Just in case you hadn’t noticed, any day now brain-mangling screams will be heard from the vicinity of London as Kate Middleton grabs what’s left of Prince William’s hair and tells him to keep his fucking hands to himself. Yes, a royal heir and foof-destroyer will soon be with us and while I fail to give even the slightest shit about this historic incident the rest of the world seems to be suffering phantom labour pains. In fact the BBC has rustled up 30 tips for first time parents to coincide with the inevitable implosion of Middleton’s cervix. I thought, with my experience of heaving out my own child, I’d come up with a few tips of my own:
- Don’t get pregnant
- Do grab the midwife’s arm, when she’s wrist deep in your screaming vagina, and tell her that if she plunges that fat-fingered thing into you again you’re going to stab her dog.
- During labour, give yourself a tonsillectomy by screaming so loudly that your tonsils rip from your throat and get snagged around the umbilical cord.
- On going-home day, when you’re waiting for your husband to bring the car around to the hospital lobby, don’t wail like a panicked seal and ask passers-by to take your child off your hands for the price of a bag of Monster Munch.
- Scare the living shit out of your family, friends, midwives and health visitors by grabbing at their hands and asking them when the baby’s real mother is coming to collect her.
- When your husband follows you around the house at 3am because you’re chanting a priority list of suicide methods do get your PND checked out.
- Avoid losing weight during breastfeeding by unhinging your jaw and swallowing whole Breakaway biscuits like a Pavlovian hound every time the baby farts.
- When the baby latches on to your peeling, flaming and blood-drenched nipples don’t scream so loudly and repetitively that said baby actually develops a phobia of millk.
- Do read by resting a heavy, hardback book on the baby’s head when it’s feeding because beholding the miracle of your child at your breast fifteen times a day stays as rewarding as catching your flaps on a cheese grater.
- Unless you want your child’s first words to be ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ feel free to repeat the phrase “Iggle fucking Piggle” within earshot of your baby.
- When out for Sunday lunch with your mother-in-law do lob a wobbly and storm out when the baby heralds your first hot meal in six weeks with a large shit that actually stretches from her arse to her neck.
- Unless you actively want to talk about the consistency of the turd that got under your fingernails at the last nappy change avoid parent and baby groups in the same way you’d avoid a plague-infused hamlet inhabited with spitting villagers.
- When a stranger mistakes your baby girl for a baby boy do tell them that her name is Alan.
- When a stranger mistakes you for the baby’s grandmother do pin them to the floor with the devastating force of your squirting tit milk and call the police.
- Do manage your stress properly by swigging rum from the bottle/ jumping out of your car in rage while on a roundabout while shaking your fist/ sobbing in your nightie while sitting in the garden the snow.
See? Easy. So the BBC can shove it its 30 tips right up its ratings. While raising a baby is as fresh in my mind as the biggest clusterfuck of my entire existence, Kate and Wills need look no further for sage advice. I’m full of it. Oh, and rum.