Confessions of a Demented Housewife

by Niamh Greene

  Refrained from telling her that I had actually been pregnant twice, and that summer is officially over. Louise believes she’s the only woman to have been ‘with child’. Ever. In the history of the world. Also, her pregnancy hormones seem to be playing havoc with her emotions. If she’s not crying, she’s ranting and raving. (And using very vulgar language to boot. Jack heard her say the F-word three times last week. It took me ages to convince him she’d been saying ‘foot’.)

  Suspect she may be in dire need of an intensive anger-management course, but I’m too afraid she might beat me over the head with her genuine Louis Vuitton handbag to suggest it.

  ‘You are so lucky,’ she went on, sounding as if she could quite cheerfully strangle me. ‘You spent the whole summer chilling out in the country while I was stuck in this godforsaken office. If one more person asks me when this baby is due I will suffocate them.’

  Was about to joke that it would be simple to suffocate anyone, with her unnaturally large bump and enormous pregnancy boobs, but could hear a distinct wobble in her voice and knew she was morphing from angry woman into sobbing woman and that any joking would lead to waterworks. ‘You’ll be going on maternity leave soon, Louise,’ I ventured, hoping she’d cheer up a bit. ‘Then you can come round to mine every morning and we’ll have lots of coffee and biscuits.’

  ‘Great – so I can pile on another ten pounds and look even more like a beached whale than I do at the moment,’ she cried. ‘I can barely see my feet as it is.’ She sounded really despondent. ‘Anyway, I’d better go, I have a board meeting in five minutes.’

  ‘OK, I’ll call you tomorrow,’ I said, guiltily relieved I could escape, and deciding that now was not the right time to mention the new celebrity in town.

  ‘Well, I might call you later,’ she replied. ‘We need to start talking about doing those Lamaze classes.’

  Hung up feeling panicky. Why did I ever agree to be Louise’s birth partner? OK, so she is my VBF, and the father of her unborn baby has abandoned her, but I had to be knocked out to deliver my two – I’ll never cope with seeing her give birth. Especially since she wants an all-natural delivery with as little medical intervention as possible. Hopefully this will change when she realizes how mind-bogglingly painful giving birth is. Luckily, I’ll be on hand then to demand multiple epidurals and gas masks on her behalf from hunky obstetricians.

  7 September

  Confided in Joe that I was nervous about being Louise’s birth partner. ‘I just don’t know if I can handle it,’ I said, digging anxiously into a tub of Rolo ice-cream. ‘Louise has very high expectations, you know. What if I do something wrong? What if I drop the baby when it’s coming out?’

  I was in serious mental anguish at the prospect.

  ‘Has her baby started to kick yet?’ Joe asked dreamily, his face going all soft and squishy.

  ‘Um, yeah, I think so,’ I said, wondering what that had to do with anything.

  ‘Ah, I used to love that – didn’t you?’ He chortled. ‘Remember? Jack used to kick so hard when you were lying in bed that the duvet cover would move.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember,’ I said, giggling, ‘and you’d pat my tummy and tell him to go back to sleep.’

  ‘And he’d kick even harder!’

  We laughed together. Jack still loved kicking – except now it was the living daylights out of his sister instead of my insides.

  Then Joe looked at me, a funny expression on his face. ‘They were great times,’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes, they were,’ I said, touched he remembered them with such affection. ‘Isn’t it amazing how they’ve grown?’

  I smiled fondly at him. But then Katie bounded into the kitchen and threw herself to the ground, gasping and screaming hysterically, and ruined the tender moment.

  ‘Daaaad!’ she wailed. ‘Jack just peed all over my new Bratz DVD!’

  8 September

  Mrs H called round. ‘I have some big news for you, Susie,’ she said, looking delighted with herself.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked, doubting it was true. Unless you’d stop the presses for a five-euro win at the bingo leagues, that is.

  ‘David’s coming for a weekend visit next month!’ Her eyes shone with excitement.

  ‘That’s great,’ I said, wondering why Second Son David was paying her a flying visit – usually he only came home from London for Christmas.

