Can a child really be worse than a dog?

I consider myself to be very lucky to have such a laid back dog. I am one of those smug owners who says things like "oh he never chewed anything as a puppy" and "he was toilet trained by about 12 weeks" and all of these things were true (aside from the one time he woke up before I did and smeared poo all along the bottom of the bed..). Alvin was perfectly content to follow people about in the hopes he might be able to steal offered tidbits of food and was rarely concerned with anything else.

As he's grown up (he's a mature 5 going on 6 year old now) his "quirks" have slowly come to light. My lovely, laid back, pink nosed pup has turned into a manipulative, scheming adult dog so gradually I almost didn't notice. For example:

This is a picture of Alvin, with black socks. Of mud. This is the dog that hates water (unless they're puddles) refuses a bath, won't go in the sea for fear of getting a teensy bit wet but obviously loves mud. I attempted a bathing operation after this picture was taken but the minute you lift him up and over a bath he throws his head back and wriggles as much as he can, you're lucky his flailing limbs don't knock you out or at the very least give you a black eye or broken nose. This dog's head hurts when it hits you, trust me. If you even say "Alvin, do you want a bath?" he does legs and is nowhere to be seen for at least half an hour. As a result, Alvin doesn't get bathed. Ever. And I had to change my light coloured carpet for laminate flooring. Alvin = win.

Me? Chewing up an important part of the strimmer? A piece that right now, Tommy is hunting for? Never! Alvin = win.

The master of manipulation right there! Alvin has always slept in my bed, right from the very beginning (he was the whiniest puppy ever if you were mean enough to make him sleep in his own bed). But since Tommy isn't the hugest dog person, Alvin is "supposed" to be relegated to his own bed. As he is in fact now an adult and not a puppy, you can tell Alvin to "get in his bed" and he very grudgingly does what he's told. Until you fall asleep. Then he uses all the skills he has honed over his 5 years to sneak artfully into the bed between the two humans where its warmest, place his head on a pillow which, lets face it, is rightfully his anyway, and snore his little doggy heart out. Alvin = win.

This is the sad dejected look you get if you catch him sitting on the windowsill. I know, he looks so hard done by! I don't mind him rubbing his dirty, snotty nose marks on my clean windows looking out and people watching if that was all he was up to. Trust me, behind that cute facade is a menace to the neighbourhood. Whether you look at him or not, even if you have no intention of coming up the garden path, if you walk into Alvin's line of sight when he's sitting angelically on his my windowsill he will turn into a growling, spitting, hair raised mentalist of epic proportions. Despite not being allowed on the windowsill, this is his preferred seat of choice in the house. No matter how many times I tell him to get down I turn my back and there he is, sitting like butter wouldn't melt. Alvin = win.

Finally, when he is worn out from his daily escapades, he settles on the dog bed sofa and relaxes contentedly. With his tongue out. And yes, I do wear odd socks.

So seriously, surely a child can't be harder work than keeping this unruly dog in check. In fact, I'm willing to bet my son will be so perfectly well behaved immediately from birth I'll have no need for this blog, like ever. Right?

Gemma xx

Welcome!

Hello!

Having spent the first two weeks of my maternity leave halfheartedly attempting to "nest" (which lasted about 6 days) I have plunged into a state of despair. Yes I know that the floor needs hoovering (again) and the Christmas decorations need shipping off to my mums for storage (still) and there's bags of unwanted hand me down baby clothes ready to be delivered to the clothes bank (complete with the note I wrote last week stating this fact in large bold letters in the hope that my boyfriend would take said bag to the clothes bank still attached and on display) but I just cannot face doing any more "nesting".

As I still have 10 weeks (!!) left until my EDD I figured now would be a great time time to get my brand spanking new blog off the ground, starting with a spangly and welcoming introduction post.

My name is Gemma, I'm 24 and 10 weeks away from welcoming my first child into the world. I have quite an unhealthy obsession with documenting my life in a way that makes blogging almost a calling to me; and seeing as I have 10 long weeks where I will probably be sitting on my bum eating as much food as I can  really busy preparing for the new arrival  I thought starting my blogging journey chronicling my transformation into a first time mum would be best tackled now, while I have some spare time in my days to update and set up what can only be described as a complicated array of new fangled blogging options (RSS feeds anyone?) that simply did not exist back in my livejournal-ing days.

I share my home with my loving boyfriend and soon to be first time daddy, Tommy.

Now I can't promise he is completely grown up, or even that he will make it to see the birth of his first child unless he seriously stops playing Clash Of Clans on his iPhone literally every waking moment of the day (you know you have a problem when 'your troops are ready for battle' becomes a running joke in the household!) As you can see from the picture (taken outside the Emirates Stadium) he is an Arsenal fan (read Arsenal obsessive mentalist) who I think genuinely believes the impending birth of our first child is the sole reason for Arsenal winning the FA Cup this season. 

My life wouldn't be complete without the other man in my household. The forever malting, hugely annoying but largely cute and endearing Jack Russell that I share my home with. Meet Alvin.

Despite the impression his name gives off, he isn't cute and cuddly like his cartoon chipmunk counterpart. In fact he doesn't really like all that many people if I'm honest (except perhaps me). Nevertheless he is an important part of the family despite some of the annoying habits he has. He turns 6 years old this October, that is one year away from doggy senior status which I can guarantee will have me bawling my eyes out just because he will always be my first baby!

Being a bit outnumbered in the gender department, I figured it would be totally worth it to pay and have an early gender scan at 16 weeks, because while Tommy is one of five boys, I am one of three girls. Perhaps this baby will be the one to tip the gender scales back into my favour? 

No such luck. We are expecting our son in August and I am overly thrilled to be having a healthy boy. From the strength of his kicks in my more sensitive parts he is already well on his way to becoming the Arsenal football legend his dad envisions him to become. I've managed to source and buy every single cute boy outfit going and I'm becoming more impatient by the day to meet him (10 more weeks, just 10 more weeks!)

Baby Ramsey

That is just a brief little "who's who" of my little family . Between the boys I probably already have enough blog fodder to keep me going for months on end but I'm especially looking forward to sharing my journey into mum-hood and the inevitable boy messes that are about to wreak its boy havoc on my life.

Gemma xx