The Darker Side of Mummy Misfit #2

by Amanda Egan

  Anyway, the long and the short of the meeting - other than the catastrophic outcome of Barbie’s pedicure - “The wrong shade of magenta!” - is that we now have three CCL children to support at the school so the fundraising needs to be pretty full on for us to meet our forty-five grand target.

  The Auction of Promises is booked and going ahead in November and could well raise enough money to keep at least one of them in the school for a year.

  Someone’s donated a year’s supply of Cristal champagne. Foolishly, and still easily impressed, I took this to be a great acquisition and could see it receiving lots of bids.

  I’ve such a lot to learn.

  Shergar piped up first.

  “Well that’s all very well. But how does one ascertain how much champagne is consumed in a year? For someone like you, Libby, it may only be a bottle for very special occasions, whereas in our house, it’s practically a staple diet.”

  Then Barbie chipped in with, “Oh I couldn’t agree more. Whoever donated it needs to be more specific about quantity or no one will bid. ‘Year-Shmeer’ - we want figures.”

  The next ten minutes were spent with the pair of them trying to outdo one another with the amount of fizz they managed to quaff in a year and Fenella eventually standing up and announcing, “Well, on occasions I like to bathe in it but I wouldn’t expect the deal to include that.”

  I think they realised that the piss had been well and truly taken and finally had the decency to pipe down and look suitably sheepish.

  Gorgeous Rooney chuckled in the corner and Letchy went off into a fantasy world of his own, envisaging the voluptuous Fenella reclining in a tub of vintage bubbles.

  The meeting wrapped up pretty quickly after that!

  Friday 26th September

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  Saturday 27th September

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  Sunday 28th September

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  Monday 29th September

  I’m not pregnant anymore.

  I started losing our baby on Friday night and by Saturday it was all over …

  … just like that …

  … the baby we’d waited so long for, and had almost given up on, gave up on us instead.

  Well, gave up on me, I guess. Decided that I probably was too old to nurture it and so disappeared … just like that.

  Ned tried to explain it to Max, obviously without too much detail. How can we possibly expect a six year old to understand that his baby brother or sister doesn’t exist any more?

  My baby doesn’t exist anymore.

  That miserable bastard I’ve talked about before was right. “Money doesn’t buy you happiness.” It was really my baby that was making me happy and now I feel nothing but despair. God or fate or the cosmos or whoever decides these things could have taken my money, the villa or my new semi-designer handbag. Any of it - but not my baby.

  Ned took Max to school today and Fenella’s called me a few times. As has Nic.

  But I don’t want to talk to them. I know it’s not their fault but they’ve still got their babies while mine has been snatched away from me. I want to wallow and be bitter and rant and rave about the unfairness of it all and I’m generally not a very nice person at the moment.

  I hugged little Max close to me tonight as he snuggled down in bed and thought how lucky I was to at least have him.

  Just not lucky enough to have two.

  Tuesday 30th September

  Couldn’t face getting dressed again today so Ned dropped Max off and arranged for Fenella to take him back to her place at pick up.

  They both came home at about six and tried desperately to cheer me up - Ned with flowers and Max with a lovely picture and some fairy cakes he’d baked with Fenella, Todd and Charlotte.

  Through a mouthful of bolognaise, Max piped up, “Don’t worry Mummy. Todd and Charlotte are like my brother and sister. And we’ve still got Dog and Dot.”

  This set me off all over again and then I had an attack of the guilts for blubbing in front of my boy.

  Oh well, the upside is that I’m back on the vino and Ned and I worked our way through a bottle and a half of Waitrose’s finest, in silence.

  Wednesday 1st October

  Managed to get Max to school today and avoid seeing anyone who might want to talk to me.

  I know I need to call Fenella but I just can’t do it at the moment. It’s not her fault but the spoiled little brat part of me is letting the black thoughts creep in. Why me? Why couldn’t you have lost your baby? You’ve got two already and that’s just not fair.’

  I don’t like myself for feeling like this but I just can’t stop it.

  Nothing is making sense anymore.

  Thursday 2nd October

  I kept Max off school today because … well because he had a bit of a sniffle and I just wanted to be close to him. My baby boy by my side.

  I also couldn’t be arsed to get out of bed and get dressed, so when the alarm did the dirty deed, I turned it off, rolled over and told Ned that Max had had a bad night.

  I think he knew there was no point in arguing with me and he set off to work in silence - a recurring theme in our house at the moment.

  Anyway we had a lovely day, me and my boy. We walked Dog and Dot, we baked and we snuggled on the sofa watching ‘Oliver’ (he seems to be developing an alarming obsession with musicals, thanks to Nic and Rick’s influence!).

  As he settled down in bed with Dog and Dot snoring on the floor beside him, he hugged me and said, “See Mummy, nothing’s changed.”

