Your baby is eleven months old.

I've received a handful of emails all stating this over the past few days as Lil is six days away from turning eleven months.

They all go on about how she may be speaking a few words and trying to walk if she isn't already. A lot of drivvle really. This, however, is what they seem leave out...


Your baby, who no longer appears to be a baby, will be throwing tantrums. Ones that involve throwing themselves back so they smash their head on the floor if you don't catch them in time. Tantrums that involve throwing themselves forward, too, so that they smash their face on a toy or the floor, causing bruising so that somehow even though it isn't your fault, you feel like a child beater. 


The child may also be teething like a mother fucker. They will refuse all food except Wotsits and sit there and whine and whine and whine.


Changing their butt or undressing them for bath time will be a nightmare. They will wriggle like little worms and kick and roll until they get out of whatever it is you're trying to do.


Your house will be a constant mess because, unless you lock them in a playpen or they're asleep, you won't have time to do any housework. This kid has to be watched like a god damn hawk.


You may find that you don't have time for yourself. You can't go and grab a coffee or pop out for a manicure because they may be sick and you don't want to leave them. They could be sick for a while so any time to yourself is out of the question really for fear of feeling like an ogre. A spotty, sore cuticled, guilty ogre.


So there we have it. Your baby is now eleven months. I bet you're wondering why you ever got pregnant.


Am I right?