Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  Chapter 22

  Happily, for me anyway, Elliot’s parents leave shortly after our offer is accepted on the new house. Of course they’ll be back for Sophie’s birth and while I’m not terribly excited to see them again so soon, at least our house will be big enough for me to avoid them if I choose. Even though Victoria and I bonded over our distaste for Blaine, I’m leery of thinking she’s decided to embrace me with open arms.

  Pip is planning to come for the birth as well, so I told Richard we should make a party of it and invited him along. I thought for sure he’d turn me down once he learned Elliot’s sister would be there, but he didn’t. In fact he sounded quite pleased by the news. Things progressed nicely for them at Thanksgiving and while Richard doesn’t seem to be ready to drop his previous anger completely, he’s definitely softening. I can’t help but speculate about what information Richard received from beyond the grave that made him so mad. But alas, neither he nor Pip will talk, so speculation is all I have.

  I’ve developed an alarming new symptom in my pregnancy. I’ve become claustrophobic, but not for myself, for Sophie. I’ve decided she can’t possibly be comfortable all squashed up in my womb and I’ve begun panicking for her. I haven’t told this to Elliot because it makes me sound insane. I’m sure I’ll give him a million reasons to question his choice in marrying me in the years to come, but I’d like to put that off for as long as possible. Doctor Fermin assures me, while this is not a common occurrence; women react in a slew of different ways to gestating and she’s encouraged me to join a group that originated with her practice. The group started as a support for women experiencing postpartum depression, but has grown to include pregnant women as well as new mothers. My first meeting starts in thirty minutes. Elliot knows I’m going to a gathering of expectant mothers, but he doesn’t know why I’m going. I’m sure he assumes it’s some sort of pregnant-palooza and I’m letting him.

  The assembly is twenty women strong give or take, depending on the week. They meet in the back room of Giovanni’s Trattoria in Hilldale, so I figure the worst thing that can happen is I’ll have an awesome meal. The best thing would be I quit freaking out for Sophie.

  In my excitement, I’m the first one to arrive. As the other women start to show up, I’m astonished by the wide array of types. They range in age from twenty-something to forty-something and appear to span a cross section of socio economic situations. There are moms sporting tattoos and multiple facial piercings and others that appear to have just left a junior league meeting. Some are wearing ripped jeans and some are tricked out in designer maternity gear, while others appear normal like me, in yoga pants and a sweater.

  A tall, slim, blonde woman about my age stands up and introduces herself. “As most of you know, my name is Adele and I’m the founder of this group.” She seems to be saying this for my benefit as well as one or two others as we are the ones she’s addressing. “We’re a group for women who have experienced difficulties during and after pregnancy.” She shares, “After the birth of my third child I experienced such debilitating postpartum I felt like I couldn’t carry on and became suicidal.”

  I let out an involuntary gasp. I’m not nearly as bad off as that and worry Dr. Fermin thinks I’m a total fruit loop. Adele smiles as me, “Not everyone gets as depressed as I did. In fact some aren’t depressed at all. They just come for the support of other mothers. My personal journey was so bad that I needed a lot of help. I continue on with the group, even though I’ve been through with postpartum for a of couple years now, because I want to encourage other women and let them know they aren’t alone.” Then she looks right at me and asks, “Why don’t you stand up and tell us your name and why you’re joining us this evening?”

  Before coming, I decided to use a fake name to protect Elliot’s identity. People, in our area gossip about him enough without adding a crazy wife to the mix. So I stand up and say, “My name is Miriam Murphy and I’m twenty-four weeks pregnant with my first child. I’m here because I’ve recently developed claustrophobia.” I don’t tell them it’s for Sophie, yet.

  A young woman named Jen, sporting a nose ring and pink hair, replies, “The same thing happened to me! I can’t stand to be in a room and have the door shut. I just totally start to wig out!”

  A couple of other women contribute that claustrophobia is actually a pretty common sensation in postpartum.

