Bobal’s Babble: My Disgustometre Pre and Post Baby


I am not a prude or particularly prim and proper but I do not like to discuss or publically partake in disgusting albeit natural bodily functions. My husband, brother in law and sisters in law have been known to have ‘burp offs’, my husband takes pride in his farts sounding like a duck quacking and both my in laws and immediate family seem to enjoy discussing, at the dinner table, the colour, size and consistency of their morning constitutional. But not me. I have been known to visibly cringe at such performances and certainly would not join in. The mere reference to such topics would ensure I busied myself with anything but discussing the topic at hand. That was before I had a baby.

Yes, there’s something about spending hours with hubby in a birthing pool full of god knows what that stops short such prudish behaviour. It’s safe to say that to score highly on my disgustometre these days something truly disgusting has to be a foot. Here’s how readings have differed since Mush’s arrival.

Passing wind in public

Pre baby: no one should pass wind in public and, contrary to popular belief, a little baby doing it is not cute.

Post baby: it’s an inevitable postnatal side effect in mummy and to be congratulated in Mush. In fact Mack and Mush have developed a game as a result of Mush’s impressive flatulence.

Snot and bogeys

Pre baby: even these words are gross. People who pick their noses in public are disgusting and the thought of them doing it in private is no more palatable.  And children picking and eating their bogeys is beyond revolting. Why is this globally celebrated? !?

Post baby: I take perverse pleasure in picking stringy bogeys out of Mush’s nose – like squeezing a spot – especially if I can get it all with one poke of the corner of a muslin cloth.

I think nothing of rubbing crusty snot off Mush’s nose with my sleave without changing afterwards and feel almost relieved when the wet liquid dripping down me is snot and not something else.I am pleased however to report I’ve kept a somewhat line of propriety as I do not suck bogeys up with the Bogey Sucker! That’s Daddy’s job. Never mind how much I’m assured that there’s a filter between my mouth and ‘the bogey’ I cannot and will not stomach it!


Pre baby: if you’re sick near me, i’ll be sick on you. Simples.

I am always sick where I can flush it or abandon it and never mind holding Mack’s hair back if he is ill – I have to leave the room as soon as he starts throwing up (it doesn’t help that he sounds like a velocerapter when he’s being sick)!

Post baby: I am thrown up on constantly! Literally all day. Projectile, mucusy,  milky, a little, a lot – you name it and Mush has covered me in it. And not only am I able to hold on to the contents of my stomach during such incidents- I happily walk around in clothes that have only seen one swipe of a kitchen towel after such soiling. That being said – if I insisted on changing clothes every time my baby spat up I would be naked most of the time.

Poo (the big one, no pun intended)

Pre baby: poo is just one of those things that everyone does but that should not be discussed colloquially but rather should remain between you and or the toilet/ your doctor.

No, Husband, I am not interested in the fact that you ate so much blue cake icing it turned your poo blue. No Brother In Law, I am not enthralled by your tale of the time you got caught out walking and had to go so you used your sock as toilet roll. And no Niece, I do not want to watch you flush your poo down the toilet.

And Bobal’s ultimate rule for life – your husband must not suspect you poo or in anyway stumble across any evidence of it. Mack nicknames me the speedpooer for a reason!

Post baby: my cardinal rule went out the window (skyrocketed spectacularly out the window)  when Mack climbed into the birthing pool with me!

Poo is the barrometre that all things baby and post baby are measured by.

Firstly, ‘that first poo after labour’. The midwife warns you about it and gives you advice on how to handle it. My mother in law came to visit Mush for the second time armed with strawberries to provide me with the necessary ruffage to get things moving (it worked) and everyone and thier dog saw fit to ask me if ‘that’ number 2 had made an appearance yet and what it was like (like all your internal organs are going to fall out of you but that’s another story)!

Mush’s bowel movements have become my version of trainspotting. In the early days I jotted down the colour,  frequency and consistency like a mad woman. Me and Mack discussed them at length and after a 7 day drought we prayed for one of those chicken korma nappies (so named by the midwives and no, I haven’t been able to eat chicken korma since)! Poo is one of the main topics of conversation when socialising with other parents, second to baby’s weight and sleep (on the 50th centile and a solid 12 hours by the way).20150930_170927

Poo is no longer persona non grata in the Mack-Bobal household – it’s a sport! And one Mush excels in. Her explosive nappies are legendary and her poo-scapades provide us with hilarious tales for dinner parties (and blogs)!

