The truth about life with a newborn

Your washing machine will always, ALWAYS be on.

Even though you had a girl and thought you were safe, your baby will still wee on you at every available opportunity. Especially right after her bath, and especially when you've just wrapped her in a clean towel.

The bottles always need washing. Even though you're sure you just washed them all. Look! More dirty bottles! The dirty bottles cometh and keep cometh-ing!

Picking your newborn's nose is a) something you will do; and b) more satisfying than picking your own.

You will be terrified of your baby overheating. Your bedroom will therefore now be colder than an igloo's porch.

The first time your baby cries, it's like a million arrows piercing your heart. By week two, it turns into white noise.

You thought that once you'd had a baby you wouldn't care about your own appearance anymore. But you do. You'll be pissed off that you're fat. And pissed off that you have no time to do anything about it. And pissed off that biscuits are so readily available and CALLING YOU.

You'll rarely get out of bed before Homes Under the Hammer finishes. If you do, it'll feel like a massive achievement.

Percy Pigs = Percy Pick Me Ups.

You'll go so mad being trapped in the house that going for a long walk around your incredibly boring neighbourhood will cheer you up no end.

While on said boring walk, you will cheerfully sing aloud to your baby without caring that you look like a crazy person to passersby.

Cutting your newborn's fingernails will be the most traumatic part of your week.

You'll never watch a TV programme from start to finish again. But you won't really care either.

As soon as you serve up lunch/dinner, your newborn will decide that the world and everything in it is a truly disgusting place and launch an angry protest that will last at least an hour, by which time your food will be stone cold and your appetite non-existent.

You will secretly like the fact your baby smells of neck cheese. It will amuse you when you google neck cheese and discover 'the only cure for neck cheese is growing a neck'.

Neck cheese is impossible to remove.

Baby vomiting is not only spectacularly impressive for one so small, it also comes with no warning and can hit you in the face.

Burping your newborn will become a competitive sport.

Everything you own will have dried milk, vomit, wee or poo on it.

Episodes of colic will make you question your (once robust) mental health.

You'll know you have reached rock bottom when you turn to your partner and, through silent tears, whisper 'Why didn't we just get another cat?'

Everyone will buy you clothes that the baby 'can grow into' because they think everyone else will buy clothes that fit.

The (twisted) highlight of your day will be when your baby does a really huge poo.

If your daughter has a round face, she will look like Phil Mitchell when she does a huge poo. You will end up nicknaming her Phil Mitchell, and being full of regret.

You spend your whole time desperate for your baby to sleep. When she finally does, you'll be so shocked you'll then spend the whole time wondering if she's still breathing.

Everyone was right about how hard it is. And everyone was right about how much you love the little bugger anyway.