  ‘Yes, it is, but there’s a lot of work to be done,’ she said solemnly, biting into a mini-muffin and whipping her to-do list from her pleather handbag. ‘I’ll have to get the entire house wallpapered from top to bottom.’

  ‘Do you really think that’s necessary?’ I said. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.’

  ‘Oh, it won’t be any trouble,’ she said. ‘Sure isn’t your Joe very good with his hands – he’ll be able to do the lot in no time. Anyway, I don’t want to disappoint David. He’s very up on his interior design, always glued to those home-improvement shows.’

  She took another bite of muffin, plucked a paint chart from her handbag and smoothed it out on the table. ‘And you’ll never guess,’ she whispered, glancing furtively over her shoulder, as if the entire country was eavesdropping on our conversation, ‘he’s bringing a friend with him. But it’s top secret, so I really shouldn’t tell you.’

  She looked at me hopefully, obviously dying for me to beg her to spill the beans.

  I perked up. This was news. ‘A friend?’

  ‘Yes, I can’t say too much about it, but it’s a famous celebrity.’

  ‘Really?’ I was intrigued. Celebrities were ten-a-penny, these days, it seemed.

  ‘OK, then, if you insist on knowing,’ she gushed excitedly, ‘it’s that weatherman from Toxic TV. You know, the really handsome fellow – he was in Dancing on Waterskis last year. Well, David’s very good friends with him.’

  Better friends than you probably know, I thought, wondering if David was ever going to admit to his mother that he was gay.

  ‘By the way, you’ll never guess who I met in Tesco this morning,’ Mrs H went on. ‘That Angelica What’s-her-name. You know, the wife of that famous actor.’

  ‘You met Angelica Law?’ I was dumbfounded.

  ‘Yes, and very nice she was too. She was in the biscuit aisle trying to decide whether to get the Jaffa Cakes or the chocolate Kimberley’s. I told her that if she wanted a taste of the real Ireland she should go for the Kimberley’s – you can’t beat them with a nice cup of tea.’

  I sucked in my breath, not believing what I was hearing.

  ‘She was so grateful for the advice she offered me a lift home. Such a nice girl and very down-to-earth. Anyway, I must fly, dear. I have so much to do.’

  She waddled off, her to-do list and paint chart under her arm.

  PS Am furious Mrs H has somehow managed to befriend a real-life celebrity with so little effort. It’s so unfair.

  9 September

  In a very bad mood. Spent ages just staring at the washing-machine and wondering whether I should try to regrout some of the kitchen tiles. Strongly suspect I may be suffering from empty-nest syndrome. Looked up tips for dealing with it on-line.

  Apparently the trick is to allow only good, positive thoughts about how things will be now the children have gone from my life. (Well, from nine till lunchtime.)

  From now on, I must remember:

  how happy I am that Katie and Jack are where they need to be to follow their dreams (i.e. in school, colouring, playing and, in Jack’s case, beating up other kids);

  how good I feel about having the freedom to pursue dreams I’ve put on hold for a long time. (NB Must try to remember what my life’s dreams actually were. Suspect that watching Dr. Phil and Oprah uninterrupted no longer counts. Anyway, they have lost their lustre now that I can watch them any time I like);

  what a great job I did raising the kids because now they feel good enough about themselves to spread their wings (and forget all about me).

 
; Joe seemed to sense I was feeling depressed (mind you, that might have been because I called him on his mobile phone to ask him to get a generous selection of chocolate bars on his way home). ‘What’s wrong, Susie?’ he asked, giving me a bear-hug when he came through the door. ‘Is it because my mother met Angelica Law? Don’t be upset – I’m sure you’ll get to meet her soon.’

  I explained to him that meeting Angelica Law was the least of my worries (well, OK, it was a top priority but I didn’t think I should admit that to him just yet) and that I might be suffering from severe emotional trauma now that Katie and Jack were officially on the path towards adulthood. Soon the only time I would lay eyes on them was when they made duty visits to see me in a bleak nursing-home.

  He was very sympathetic as I cried over my oven chips. (Then again, I was a bit unsure if his motives were genuine: I caught him blatantly eyeing my battered cod as he comforted me.)

  ‘You know what could be the perfect answer to all this?’ he said softly, wrapping his arms round me as I snivelled into his shirt.

