Dear baby, please eat your damn food.

Babies are adorable. They gurgle and poop and cause completely sane adults to pull faces and make noises that will land them in the looneybin if they weren’t holding a little bundle of joy on their laps. I, however, am not that impressed anymore. I think mine is broken. He was eating like a champ, opening wide and gulping down as long as the texture was just right (which is, basically, ground down to just above molecular disintegration.) and the taste perfect. This was working wonderfully for us and we had a mutual understanding that, as long as I prepared the food to his majesty’s satisfaction, baby would humor me and end up in bed with a full tummy, thus only waking once per night for some more goodies to gobble down (i.e. a bottle). We were happy.

Then he started teething. Now I basically own a broken alarm clock which doesn’t only wake the entire galaxy at random times during the night, but also makes me get out of bed, give it a bottle, burp it, sway it, occasionally change it’s nappy, all the while humming a sweet lullaby which, incidentally, I now hum even when I’m sitting at my desc in the office as its so ingrained into my subconscious that its right up there with breathing.

Babies are funnnnnnn.

Hopefully the damn tooth will break through in record time so that mom and dad can get some well deserved shut-eye again. Remember that saying from back when we were still partying for 36 hours straight? “Sleep when you’re dead”. Yes, well, ahem.

Boer Attire: The Lowdown

I lolled at this. Very accurate.

Engelsman in Afrika

‘Boer’ (noun; plural – Boere) is the Afrikaans word for ‘farmer’. Although the use of the word in its traditional sense leans more towards a reference to the white Afrikaans male farmer, I believe that the word can be applied to all manner of ‘farmer’ and is irrelevant of colour and race. Phewff…racial and cultural minefield avoided! Proceed to next level.

This post pays references the word ‘Boer’ in its more traditional sense and concentrates specifically on the clothing worn by staunch Afrikaans Boere men. If you can imagine back to caveman days, your local Truworths equivalent probably had very little in the way of choice when it came to clothes. They may have gone as far as to cater for separate departments for men and women, however there are restrictions to what can be done with a loincloth, leaves and animal fur clothing. Bearing this in mind, a caveman…

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How to kill Wonderlawn without spending a dime!

Wonder lawn=Devilspawn

Wonderlawn is a broad leafed ground cover that is more hardy than grass and will eventually take over completely if left unchecked. Some poisons do kill it, and everything else alongside it, which makes for ugly dead patches on your lawn. My husband stumbled upon this miracle remedy quite by accident and I’m excited to share it with you. Never buy broad leaf plant poison again. Have some beer and pee on it. (Yes, hubby pees in the garden. They all do. Don’t kid yourself.) Or have your husband/boyfriend/friend or neighbor do it. Bizarre, right? Don’t believe me? Give it a try, it won’t cost you a thing and you have nothing to lose except perhaps some of your dignity if you have curious neighbors. We (and by ‘we’ I mean my husband) have tested the theory in our courtyard where we leave the stuff to grow unchecked, with the result shown in the picture below. Please give it a try and let me know in the comments section below of your findings. I would love to know if this is also working for you or if you have to follow a certain diet first.  It takes around two weeks to kill it completely.


Not wonderlawn

WTF is up with these nappies?!

Good Lord, man! Every second one is leaking!! We’ve gone through all the different ranges of the two top brands and I’m pulling my hair out! Huggies, Pampers, get your shit together for crying out loud! If South Africa sported any other worthwhile nappy brands I would gladly give them a try but they’re all as useless as the next! You know what this is costing in laundry detergent? Too fucking much, that’s what. Don’t these people have babies? I need to get hold of their R&D division. You can’t claim your nappy is going to keep my baby’s bum dry for 12 hours but then, by the third hour the bed is drenched! That’s false advertising if you ask me. Is anyone else having this problem or is it just me??

All I want is a couple of leak-free nights. 

Is it painful to have a cesarean?

No more than having a filling done at the dentist. During is fine, it’s when the drugs wear off that’s the problem. However, let me just tell you this, if you’re scheduled for a cesarean, pain is not your number one concern. Your dignity is. 

It’s the single most degrading thing a person can go through legally. They strip you down and put you in one of those gowns with your butt hanging out. Then they drag you to theatre and load you onto a bed where you have to sit perfectly still while the aneasthetist sticks some needles into your spine. First he injects it to numb the area, which basically feels like the injection you receive at the dentist before he sticks the horrible drill thing in your mouth. Look, I don’t do pain, ok? I mean I have the lowest pain threshold of everyone you’ve ever met. Some people say I’m a wuss, I say let’s see you jump out of an aeroplane with a parachute on your back because I can do stuff like that but don’t stick a needle in me. I reckon it’s got to do with my over active imagination which let’s me imagine, in detail, exactly what happens when that needle pierces my flesh. And it freaks me the fuck out, ok. So in short, if I can do it, so can you.

