Dear Gina Ford C.C Net-a-Porter

Gina, I owe you an apology. You are a genius, your book is a masterpiece, you are quite possibly an angel sent from God, you ought to receive an OBE and possibly run for USA presidency.  Why this sudden turnaround? My ten-week-old son slept through the night last night! Do not adjust your sets. My ten-week-old son slept through the night last night! If I could insert a manically grinning 'smiley face' here, I would. Insert manically grinning smiley face here.

I’ve followed the ‘Complete Sleep Guide’ to the letter over the past few weeks, and I admit; at first I thought you were completely loop-da-loop.  Apparently not.  Although I stand by what I said in an earlier post – you DID miss out the bit where the baby goes off schedule and goes utterly bananas for no apparent reason – but I’m willing to forgive you in light of this new development.  New development? What am I saying, today was like living a new life! Who knew eight hours sleep could be so restorative?

I now understand why sleep deprivation is used as a method of torture.  Speaking of which, I’ve totally tortured my credit card; you’ve no idea how many fashion purchases I’ve made in the last few weeks due to lack of sleep / total delirium.  Let’s break it down shall we, Gina?

Week One:

Look in mirror, scream, call doctor convinced there must be another baby due to size of stomach. Buy pair of incredibly expensive leggings from Net-a-Porter as convinced leggings will create illusion of being thinner, sort of leg lypo but without the surgery – legging-lypo, if you will.

Week Two:

Frantically dig out baby scans to check I wasn’t having twins as convinced doctor must be lying to me.  Perhaps doctor missed extra baby and is too scared to tell me for fear of losing job; how very Jeremy Kyle. Log onto Net-a-Porter at 3am whilst feeding baby, buy pair of A.P.C super wedges on assumption that if I’m gonna be this wide, it’s probably a good idea to add height.  Can barely walk in them but can’t be arsed to post them back.  Doctor stops taking my calls. 

Week Three:

Spot pic of Kate Hudson on beach with her brood. She looks slimmer than I did before I got knocked up and she gave birth the week before I did, damnit!  Buy pair of Stella McCartney trousers during 11pm ‘Dream Feed’ because they look ‘comfy’.  They are not.  Insert non-smiley cross face here.

Week Four:

Decide to go for new hairstyle; apparently a classic move all new mums make.  Am annoyed at being so predictable.  Tell hairdresser I want to be a ‘Rihanna redhead’. She laughs so hard she has to excuse herself for five minutes. Okay, just the usual blonde highlights then.  Stop by Prada to try to perk self up.  Have no idea how to ‘work’ a Prada sequin-swimming cap, will get back to you.

Week Five:

Google ‘Victoria Beckham post baby pics’ only to discover she’s allegedly ‘in hiding’ and on the ‘hand diet’ meaning she doesn’t eat more than she can fit into the palm of her hand. Given I’m on Garfield’s ‘See Food And Eat It diet’, have no option but to cheer self up by buying See By Chloe cat print blouse. *Shakes fist at computer, curses Net-a-Porter*  

Week Six:

Another day, another black box arrives from Net-a-Porter, this one containing ‘practical cashmere’.  Cashmere plus baby is about as practical as wearing Gaultier couture to pop 'down the shops'. 

Week Seven:

Weather turns unusually hot, decide I need some seventies hippy dresses in my life. Trawl through tons of vintage at Portobello but after hours of searching find nada. Somehow end up in ACNE on Dover Street (err, that'll be via taxi) and leave with black asymmetric silk dress and a sheepskin biker jacket.  Don't bother looking in mirror.

Week Nine:

Beg the manager of ACNE to let me return the sheepskin biker jacket after discovering I’m less Swedish waif, more The Hairy Bikers upon perusal of full length mirror.

Week Ten:

Have been glued to SS12 fashion shows and already have humungous list of things I need.  This shopping madness must end.  I need your help, Gina. 

Best wishes

Etc, etc…