  ‘What?’ I snuggled up to his chest and hoped he was going to suggest a whirlwind trip to New York with a quick stop-off at Tiffany’s to purchase something very expensive and OTT.

  ‘Maybe we should think about having another baby. Then we could enjoy the early years all over again. Remember how cute Katie and Jack were when they were tiny?’ He kissed the top of my head.

  For a second, the thought of a sweet-smelling bundle of joy floated through my mind and I felt a definite pang, but then Katie leapt across the table and attacked Jack with the ketchup bottle and the moment was lost.

  PS Louise has called twice and left tearful messages about leaking nipples and constipation. Am putting off calling her back – it’s very draining trying to be emotionally supportive all the time. Wonder if I should try to track down her runaway ex, Steve, and inform him he’ll have to help out more. (Must remember to highlight glowing aspects of impending motherhood and avoid mention of massive leaking boobs or enormous pregnancy-related piles.)

  10 September

  Things are taking a turn for the worse. Spent all morning crying that Katie and Jack no longer need me in their lives. Well, they do, but technically only to make peanut-butter sandwiches with no crusts and to chuck a couple of Cheese Strings into their lunchboxes.

  Emailed Mum to ask how she’d coped with empty-nest syndrome when I’d gone to school. Got one back a few hours later.

  You’ve given them a great start, Susie. You’ve devoted years of yourself to them, and now you need to do something for you. But please don’t flirt with any unsuitable men this time round – adultery is not the answer to an empty life. Find something that fulfils you and commit to it.

  Mum xx

  Was a bit cross she had mentioned flirting with unsuitable men. Why does everyone have to bring up Lone Father every five minutes? We barely kissed, for God’s sake. It’s not as if I had rampant sex with him in as many unusual positions as we could muster. (Although I did think about it, I suppose.) Anyway, I’ve decided to take Mum’s advice and try to find something that fulfils me. The thrill of sucking the jam from Jammie Dodgers without breaking the biscuit just doesn’t last.

  PS Just thought – maybe I should go back to education. I could easily learn some Latin, or how to arrange a dazzling display of begonias at very short notice.

  11 September

  Read extremely interesting article in OK! about celebrity posture and what it can mean. Slumped, droopy shoulders mean you are downtrodden and unhappy (and have the added disadvantage of adding five pounds to your frame). Pert, pulled-back shoulders indicate all is well with the world, you have a successful career and a good relationship. There were lots of dead good photos of celebs looking dishevelled beside other glowing A-listers with their chests stuck out, beaming from ear to ear. Have decided I may need to readjust my stance to achieve success. In fact, I may need to get my spine realigned.

  Mum thinks it’s a great idea. ‘You should take up yoga,’ she said, when I called to ask her advice about holding your bum in and keeping your shoulders back. ‘It does wonders for core strength.’

  Suddenly I had a searing flashback to my last attempt to take up t’ai chi – when I’d found Lone Father and yoga-crone Marita snogging in the parish hall in their Lycra leotards. ‘I think I’ll stick to carrying a few books around on my head, Mum,’ I said, hoping she wouldn’t bring up that sorry episode. ‘I don’t have time for yoga.’

  ‘You should make time,’ she lectured. ‘If you don’t invest in your inner self, your inner self won’t invest in you.’

  Hung up, confused. Those self-help books have a lot to answer for.

  PS In bizarre twist of fate, very interesting email popped into my inbox today asking if I wanted to be a fully qualified life coach. Think this could be the perfect solution to my malaise. If I become a hard-nosed, ruthless businesswoman (who, with kindness and compassion, advises others on ways to find fulfilment and happiness) I could work from home, be fulfilled and still watch How Clean Is Your House? in my spare time. It couldn’t be more perfect. Have decided to send away for the information pack.

  12 September

  Katie no longer wants to attend full-time primary education. ‘I hate school!’ she screamed at the school gate this morning.

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ I said, trying to remain calm but feeling mortified. ‘School’s such fun!’

  ‘No, it’s not!’ she roared, going a worrying blue colour. ‘It’s smelly and stupid and I hate it!’