So after the numbing injection comes the actual spinal which you don’t feel at all because, well, the area has been numbed, and then they lay you down and expose your entire wotsisname to the whole world. Loads of people walk in and out of the room and you know, I mean you KNOW that everything is exposed because they’re busy shaving your nether regions which you haven’t had time to wax because this is an emergency cesarean and before you know it you can’t feel a bloody thing because the spinal has just kicked in and you have no idea what’s covered and what’s not. How embarrassing. Anyway, so then comes the really scary part where they cut you open and you lie there feeling your body being pulled this way and that like in the final scene of Braveheart where the camera focuses on William’s face and you can see him being jerked around as they pull out his organs. Yes, that’s EXACTLY what went through my mind at the time. Thanks again to my most superb imagination. You don’t, however, feel a stitch of pain so if you’re on your way to having this done, don’t panic. It’s really a breeze. Except that you will now have the William Wallace torture scene to assist you. You can thank me later.
So, they pull out the baby, dangle him in front of your face for two seconds and because he’s premature, they ship him off to ICU immediately and you go back to your own ward. The rest is probably the same for everyone so go ask your aunt about the recovery. 

What happens after the baby is born?

Holy CRAP! What have I done? I cant believe that, in only 5 years I’ve managed to completely forget what a stupid, crazy, dumb idea it is to have a baby. Here’s the short answer. You can kiss your social life a long, passionate kiss goodbye. Also wave farewell to a good nights rest, sanity and having a decent meal. That shit goes right out the window. Guaranteed. And to make matters worse, this time round we were blessed with a premature baby, born at 34 weeks. Can you say stress and hard work? 

I feel like I’m stretched thin. Like plastic wrapping that’s covered too many pies. I have to feed my little bundle of joy every 3 hours. Night times included. This takes roughly 45 minutes because the little shit is too lazy to eat and he falls asleep after the first three mouthfulls. Mommy has to tickle/talk to/change nappy/wipe face with wet cloth/etc to try and wake him up. It poops, we change the nappy, then it’s over to the other boob, it poops again (right under mommy’s nose by the way), nappy, back to the first boob, poop some more, nappy, tickle, shout, swear, boob, headache, and again, because we’re breastfeeding, the only pills we’re allowed to take is some pansy arsed paracetamol. Yay. Ok, so after the baby is fed we have to burp, burp, burp. Wrap in a blanket and put to sleep, which takes around half an hour. So, 45 minutes to feed plus 30 minutes to put to sleep, that gives us an hour and 15 minutes if everything goes according to plan. Which leaves us with an hour and 45 minutes in which we can lie awake in bed feeling guilty about almost taking half his finger off while trying to clip those insanely small nails because he’s been scratching his own face off. Then we’re up again and it’s back to the boob, nappy, heart attack, and so forth. Every. Three. Hours. For about a million years.

Sometimes the damn diapers leak. You’d think that, after how many years of research or whatever, the diaper companies would have been able to produce an unleakable diaper, but noooo. If he doesn’t wake up he lies in a puddle of his own urine for an hour, probably freezing his tiny little nuts off! And after a diaper leak you’ve got to at least give the poor guy a bath. Newborn babies do not like to bath. Get some ear plugs for this. Mine is almost a month old and still screams as if we’re pulling his nails out one by one. During the bath you have to scramble in search of a clean set of clothes because, while you were tending to his every beck and call, you still haven’t had time to wash (using special baby washing powder), dry, fold and put away his clothes. So you end up putting him in some ugly oversized babygrow that someone gave you at the baby shower. Fuck it. It’s 3 o’clock in the morning and no one is going to see him like this so it works. Only you never get around to changing him into better fitting clothes the next day before your prim and proper next door neighbor rocks up with her perfect hairdo and a basket full of home made muffins and can she please just hold him for a bit because she’s starved for company and she really really really likes babies. Or something. The house is a mess, you have bags under your eyes and you’re still walking around in your nighties from three days back. Sleep when the baby is sleeping they say. Eat healthy while you’re breastfeeding they say. That’s if you even eat at all. I don’t know how single parents survive this. Hats off to them!  

Why does hospital food taste like shit?

So, here I am in hospital. Not feeling well at all. No sir, not even a bit. The food is awful. I don’t consider myself a foodie, or even remotely capable in the kitchen, but this is enough to drive anyone up the walls. People don’t often land up in hospital for more than just a day or two and hence, I assume, you don’t really notice the kak-ness of the food so much. It’s when you have the privilege of staying in hospital for about a week that you start feeling like a little piece of your soul has been snatched away and flushed down some deep, dark hole. Good food is one of the simplest pleasures in life and so very, VERY easy to come by. Even idiots like me know how to make bolognaise taste like a midsummer day. And I don’t claim to be a chef. Why do hospitals have to take our dignity, our money, and above all, the little pleasure we derive from enjoying some good food? Don’t tell me they need to make the food less spicy because people who are on meds have sensitive stomachs. It is possible to make food that’s not spicy but still tastes OK. The Dutch have been doing it for years.

I mean, put some salt or something on those veggies for crying out loud! Where do they source their chefs? I really can’t see the board of directors sitting at an interview sampling dishes done by applicants, going “Mmmmm, yes, Martha, I did like the pork bangers and Paptert you did there, quite something different. At this hospital we like people who think out of the box. You’re hired.”