So in short, I have evolved into a poo talker, bogey picker and sick wearer and wouldn’t have it any other way.


For details of the fart game, click here to see Mack’s blog.

For a classic poo-scapade story, click here see Bobal’s blog.

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Mack’s Mindless Musings: Daddy’s First Day Alone… How Will Mummy Cope?

Since Bobal is breastfeeding, Mush is basically ‘on boob’ 24/7 and cannot leave her Mummy’s side. This can become quite frustrating for both of us as I can’t take Mush away from Bobal for any length of time and Bobal can’t get that much needed alone time.

We have recently begun expressing to allow us both the flexibility we desire. I say ‘we’ because although Bobal has the glorious milk makers; I’m an organized genious making sure the expressing happens (Bobal probably has another story).

Regardless, the goal was clear: express enough milk so that Bobal could be apart from Mush for a while and I could get some quality alone daddy-daughter time. This could potentially be quite a stressful time for even the most level headed of couples. I was a little apprehensive, would I be ok on my own, will Mush be ok away from Boob (I mean Mummy of course) and would Mush take the bottle or decide that today was the day she didn’t like it? Even with all these questions running around I was confident I would be fine. And in short I was completely fine, it’s as if I’m her Dad. Bobal however didn’t do so great.

Bobal was booked in to get her hair coloured by my sister (a hairdresser). I thought this would be a nice trial excursion. It would give Bobal a brief interlude from our gorgeous milk monster, allow her to get pampered a little and generally just have some good ‘me time’. However I thought wrong! Here’s why.

The Day before.

This day was filled with apprehension and furious planning for the *sarcastic tone* ‘4 hours away from Mush’. Would Mack be ok on his own, will Mush still remember who Mummy is with a fancy new hair colour? I was beginning to think my wife had been beamed away and replaced by a new crazy version of herself. She frantically packed and re-packed the changing bag, sterilised bottles and chose outfits ready for my ‘epic adventure’ to baby clinic. There was a lot to do… apparently. Unbeknownst to me this was just the tip of the emotional iceberg, the start of the rollercoaster ride of anxiety.

The Morning

Bobal wakes up and the first words out of her mouth are ‘I don’t think I can go today’. Yes it’s official, Bobal has taken the final step and crossed the border into crazy town. She was so adorably stressed in the most endearingly, cute way. She flipped back and forth countless times, ‘I’m going’, ‘I’m not going’, ‘I can go’, ‘I can’t go’. I was obviously super supportive and told her that she was bat shit crazy and to calm down to which she blurted out ‘no one in this this family loves me as much as I love them!’ This made us both chuckle as she knew how ridiculous she was being.

Eventually however we got ready and ventured into the big wide world completing the arduous 10 minute car journey to the salon. There was a tearful (from Bobal) albeit quick good bye as we were sat at traffic lights expecting them to change any second. This rushed handover exacerbated the situation making things all the more stressful for my emotional wifey. Personally I thought I was free and clear from this point… again I was wrong.


I received the sum total of 6 Whatsapp messages, 3 text messages and 2 missed phone calls all requesting updates and pictures (as if she needed photographic proof of our daughter’s well being). The funny thing is the more pictures I took and sent, the more texts I replied to; the less I was actually looking after our daughter! Then strikes a catastrophe; Bobal’s phone died (indicative of over use?!?!). So she then got my sister to text me.

Contrary to popular belief Mush and I went to baby clinic, I got her weighed and then we went home and napped… full stop. In Bobal’s head however, there was a legitimate chance that, to quote Ross from Friends ‘a pigeon, a pigeon. No, no wait, no, no, an eagle flew in. Landed on the stove and caught fire. The baby, seeing this, jumps across the apartment to the mighty bird’s aid. The eagle, however, misconstrues it as an act of aggression and grabs the baby in its talons. Meanwhile the faucet fills the apartment with water. Baby and bird still ablaze are locked in a death grip, swirling around in the whirlpool that fills the apartment.’

The lovely thing is, is that I know none of this worry is directed towards me. Bobal has complete confidence in me as a parent as I do with her. What I was dealing with was a fairly decent case of separation anxiety.


Upon being reunited Bobal immediately leaked both from her eyes and boobs and grabbed Mush to smell her head and squish her thighs. Then began 20 minutes of sadness as my sister got more smiles from Mush than Mummy thus confirming Bobal’s worst fears. Mush had forgotten who her mummy was completely, she could no longer recognise her with new red hair and had already phoned the adoption agency and lined up 3 new prospective mummies (she is very advanced).