  ‘Hate it, hate it!’ Jack shouted, jumping up and down, thrilled he had a legitimate reason to yell at the top of his little lungs.

  I laughed nervously, hoping none of the other mothers would notice Katie’s tantrum and jump to the conclusion that she was an uncontrollable monster. ‘You’re very tired,’ I said loudly, in case any of them was listening. ‘That’s why you’re so upset. Or maybe you’re getting a fever.’

  I hunkered down to feel her forehead, which seemed suspiciously hot (but I think it might have been from the yelling and foot-stamping).

  ‘If you go to school, Mummy will bring you to McDonald’s for lunch,’ I whispered, praying desperately that this little bribe would make her stop.

  ‘OK,’ she grumbled. ‘But I only want fries and a burger. None of that yucky fruit or yoghurt stuff.’

  ‘Is everything OK?’ I suddenly heard another mother say in a concerned voice. I looked up, feeling hot and sweaty, and there, standing over me, was Angelica Law – glossy hair smoothed into a high ponytail, skin glowing with health and vitality, Juicy Couture tracksuit bottoms clinging provocatively to her minuscule hips. She looked exactly like she did at the Oscars last year – except thinner and even more beautiful. Her son stood beside her, gleaming from head to toe, as if he’d just stepped out of a Gap Kids commercial.

  ‘Absolutely.’ I fake-beamed, scrambling to my feet as Katie kicked my shin. ‘I’m Susie, by the way.’

  ‘Susie!’ Angelica reached out, grasped my hand and pumped it energetically, as if she was really delighted to see me. ‘Oh, my gosh! I’m soooo sorry about the other morning! I almost ran you over, didn’t I? I was in such a hurry – you know how it is. I’ve been meaning to call you to apologize.’

  ‘You have?’ I could feel myself blushing with pleasure.

  ‘Sure thing.’ She smiled. ‘So, you’re Mrs H’s daughter-in-law, right? She is soooo cute! Absolutely adorable. Hey, Brandon’s having his birthday party soon – you guys just have to come!’

  Then, before I could answer, she was off, bleached teeth glinting in the sunlight, ponytail swinging perkily as she went.

  Am thrilled. Not only has Angelica expressed genuine concern for me, she has issued a personal invitation to Brandon’s party – which is probably highly exclusive. Suddenly feel much brighter. The only blip on the horizon is that Louise has left four messages on my mobile phone about Lamaze classes. Think she’s starting to suspect that I
may have reservations about being her birth partner.

  13 September

  The literature for becoming a life coach arrived this morning. It looks very simple. All I have to do is study for two hours every morning while the children are at school and I will be fully qualified in less than sixteen weeks. I can then charge lost souls inordinate amounts of money for ‘shaping their lives with a common-sense approach’.

  Called Mum to tell her I’m on track to be a trailblazing entrepreneur. She was very pleased. ‘That’s fabulous, darling,’ she said. ‘Every woman needs a focus besides her family, and life coaching is a wonderful hobby.’

  ‘But it’s not a hobby, Mum,’ I protested. ‘This is going to be my new career.’

  ‘If you want a career, why don’t you go back into PR?’ Mum asked, sounding confused.

  Spent ages explaining how PR was so last-century, life coaching was the hot new career of choice and that for once I was ahead of a global trend.

  ‘Right.’ She didn’t sound convinced. ‘Anyway, darling, how are Katie and Jack settling in at school?’ Then she said something else, but there was so much noise in the background I couldn’t make it out.

  ‘What are you doing, Mum?’ I bellowed. ‘I can barely hear you it’s so noisy.’

  ‘That’s the wind, darling,’ she shouted. ‘We’re out on a friend’s yacht – we’ve decided to take up sailing. It’s terrific fun!’

  ‘Well, I’ve become friends with Angelica Law!’ I shouted over the static, wanting her to know she wasn’t the only one with a glamorous life. But the line had gone dead.

  Hung up feeling very hard-done-by. It’s most inconsiderate of Mum and Dad to take up another challenging and exciting hobby at this stage in their lives when they should be here, sinking into old age and doting on their grandchildren, like normal grandparents. Maybe I could adopt a granny – someone vulnerable and easily manipulated into providing free babysitting would be perfect.