Pork bangers and Paptert. You heard me. That’s what I was served last night. Frightening as it may sound, it was actually one of the more edible meals I’ve had all week. Thanks Martha! (Might have something to do with my insatiable lust for pork bangers though). Those of you who don’t know what Paptert is, Google it. Or perhaps THIS GUY can explain it to you one day. He’s quite good at ripping the South African culture apart and laying it bare for all to, um, admire.

Back to the topic. Perhaps there’s some reasoning behind it. Like don’t put any salt or spices in the food so that people can be motivated to bugger off home sooner. Or perhaps they’re bamboozling us into buying toasted chicken and Mayo sandwiches at ridiculous prices from the hospital’s deli, which means more buck in their pocket. I suppose we all have to do something to try and make ends meet.

I’m looking forward to going home. I want to make Bangers and Mash and Chicken and Veggies and Spaghetti Bolognaise and eat all of it and go back for seconds! I want to have scrambled eggs that aren’t runny and Maltabela porridge that is. I want toast that’s crunchy, fruit that’s juicy and most of all, I want a cup of coffee that contains more than just a single sachet of Ricoffee. Is that too much to ask?

If I have to go to one more Frozen kids party…

Thank you Disney, for taking the fun out of planning kids parties. Thank you for removing all possibility of using some creativity and thank you also for turning my gorgeous little 4 year old into a little fucking bitch when they start discussing who has the most elaborate Elsa collection. She has three different Elsa dresses (all bought by people other than her parents, so don’t you dare judge me), slippers, a doll, tiara and wand. Were we like that when we were little? I remember ninja turtle dolls and magic diaper babies. The ones with the color changing diapers. They didn’t even have movable parts. They just lay there. They were pathetic.

We’ve been to about 4 Frozen parties this year alone. It’s like dope. Everyone’s doing it. Worst of all is, my little girl’s birthday is only coming up at the end of the year, so she reckons everyone’s had a Frozen party, and she needs one too. And of course we have to outdo all the others. I don’t know where she thinks her mom keeps the money tree, but that shit isn’t going to fly. Whenever I browse the internet for ideas and I see Elsa’s smug little bitch face looking back at me, it grinds me to the bone and I hope against hope that my daughter will come to her senses before I have to actually start planning the party.


Can someone wipe that smug look off her face?

What happened to originality? I keep trying to inject new, fresh ideas into her blonde little head. It doesn’t work. It’s like they’re all stuck on repeat. Let it go, let it gooooooooooo, I’m one with the wind and snooooooow…. There, now you have it stuck in your head too.

I suppose I’ll end up spending hours inside China Mall looking for the cheapest way to make 10 little girls feel like princesses while doing a better job than the mom from school with the Porsche Cayenne who spent thousands on the cake and decorations. She’s probably also a fan. I want to scratch her eyes out too.

Thank you Disney, for planning a Frozen II and ruining our lives all over again. We will never forget you. Here’s a snowflake.


Choke on it.

4 Rules For Getting Rid Of Head Lice.

Set that shit on fire!!

Just kidding… My daughter recently became infested with head lice. Those things are disgusting and as long as you go out in public, you’re a target. Don’t think your holier than thou attitude is going to create a magical barrier around your little brats head just because you drive a Porsche Cayenne. Lice don’t give a shit. If your kids go to public or private school, prepare yourself. There’s no shame in it. Here are some tips on fighting infestations:

1. Is your little brat a boy? Is he younger than 13? Shave it. Don’t be daft. At that age they should still be pushing little toy cars around in the dirt, not running their fingers through a ridiculous up-style hairdo. If you’re not daft and you decide to follow my advice, you can stop reading now. Your troubles are most probably over. Good on you.

2. When buying shampoo to treat it, buy the stuff that says “We kill those little fuckers without remorse”. Trust me. Don’t go for the more humane option, like tea tree products. What, are we trying to frighten the lice away with disgusting odors because they have feelings? I’m of the opinion that these “humane” products are really created by the same companies who do the serious Rambo-style-killing-machine products. You get lured into trying to “kill them softly”, and end up buying the real deal after your three week long battle anyway, thus, effectively spending twice the amount of money and aging three times as fast. That shit doesn’t work. Throw it the fuck away.

3. Lice combs. If your kid has super fine hair like mine, no amount of combing is going to get those eggs out. They slip right through the teeth of the comb and all you’re left with is a neat looking infestation. You will need to pay someone to sit and pull them out by hand, one by one. And yes, you have to do the getting-rid-of-the-eggs step. Don’t skip it or else it will start all over again in six to nine days.

4. Wash EVERYTHING. From clothes to linen to Winnie the Pooh and friends. Actually Winnie and friends can go into the dryer for about 10 minutes. Fry their arses- It works better than drowning them in soapy water. Be warned though, the toys might not look quite the same afterwards, so if you don’t want Piglet coming out as some Hedgehog mutation, be sure to read the labels first.

Are you scratching yet? By now your head should be itching marvelously. Even though you haven’t got any crawlers. Head lice cannot jump. So stop panicking. They also can’t fly. The chances of you having it is minimal so your itchy scalp is probably imagined. Damn you, brain.