  Ned came home to find me sobbing over a glass of Pinot.

  Friday 3rd October

  Once again Ned went in to work late so that he could drop Max at school.

  Over my third cup of coffee I studied my TO DO list.

  Take maternity clothes to the charity shop.

  Call Fenella.

  Call Nic.

  Visit Mrs S.

  Call Mum.

  I screwed the list up into a ball and chucked it into the bin - sod it! Who needs lists anyway?

  Decided the only thing I could actually face was picking up the phone to oldest friend Lou in Scotland. And, just because I could, I retrieved an old packet of Silk Cut from the drawer and lit up.

  Yuck! Pretty disgusting but I decided to puff away defiantly anyway.

  Lou was really pleased to hear from me and did her best not to make me cry. I think she was happy that I’d called her first and not Fenella - still a bit of ‘new friendship’ jealousy going on there, I think!

  “Och Libs, I’m so glad you called. I kept ringing yeh but Ned said yeh wasnae ready to talk. I’m so sorry about … well, yeh know.”

  Had a quick blub down the phone to her because I needed to start offloading to someone and then decided to change the subject.

  “How’s Finn doing at nursery? He settled in OK?”

  Of course I knew the answer to this, Finn would be fine. He’d been desperate to get to nursery. It was Lou who had the problem - ‘over-protective’ doesn’t even come close.

  “Aye, Lib. But they threw me out again this morning! I cannae bring myself to leave ma wee bairn with all those dangerous bits and bobs. What if he chokes on a piece of Playdoh cos no-one’s watching him?”

  Lou most certainly gets first prize for ‘most paranoid mother’.

  “What d’you mean, they threw you out?”

  “Well, it got to ten o’clock and I’d managed to hide behind the climbing frame and then in the Wendy House and, bugger me, they spotted me and asked me to leave! I was only making sure Finn was safe and settled in. How cruel is that?”

  I allowed myself a little giggle at the thought of Lou skulking behind various bits of apparatus just so she could keep an eye on Finn.

  “Anyway, Lib, I’m gonna have to dash now cos I want to get there in time for pick up.”

  “But Lou, it’s only 11.30. I didn’t think he finished until one.”

  “He disnae, but I don’t want to hit the traffi
c and I’ve also found a wee window that I can see the kids through if I climb on to an upturned rubbish bin. Och, I’m canny!”

  Canny? Nuts, more like!

  I know we all worry about our kids but Lou seems to have taken it to new heights - with the help of an upturned rubbish bin!

  PM

  Finally forced myself to ring Fenella. Knew I couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “Oh, Sweedie, I’m so sorry. I know there’s nothing I can say to make it any better but I’m here for you, I hope you know that.”

  I assured her I did, as I guzzled my wine and slipped her the finger.

  Bugger you Fenella! You might still be pregnant but at least I can drink wine!

  Saturday 4th October

  Might have put away a little too much wine last night as I had a bit of headache this morning.

  Nic called and I decided I couldn’t avoid him any longer either.

  “Oh, my Libster. What can I say? Rick and I are so very sorry. We know how much this baby meant to you. It’s just not fair, Hun.”

  I agreed that, no, it wasn’t fair and we chatted for a while with me having a bit of a sniffle.

  “I know it’s no consolation but we collect the little Russian bundle next month. We’re going to need all the help we can get. You won’t desert us, will you Lib?”

  Told him I wouldn’t, but couldn’t help feeling I may have told a little white lie.

  I couldn’t have my own baby, why the hell should I have to make an effort with other people’s?

  I can’t even be bothered to pick up the phone to my sister Elle because I know she’ll want to talk about her own baby Gracie and I don’t want to hear it.

  Not sure how much longer I can avoid all these babies but I’m going to hang out for as long as I can get away with it.

  Sunday 5th October

  I don’t like feeling this bitter. A constant state of nastiness seems to have taken residence and is spreading through me like venom.

  Every TV or magazine ad seems to show glowing mothers with perfect babies and the world around me suddenly seems to be filled with heavily pregnant women.

  There were two in the restaurant we went to for lunch today - comparing bumps and looking stupidly smug.

  Irritating fat cows! I poured myself another glass of wine, because there was nothing to stop me.

  Had an early night - nothing to talk to Ned about and just wanted to switch off.

  Monday 6th October

  Max asked me today why I have a sad face.

  “Mummy, you always had a smiley face and now it just looks mean and cross. I want my old mummy back.”

  Think I spotted Ned slightly raising his eyebrows in the background.

  And I wanted to spit in his face.

  My reaction shocked me. I’ve never had thoughts like that about my husband - ever!

  Have the feeling that my marbles may well have joined Mrs S’s lost ones and, frankly my dear, I don’t give a shit.