10 minutes later

Bobal congratulates herself on not getting too stressed and dealing with the separation admirably!

I then begin to wonder when the ceremony will be, the ceremony to crown Bobal queen of crazy town… congratulations can I have a divorce now please?


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Bobal’s Babble: Our First Photoshoot as a Family of 3

So, our lovely wedding photographer invited us to a bonus baby shoot to document Mush’s beautiful baby features.

And I was so up for this!

I envisaged gorgeous photographs of my beautiful daughter tucked amongst fluffy white nests, all pink and naked with a serene look on her face. Or black and white shots of the three of us, Mack and I gazing down at our baby girl as she smiled up at us.  Or even a few cheesy Christmassy pictures with Mush dressed up in some cute getup, surrounded by snow and real life reindeer (ok, I think I knew in my heart of hearts that that last one was probably not feasible but I had high hopes for the rest).

On the morning of our photoshoot I washed Mush carefully, brushed her few baby hairs lovingly and dressed her in a cute onesie. I also carefully selected a few more outfits for wardrobe changes. I then got myself ready by putting on some clean clothes (whilst getting dressed in not normally noteworthy, I feel it is worth a mention now as these days my clothes are mostly covered in baby sick so a clean outfit is a big deal), I applied make up (I can count on 1 hand how many times my foundation has seen the cold light of day in the last 4 months) and dried AND straightened my hair (a break from the wash it at night, scrag it back in the day and dry shampoo it for one day more than I can get away with it routine I’ve adopted of late). Mack also got himself together by trimming the beard, donning jeans rather than his trademark shorts and styling his mop.

We were looking good. Well, clean. We looked clean. After all no amount of preening can wipe three months of sleepless nights off your face! In any event we were ready to go pose for our idyllic family photos.

Only thing was…Mush didn’t get the memo!

Before we could leave the house she had thrown up on Mack’s tshirt (the one I carefully selected as it coordinated with me and Mush). In the trauma of cramming Mush in the car (she hates the car for reasons only she is privy to) we managed to leave the bottoms of the lovely Christmas outfit we’d bought for those oh so perfect seasonal shots. And we’d forgotten to check the contents of the nappy bag (rookie mistake) meaning we were about to enter the outside world armed with only 4 nappies (this would not be enough).

The weather was blowing a gale so when we arrived (parked 200m away) Mack and I sat in the car for 10 mins deliberating who should make a run for it with the baby (she’s carried everywhere as the pram is her biggest nemesis next to the car) and who should unload the car (yes, with a baby there is always cargo to unload even for a 30 minute photo shoot). Mack opted for unloading and I legged it into the studio, worrying in equal measure about keeping my baby dry and warm and keeping my freshly straightened hair away from the elements. Mush focused mainly on flailing her limbs around so that the blanket around her kept falling off causing  me to drop the brolly several times as I tried to keep my little octopus contained.

Phew – I made it in the building in relatively one piece with only slightly mad hair and a hardly damp baby. Our photographer took us through her ideas and the three of us nodded and agreed; excited to get started (well I was, Mack had been dragged along begrudgingly on the promise I’d make brownies and Mush was showing all appearance of listening and agreeing but she was blatantly crossing her fingers behind her back).

Pose 1: parents to kiss each of baby’s cheeks as she beams a big gummy grin.

Reality: Mush screams with relish the moment either of us has the audacity to kiss her or in fact show her any kind of affection.

Perhaps she needs some me time says the photographer so let’s try laying her down.

Pose 2: let’s arrange the baby in a blanket nest on the floor and let Mummy and Daddy lie next to her gazing down at her pretty little face.

Reality: Mush spends the whole time sucking her thumb (which she does with thumb in mouth but also all other fingers spread over her face) and facing away from the camera as we try to hold ourselves in an unnatural position and take it in turns to pull Mush’s thumb out her mouth.

Perhaps she’ll be happier naked. Says the photographer. Erm…she hasn’t pooed for 5 days but naked…sure.

Pose 3: Mush in all her cute butt nakedness nestled in a white fluffy blanked surrounded by pink rose petals

Reality: you guessed it folks!  Poo! Mush suddenly went from grumpy devil baby to smiley. Thank goodness we thought.  Until she farted.  I hope that’s not a precursor Mack joked. Then…poo face.

