the OWtEGB

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I was idly wasting time on the loo this morning, pondering why it is that I wasn’t keen to jump out of bed and seize the day the moment my alarm sang in my ear. Then I remembered. The Only Woman to EVER Give Birth graces us with her presence on a Tuesday. There will be marvellous chatter about nappies, breast milk, nursery, crawling, safety in the home, my baby is fabulous, darling; she does this, that and the other. In a lesson we were supporting in last week she showed me a photo her daughter's nursery sent her of her daughter doing normal stuff that nearly all one year old children do. I gave the obligatory, Awww, adorable! and that seemed to satisfy her. Of course, baby talk can’t go on for ever, even amongst women. So what is it that baby talk talkers start talking about when talk of babies runs dry? Yes, themselves. I am fabulous darling; I do this, that and the other as well as being the OWtEGB! They pat themselves on the back for being so brilliant, and usually look down at anyone who doesn’t share their views on veganism, breast feeding, drinking yucky kale based smoothies for breakfast and militant feminism. At work I know everything about these people and I suspect that some of them barely remember my name. I’m not grumbling about that. I prefer it for it means I can blend quietly into the background and listen. Until it gets too loud and they’re shouting over each other and I just want to bang my head on the desk and scream at them to SHUT UP!!! SHUT UP!!! SHUT UP!!! ... {In today's news, you'll be pleased to hear that her little daughter has never been poorly. Ever.}