  Tuesday 7th October

  CCL

  We’ve got a fundraising meeting tonight and I really don’t feel like going. Not only will I have to face Fenella with her taunting bump but I’ll have to put up with the usual bloody petty waffling from the insufferable Meemies.

  Just wish I could resign and hibernate - I don’t want to play at grown-ups anymore.

  Wednesday 8th October

  Well … I made it through the meeting without killing anyone but that’s about all that can be said. Not proud of myself but I can’t change things now.

  Hinge & Bracket weren’t there to keep proceedings in order and, as the only other staff representative, the pin-up Mr Rooney seemed to find the whole school committee thing mildly amusing and did nothing to take control of the agenda.

  We were joined by the class reps from each year as plans are under way for the Christmas fair in November. This year the fair’s being organised by Dress-up Mummy and Shergar - with a little extra help from Barbie - just so along as it doesn’t coincide with a hair or nail appointment.

  After last year’s dramas, Fenella and I knew that it was definitely one event we wouldn’t be taking on, but we’ve volunteered ourselves for various tasks leading up to the day and for the event itself.

  SO … it was a rather large meeting with a lot of rather large egos. I almost choked on the liberal splashes of designer perfume - a cocktail of everything from Prada to Chanel. All for Mr Rooney’s benefit of course - and most definitely not for Letchy.

  The pungent cloud didn’t do Fenella much good either and she kept having to excuse herself to go and chuck. Bloody drama queen, she can’t possibly still be that sick.

  So that meant, without ‘Gob Almighty’ by my side, I had to try to keep the meeting in order.

  Impossible! After listening to Barbie droning on about her imminent boob job, watching Letchy drool and Shergar and Dress-up Mummy competing over the size of their conservatories, I finally snapped.

  Fenella came back from her fifth trip to the loo to hear me in full rant.

  “For God’s sake,” (I think that’s how I started) “Will you all shut the fuck up so that we can get on with this and go home. WE DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR TITS OR YOUR BOTOX OR YOUR BLOODY POLISH BUILDERS. We just want to get on with the important stuff and raise some sodding money. What’s wrong with you all?”

  I vaguely remember Mr Rooney shuffling uncomfortably in his chair and Letchy clearing his throat to speak.

  Knowing he’d had nothing worthwhile to contribute in the past, I decided I didn’t want to stick around to hear what he had to say, picked up my files and my semi-designer bag and left them to it.

  Great start to my position of power!

  I even tripped as I left - clumsy cow.

  Thursday 9th October

  OK, OK I’m not proud of myself and I just know I’m going to be the ‘goss on the gates’ for a while but what can I do?

  I also feel really mean for calling Fenella ‘Gob Almighty’ (even if I didn’t do it to her face) cos she’s not. I’m just mean and bitter and twisted right now.

  Ned just gave me a slightly bemused look when I told him about my blow-up.

  “Well, there’s not much you can do about it now, is there Lib? Everyone must know you’ve been under a bit of strain at the moment - it’ll soon blow over.”

  That was our baby we lost - not “a bit of strain”.

  Oh, I hate everyone at the moment but most of all I hate myself and my body for letting me down.

  Friday 10th October

  Popped in to Mrs S for a cup of tea and a chat this afternoon. Bloody Gestapo was there with Pritesh. Still finding it hard to get my head around the fact that they’re together - such an odd mix - but he looks like the cat who got the cream and at least he’ll leave me alone now.

  Mrs S was a little less confused and happy to have company. She says she’s teaching Desmond, her new canary, to whistle ‘Copacabana’ but I don’t think she’s having much success. She still talks fondly of Bazzer, her beloved (deceased) budgie, but always whispers if in Desmond’s earshot.

  “I am very much thinking that Desmond is not quite as bright in the head as my dear Bazzer but it was so kind of Skunk to be buying him for me that I will do my best to teach him to be a clever birdie.”

  Gestapo piped up with, “Oh Mrs S, you’re such a hoot, darling. It’s a frickin’ bird in a cage. What do you imagine you’re going to train him to do? Roll out your tasteless chapatis or chop a chilli or two?”

  I was about to rush to Mrs S’s rescue with a particularly barbed comment (the upside of my black mood is that I don’t give a flying toss) but Mrs S was in like a shot.

  “My dear, you are only welcome in this house because my son is foolish enough to let you be putting your fake claws into him but, if you are finding it too difficult to be treating an old lady and her birdie with respect, you can be sticking your plastic talons elsewhere.”

  Couldn’t have put it better myself! Silver was right - Mrs
S can still be quite lucid when she’s focused on something other than her loneliness.

  Gestapo and Pritesh left pretty soon after that and Mrs S and I played some Manilow quite loud and shared a Babycham or three.

  Saturday 11th October