Let me explain – Mush has a special face she pulls which means ‘Mummy, Daddy look – I’m pooing’. For a girl who would rather look at anything or anyone other than her parents, when she’s pooing she fixes us with undivided eye contact.  As if to say…I’m brewing something truly disgusting which you will have to clean up. Poo face cannot be mistaken. So when Mush suddenly looks at us, knits her brow and purses her lips – Mack and I dive in but it’s too late. Beautiful fluffy white nest is now orange brown toilet. 5 days worth of toilet.

Our photographer was lovely – ‘these things happen, just let her do her thing and then we will be able to try again’ etc etc. So Mack, I and the photographer all wait for Mush to finish her biggest poo yet. Mush’s effort would have been almost impressive had we not been mortified. In an attempt to stem the flow – Mack had got through 2 nappies. When Mush had finished she then free weed all over the 3rd nappy. As Mack pulled out the forth and final nappy we realised our error and started to panic.

The photographer stepped in and said to leave her naked – ‘she’s done both poo and wee so she must be empty so she can just be dressed after the shoot’. Okie doki, on to the next.

Pose 4: some Mummy and Daughter shots and Daddy and Daughter shots where parent and baby alike are full of joy at this bonding opportunity.

Reality: Mush is uncharacteristically happy and bonny with Mummy. Unnerving really. Then she screams and frowns with Daddy – ah that’s why so nice with mummy – divide and conquer.

Pose 5: baby rolled up onto 2nd blanket next to a chalk heart with her name on it, looking like a fallen angel.

Reality: we did indeed have smiley angelic rolled up Mush but only because she was weeing on this new blank canvas.

2 blankets in we are reassured that there’s no one in after us and it’ll all come out in the wash.

Pose 6: a girly pink blanket with a cutey baby lying in the middle on her tummy giggling up at the camera.

Reality.  Mush hates the car. Mush hates the pram. And Mush HATES tummy time. So cue crying child writhing on pink blanket free weeing out of pure spite (her butt did look cute though).

Ok. Let’s dress the baby – there are only a finite amount of props after all and prepare for the Christmas shot (on goes the final nappy).

Pose 7: baby surrounded by Christmas decorations and a sign reading merry Christmas which she beams up at as if reading it.

Reality: now dressed Mush has to get creative with her sabotage.  She figures throwing up all over the large baubles will do it. It does. Merry bleeding Christmas.

Ok ok. Why don’t we pick baby up. Maybe she wants to be loved.

Post 8: let’s try some standing shots of Mummy and Mush and Daddy and Mush again.  We can throw baby in the air to illicit those cutesy baby chuckles etc.

Reality: Mummy gingerly holding Mush above her (well she was just sick) whilst Mush does smile a bit (Mush’s smiles are usually followed with a frown as if she didn’t mean for the smile to get out). And then nothing but tears for Daddy – Daddy is starting to take it personally.

Mush is now hysterical. Perhaps that’s a wrap.

Down the stairs to leave we go with the photographer carrying a bag of poo and wee soaked blankets and one sicky bauble.

I wonder if the next wedding she photographs will be getting a free first baby shoot. My guess is not.

We step out into sunshine (bloody typical) and place Mush into her hated car only for her to fix each of us with a stare, give half a smile and then fall asleep trumping like a trooper as if knowing that’ll we’ll be waiting for the poo which is going to make us nappy less.

I shall be lowering my expectations for our next photo shoot to considering a session where my child does not shit all over the studio, a win!

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Mack’s Mindless Musings: My Daughter’s Greatest Love

I feel like I have a reasonable understanding of what love is. I love my wife, my work, family, pets, food and chocolate!  I do what I can to focus on the positive, avoid the negative and surround myself with the things I love.

Equal top of that list, with Bobal, is Mush. I loved my daughter from the moment she entered this world and I can’t imagine my life without either of them. However none of that compares to Mush’s greatest love. Her greatest love isn’t Mummy or Daddy, boob or weeing on daddy at 3am (although this act did induce her first smile). Her greatest love is her… LETTERS!

She loves them hard. Her love for these letters is a love I couldn’t even begin to comprehend, it’s the kind of emotion most people dream of having but have no chance in hell of attaining.


If she is crying, take her to her letters. If she is tired, take her to her letters. If she needs changing, feeding or  burping, take her to her letters.

They never fail to put a smile on her face. You’re probably thinking why don’t I just feed and change my baby (bad parent)? I normally do, I just wanted to test the theory.

Wouldn’t it be great to see the world through a child’s eyes just for one day, I think we would all appreciate the little things more in life if we did.

For any parents out there wanting to test the letter theory we got ours from Amazon at:


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