  I’m comforted to know I’m not alone and start to feel safe enough to explain further. “You see, I’m not the one I’m claustrophobic for.” All eyes turn to me for further enlightenment so I plow forth, “I’m claustrophobic for my baby.”

  An uptight looking mother-to-be named Laura furrows her brow and questions, “What do you mean you’re claustrophobic for your baby? You’re not thinking of trying to get it to come out early, are you?”

  I force a smile and respond, “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just worried she doesn’t have enough room in there and she might start to panic.”

  An unassuming young woman named Jessica adds, “I don’t think fetuses can feel panic. I don’t think they’ve formed any self-awareness yet.”

  This is something that hasn’t occurred to me before now and I plan to do some serious cogitating on it once I get home. If I can convince myself that Sophie isn’t even aware she’s there, I might just be able to believe she’s not suffering from any space issues.

  A thirty-something wearing a designer suit with mega high heels contributes, “This is the way humans have always gestated and there’s no other option for you, so you should probably just get over it.”

  Jen, the pink haired mom with the hooped nostril defends me by replying, “Get over it? Gee, Taylor, do you think we should have told you to just get over it when you came unglued worrying you’d never fit back into your pre-pregnancy clothes? I don’t think one person called you out for being a shallow bitch.” She hesitates a moment to take a breath and continues, “So why don’t you quit being a stuck-up cow and be as supportive of Miriam as we all were of you?”

  As soon as she says, Miriam, I wonder who they’re talking about. While my given name really is Miriam, I have gone by Mimi for so long I no longer identify with my real name.

  Taylor the “uptight bitch” reddens and fires back, “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that babies have always incubated the same way and as far as I know, no one has ever come forth in adulthood to say they were panic stricken in the womb.”

  I clear my throat and suggest, “Just because they don’t say it or remember it doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

  Taylor replies, “But what can you do about it? Why worry, if you can’t change it?”

  And while this actually sounds like reasonable advice, I don’t think I can be reasoned with. It makes sense, but I’m hard pressed to convince myself to just stop feeling this way.

  For the rest of the meeting I focus on my eggplant Parmesan and iced tea. I’m happy to just listen to others and fade into the background.

  Adele, our leader, asks various members how they’re doing with their different problems. She inquires if Taylor is doing any better with her body issues.

  Taylor, who is clearly back to wearing her tiny pre-pregnancy clothes answers, “I’m struggling.”

  I learn she gave birth three months earlier and recently stopped trying to breast feed because her body wasn’t making any milk. Laura, the one who worried I might try to free Sophie early suggests, “Well, clearly you’re not eating enough to make any milk.”

  Adele asks, “What does your doctor say, Taylor?”

  Taylor seems to physically melt in front of us. With her head in her hands she answers, “She says the same thing Laura said. I need to eat more.” Looking a bit wild-eyed, she continues, “But I can’t! Every time I put food in my mouth and try to swallow it, I feel like I’m going to choke.”

  Jen sighs, “We all have these control issues. They just manifest differently. Taylor can’t eat, Laura’s worried she can’t protect her family from a te
rrorist attack and I can’t get my floors clean enough. We’re all crazy because we’ve lost control.”

  Adele replies, “It’s true. Becoming a parent is all about redefining our concept of control. It’s one thing when it’s just us. But when these helpless creatures enter our lives and depend on us for every little thing to survive, it can become overwhelming. One of the first things we have to do is learn to release our grip a bit.”

  Jessica, the shy young brunette who gave me such food for thought about fetuses and self-awareness, starts to cry. “I’m just so tired all the time. I feel like I could handle everything if I could just get some sleep.”

  The other women console her and commiserate. Everyone is tired, overwhelmed and trying to navigate this journey without a map. It’s not at all what I was hoping to find. I came tonight with one problem and have been made aware there are a million more lurking just around the corner.

