implying I was a terrible mother for calling my child Piglet.  Because clearly Piglet is his actual name.  Yes sheeple, I wanted something unique…something…

Thank God, they put the right one in

Most people’s birth stories seem to fall into one of the following categories: 1.) URRGGHH that was HORRIBLE. 2.) UURRGGHH that was HORRIBLE.  There was blood everywhere.  And stitches.*  And it REALLY HURT. 3.) It was amazing.  I was in a birthing pool.  I had the intervention-free, drugless labour I always wanted.  There was whalesong….

Single and Terrified to Mingle

As you may have guessed from my last post, I am starting to feel old. No matter how long I spend in front of the mirror pulling them out, the grey hairs continue to multiply.  No matter how long I spend pouting into the phone when taking a selfie (usually a matter of nanoseconds.  I…

Now I Am Old

So, as Carrie Bradshaw would say, I got to thinking…..that now I am old I think a little differently to before.  In fact, perhaps mentioning Carrie Bradshaw at all makes me old, since it is now eleven years since Sex and the City ended.  So here goes….. Now I am old………. 1.) I am flattered,…

Today’s post, coming to you from the “Land of No Fathers.”

I think I should just cut my losses and rename this blog “My Life on Public Transport.” After all, it seems like that’s all I have to write about. This week, I have been lucky enough to be helped by no less than two bus drivers to lift a folded buggy into the luggage rack…

Ten Reasons Why I Might Be a Failed Blogger

So at the weekend I went to Mumsnet Blogfest.  I am planning to write about this at some point, but for now, let’s just say I am having a slight problem with the photography. This is just one reason why I am failing at blogging (and life, but I wrote about that here). No, I am…

Am I Failing at Life?

As I write this, I am sat in my brother’s old bedroom, which I now share with Piglet, in my mother’s house. My brother’s snowboard is still in the corner and there is a promotional flyer on the wall for a club in Ibiza which I suspect he has never been to. I am 35…

I Am Miranda, and My Mother is Magda

I know, I know, I haven’t written on here in like, TEN DAYS, and I am, like, RUBS at this blogging malarkey, but the thing is, nothing has happened. Well, OK, work has happened, and Piglet catching conjunctivitis has happened. And Piglet spreading his conjunctivitis to Granny, so that Granny wakes up every morning with…

Why we should never go to cafes

  1.) Because my mother is always three steps away from swooping in and rescuing the baby from my neglectful folly in trying to feed them a strawberry yo-yo for lunch. 2.) Because the words “shhh, we’re in John Lewis. People come here for a bit of civilisation and class,” mean nothing to a 14…

BALL!

Today Piglet and I went to swimming class. I love swimming class.  I loved our old swimming class more, if truth be told, as even though the pool was a bit on the chilly side it was a two minute walk from my flat, and there weren’t three different swimming classes going on at the…