And so here we are, back again, because there have been some developments that I just have to address.
For starters, Saturday morning news announced that Princess Kate is now on maternity leave. That's wonderful, but for the life of me I can't think exactly what she's taking leave from. I know it's hard graft to have to get up in the morning, dress up, have someone do your hair and make up and then have your driver schlep you to a dock somewhere for you to throw a bottle of champagne at the base of a boat - but I honestly don't think 'maternity leave' is applicable here.
And speaking of babies, of course we're all aware of Kim Kardashian now being a mum to a baby girl. I honestly send her congratulations - as a mum of 2 girls I can honestly say it's awesome, when it's not total fucking chaos.
I still have genuine concerns that there will come a time when her new daughter won't fit in her handbag, and Kim will be faced with a terrible dilemma - 'do I keep the baby, or do I go back to having a dog in my purse?'
We're all waiting for the grand announcement of this little baby's name - and I hope it's something that she won't have to legally change when she's 2 days old. Obviously it will start with 'K' - perhaps Kay-Mart? Kat-Alog? Kitty-Litter?
No, something more traditional and relevant.
Ka-Ching? K-ash? K-ommission?
Whatever they name that little girl, I just hope they dress her properly. Because it's fair to say that her mother's choices have been enough to warrant her mentally unstable.
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| Proof that money doesn't buy anything... |
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| What the...? |
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| Taking clucky to a fucking demented level... |
I decided that Saturday would be a great day to go dress shopping. I'm schelpping along to The Man's annual work-fancy-pants event, and I figured I should probably make an effort.
Miss 4 decided it was essential to be in the changing room with me. Of course. I checked my privacy rights at the door when I gave birth to her.
One minute everything is fine, the next minute she's scrambling under the changing room door like an escapee from Alcatraz and all I can hear is her wailing at my Mum..."the balloon is up my nose, Nanna, and I can't get it ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!!"
Hang on - what balloon? What do you mean it's up your nose? WHAT THE FUCK!?
So, we take a trip to the chemist to get some pointy tweezers to see if I can fish it out.
I couldn't. Naturally.
So we drive around Darwin, searching for a GP clinic that's still open.
Nope, nothing. Naturally.
The ultimate last resort is attending the emergency department of Royal Darwin Hospital. Usually because if you don't die of your injury first, you'll die of old age waiting to see a bloody doctor.
We took the risk, and for some reason the emergency department was empty. EMPTY. It was a miracle. And then I remembered that the V8's were in town and chances are the waiting room wouldn't fill up until after all the pubs were shut. It was only 4pm - plenty of time!!
We were triaged, and we were whisked in for the nurse to take vitals and whatnot. She said it would take 5 minutes for the doctor to fish it out and we'd be on our way.
Famous last words.
We sat under the stare of this sign for 5 hours.
And, finally, we were seen by a doctor before an autopsy had to be performed on all of us.
After looking her over for all of 3 minutes, the doctor decided that she couldn't see anything and that, because we had to wait so long, the balloon had probably moved further up into her nasal cavity and it was no longer accessible.
At this point, I almost lost my shit.
The doctor proceeded to tell me that she would send us home and to come back if a foul smelling discharge started coming out of Miss 4's nose.
Yeah, I wouldn't come back if my fucking head was on fire.
We eventually got home, had dinner at about 10pm and I had a night full of constantly checking on Miss 4, terrified she would suffocate in the night from a stupid balloon.
At about 6am on Sunday, Miss 4 comes in to our room and stands with her nose inches from my face to announce "Mum, I have a boogey!!"
Cue revolting sniffing and a sickening cough which produced the following...
We now have a standard conversation in our household.
"What belongs in your nose?"
"Boogeys and sneezes, and nothing else!!"
Next time I go shopping for a dress, I'm going ALONE.