  Chapter 23

  When I get home, Elliot cuddles up with me on the couch. He pulls my foot up on his lap to give Edith Bunker a nice rub and asks about my meeting. I don’t want to discuss it so I tell him it was enlightening and change the subject. “Have you given any real thought about what we’re going to do with six bedrooms?”

  My darling English husband laughs at my continued disgust that our new home has so many rooms. So he explains, “We need a bedchamber, so there’s one down. I thought Sophie could use the Jack and Jill set-up as a bedroom and playroom combination, two more down. One room will be a designated guest suite for when my parents come to visit.” He adds, “Which I hope is often. So that only leaves two spare bedrooms. One can be for the nanny and you can use the other however you wish until Sophie’s sibling comes along.”

  He seems so pleased with himself until I gasp, “Nanny? You don’t really expect us to have a nanny, do you?”

  Elliot looks confused and answers, “Well, of course I think we’ll have a nanny. In fact, we should get busy looking for one soon so we’ll be all set up when Sophie arrives.”

  I’m immediately overcome with anger. “We are two people bringing one child into the world, Elliot. Don’t you think we can handle that on our own?”

  “It’s not a matter of handling it. It’s a matter of comfortable adaptation.” Witnessing the steam pouring out of my ears, he adds, “Pip and I had a nanny. It’s not uncommon.”

  Not uncommon if you’re from a blue-blooded family with your own coat of arms. I stand up in indignation and try to breathe deeply to calm myself but find it rather hard as Sophie is kicking her feet up into my diaphragm. The more I struggle for breath, the more light headed I become until I feel like I’m going to faint. As I wobble, Elliot grabs hold of my arm and sits me back down on the sofa. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

  “Elliot, I love you immensely, but it occurs to me that we don’t know each other that well.”

  Rubbing my shoulders, he sooths, “We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other, sweetheart.”

  I respond, “While that might be so, we have some decisions we need to make now, for example, the nanny. I didn’t grow up with one. My mom and dad managed to raise four daughters and we never had more than a babysitter. Why in the world do you think that two reasonably intelligent adults like us can’t handle one child on our own?”

  My husband truly appears to be pondering his answer before saying, “Well, I work from home but I’m on the road an awful lot researching and promoting my books. I won’t be any help at those times and I don’t imagine we’ll want to take Sophie on the road with us.”

  “What do mean us? Why do I have to go with you? I just assumed you’d travel when you had to and I’d stay home with the baby.”

  Elliot looks shocked by this. “You mean you don’t plan on coming with me? I just thought we were a team. It didn’t occur to me you wouldn’t be by my side.”

  “Figuratively, I’ll always be by your side, Elliot, but sometimes I’ll have to be by Sophie’s side. Don’t you think?”

  His Lordship really seems to be struggling with this when he suddenly asks, “But what if you want to go back to work? Who will watch Sophie then?”

  I hadn’t really thought about that yet, but suggest, “What about my mother?”

  Elliot replies, “You’re mother is going to have her hands full with four brand new grandbabies, not to mention her own life.”

  Damn, that’s a good point. I can’t expect my mom to drop everything for us when Ginger and Jonathan are going to need a lot more help than we will. So I counter, “I don’t plan to go back to work for at least a year, so that shouldn’t be an issue until then.”

  My husband looks thoroughly exasperated with me when he suggests, “Mimi, darling, why don’t we just go ahead and interview a few people to see what we think? We don’t have to make any decisions now, but at least we’ll know what’s available should we decide we want a nanny.”

  I know he’s thinking he’s going to win this one, but he’s not. I’m just too worn out after my night out with the other moms to keep arguing. So I agree to meet with some Mary Poppins’ wannabes to placate him, knowing full well we aren’t going to hire any of them.

