Come Back Quiffy, All Is Forgiven

Nearly there, just 4 inches to go. They were, however, the most perilous 4 inches to ever be navigated by a bottom this large. 2 inches, 1 inch. Bingo, as my bottie cheeks kissed the washable cotton of my mothership, I couldn’t quite believe this moment had finally arrived.

Before we both got pregnant, my friend, who shall remain nameless, and I spent a lot of our paid ‘work’ time masterminding a “Get Out of Work Forever” Plan. After numerous brainstorming sessions, we finally decided babies were the easiest solution and would allow us the free time to shop, sunbathe, holiday and watch daytime TV when it rained.

Well don’t I feel like the big stupid chump? As anyone with any common sense knows, no work equals no money equals no shopping and no holidays equals no sunbathing. And, as I gave birth to a Relaxation Prevention Officer, all attempts to watch TV are off.

That was until right now. I’ve done all my housework and three months' worth of ironing and, unfortunately, can’t hoover because ‘Short Stuff’ is asleep. I’m buried in the sofa, I’ve just watched Diagnosis Murder and I would class this as one of my highlights for 2007 in addition to all the mushy mummy stuff of course.

I felt particularly deserving of a sit down after battling through gale force winds to go and buy the paper and an onion. The shopkeepers called me brave which I knew was just code for stupid. I unsuspectingly walked past an archway, ignorant to the fact it had been transformed into a 90mph wind tunnel which nearly sucked Chickie and I into another time and place. I must have looked ridiculous as I struggled to return his pram onto all four wheels, whilst clinging onto his raincover which was coiled around my torso like a boa constrictor and collecting the tears trickling down my face.

Further tears welled up on my arrival home as I turned to Page 30 of the local paper and saw the latest batch of frightful images of myself. The Editor was very wise not to show them to me before they went to print. I was further horrified to read the caption next to the photo referring to my collecting "body hair" from the drain which makes me sound like some filthy, freaky, furry yak.

I would like to make it clear that I pride myself on cleanliness and am rarely spotted without an antibacterial wipe in my hand. I don't plunge gunk from our drains and then spread it around the house. I just used a few stray and fresh HEAD hairs lying on the top of the plug as a token of affection. That's HEAD hair, not any other part of the body hair! That would just be gross.