  Elliot and I form a sort of truce as he leans over and kisses me behind the ear. The sensitivity of my neck is the real reason I could have never been a spy. Forget waterboarding or thumbscrews, all they’d have to do is kiss me behind my ears and I’d spill all of my country’s secrets. Of course there’s also the small problem that I have no ear for foreign languages and I’m about as inconspicuous as Mt. St. Helens. I believe I mentioned I’m 5’11” in stocking feet. And now that my hair is red, seriously, no one will be scouting me as the next Mata Hari.

  The Englishman and I retire to our bedroom to further canoodle. I’m glad I decided to quit arguing with him about the nanny business and pretend to be flexible. We wind up having a way better time this way than we would have if we’d gone to bed angry.

  Chapter 24

  The first thing the next morning, I call Ginger and demand, “Are you and Jonathan looking for a nanny?”

  Ginger gasps, “I wish! I’m afraid that luxury won’t be happening any time soon.” She continues, “We’ll be going down to one income when the babies get here and there will be three kids to keep in diapers, food and clothes. Sadly, a nanny isn’t in the budget.”

  “What if money weren’t an issue? Would you get one then?”

  My sister exclaims, “In a heartbeat. Why, are you and Elliot looking for a nanny?”

  “I would say no, but the truth is we’re currently battling about it.” I add, “My aristocratic husband thinks they’re a normal part of a child’s upbringing and I’m trying to introduce him to life on planet earth. He’s fighting it.”

  Ginger laughs, “We would have killed to have a nanny growing up. Imagine another adult to listen to us, help us with craft projects and pick up our messes. What a dream!”

  “Maybe,” I concede. “But there were four of us. Sophie is one baby. How much trouble can one baby be? If the time ever comes when Elliot and I have four kids, I might seriously consider getting help. Or,” I add, “If I were having triplets. But for one kid? No way.”

  “I have an idea. Why don’t you get a nanny and I’ll move in with you and she can take care of all of the babies?”

  Poor Ginger, I shouldn’t have called her with such an insensitive question. Of course she would love some full time help and here I am turning my nose up at it. I still don’t want a nanny but I need to be more considerate of what she’s going through. What I should do is tell Elliot to hire his precious nanny and send her to my sister but I know Ginger and Jonathan would never go for it.

  My slightly older sibling asks, “What do you have on your agenda for today?”

  I sigh, “I’m meeting Renée over at the new house to pick out paint colors.” I explain, “Elliot wants to refresh everything before we move our furniture in, although truthfully, my whole house would fit in the entry hall.”

  S
he asks, “Is he planning on sending for his things from England?”

  “He’s already had some stuff shipped, but he doesn’t want to get rid of his flat in London yet. I promised as soon as Sophie is old enough to fly, we’d spend a couple weeks there to sort everything out.”

  “Mimi Finnegan-Fielding, you have an enchanted life. Do you know that?” My sister doesn’t sound at all envious, she simply sounds thrilled for me. From my eyes, her life has always looked perfect. It’s kind of novel for her to be the one thinking that of me for a change.

  I wish I was as excited as she is though. I have a new understanding of how overwhelming it must be to win the lottery. One day you’re saving all your latté money for a new water heater and the next, you’re paying cash for a mansion big enough to fit the water heater factory. In many ways it’s a dream come true, but it comes with a huge adjustment factor. I suggest, “If you feel like getting out, why don’t you join us?”

  Ginger jumps at the offer, “I’d love to! I’m getting sick of being stuck at home. Pick me up on your way?”

  My lovely sister has been ordered to stop driving because her mammoth stomach no longer fits between the driver seat and the steering wheel and if she moves her seat back to accommodate her girth, her arms aren’t long enough to reach the wheel. It’s a bit comical actually, but she’s starting to feel like a caged animal. I agree to fetch her in an hour before hanging up the phone.

  I’m trying to tie my sneakers when Elliot walks in and laughs, “Mimi, don’t you think it’s time to forgo shoes with strings?” He sits down on the couch next to me and takes my foot into his lap to tie for me.