She's Having Her Baby

by Lauren Sams

  ‘Well, it’s not easy, George. And I know this makes me sound like a bitch, but I cannot wait for you to find that out. Because you are going to come tumbling off your high horse faster than you can even imagine. And who are you going to come to when you do? Me. Again.’

  I looked down at my hands. The fingers on my left hand were shaking. I felt my chin wobble with the urgency of tears and willed them away.

  ‘I’m not an idiot, Ellie. I know it’s going to be hard. Don’t you worry, I am well aware that doing this alone is going to be tough. But I don’t think the answer is to make my child the centre of my very existence, just so if anything goes wrong I can defend myself by saying that I did literally every single tiny, little, miniscule thing I could. This whole idea of sacrificing yourself for your child is ridiculous. You know there’s an actual word for it, right? You’re a martyr, Ellie. Just like the rest of the mums in that park you go to. They don’t exist as adults anymore and they think they’re doing it to be … noble or something.’

  Ellie’s nostrils flared. ‘That’s rich, coming from someone who cried when she lost her job.’

  Well. This had escalated quickly.

  ‘Excuse me? It was my career. It was important to me. And in case you can’t remember, you once had a job and it was important to you. Remember that?’

  ‘Yes. So?’

  ‘So … the point is, it’s like you don’t even exist anymore, Ellie. Where did my friend go? Huh? Where is she? I feel like I should go to the police and put in a missing person’s report – because I haven’t seen you since you were impregnated!’

  ‘What? Why are you being such a bitch?’ Ellie’s face had contorted with anger. ‘I had a baby, George, of course I was going to change.’ She paused and drew her lips together. ‘I should have just let you go, because I knew – I knew – you wouldn’t be able to handle having a friend with a baby, because it wouldn’t be all about George anymore, like it normally is.’

  ‘What? That’s such bullshit. I threw your baby shower for you! I made giant confetti with your initials on it! I made mocktails in mason jars!’

  ‘Yes, I recall. And if I recall correctly, you got all the credit you wanted. “Oh, look at selfless George – she doesn’t have her own kid but she’ll throw a baby shower for her friend.”’

  ‘Uh, yes. That’s exactly what happened.’

  ‘You’re the martyr! You didn’t care about what I wanted. For the record, I think mason jars are tacky! You just wanted to have a big party so that you could have your own personal applause-a-thon.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for putting in effort. I’m sorry for wanting to do something nice.’

  I felt a tug on my dress. Lucas.

  ‘No yelling,’ he said, wagging his finger at me like a mini-Ellie.

  Ellie threw up her hands. ‘Thanks, George.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Oh, bloody hell, Ellie, it’s just an argument. Let me guess: does your mate Gemma Fucking Knight tell you that children shouldn’t be exposed to arguments? That they’ll grow up to be criminals and thieves and serial killers if they hear raised voices even once?’

  ‘Yes, actually, George, it’s quite commonly known that you should not yell in front of children,’ Ellie yelled. ‘It’s not fair to them.’

  ‘Oh, fuck that! Why aren’t you normal anymore? What’s wrong with you? What happened to you?’

  ‘What happened to me? What happened to you? Where did my friend go when I needed her?’

  ‘I’ve been here. Except it’s kind of hard to be your friend when everything is about Lucas.’ I looked down. ‘No offence, buddy.’ He furrowed his brow, picked up a container of organic dried apples and left the room. ‘Come on, El, when was the last time we had a conversation that wasn’t about Lucas, or interrupted by Lucas? Do you know how that makes me feel?’

  Now Ellie laughed. ‘Get a fucking hold of yourself, George. Newsflash: I had a baby. Do you know how it makes me feel when you want basically nothing to do with me for three entire years? You act as if hanging out with me is your absolute last option, then suddenly, when you need something, here you are on my doorstep, begging for my help. That’s not friendship, that’s … that’s … bullshit!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Ellie rolled her eyes. ‘Oh please. Give me a break, George. Do you remember when I had Lucas? You never even came to visit him as a baby. Not once. I remember sending you an email with a picture of him in the bath and it was the cutest photo and you didn’t even reply. I thought, “Well, she’s busy, she’s got this new job, she can’t come to visit. So I’ll send her a photo. She’ll like that.” And you never even replied. That’s a shitty, shitty thing to do.’

  I felt a wave of shame wash over me. I couldn’t even recall the email Ellie was talking about, but I did know that I routinely deleted her missives because I found them predictable and, well, boring.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘I message you every time a new issue comes out to say how good it looks. Even when it doesn’t look very good! It’s just a bloody magazine but I knew how much it meant to you. But you – you had no interest in Lucas until you came to stay here, and now all you do with him is gang up on me and try to undermine my rules. Like I said, I can’t wait for you to do this so you know exactly how fucking hard it is, George, because it really is.’

  ‘Thanks, El, that’s so gracious of you. You know why it’s hard? Because you put so much bloody pressure on yourself to be perfect.’

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Let’s see. There’s the organic everything, the knee pads you make him wear to the park in case he falls over on the grass, the Baby Einstein videos you make him watch every day, the Mandarin classes you take him to … aren’t you exhausted?’

  ‘Of course I’m exhausted, George. I have a toddler. I’ve been exhausted for three years.’

  ‘But it doesn’t have to be this way, Ellie. You put so much pressure on yourself. Give it a rest.’

  ‘Well, that is easier said than done, isn’t it?’ she asked, lowering her gaze and giving me a sneering look.

  ‘No, El, it’s not. Just calm down. It doesn’t matter if Lucas eats frozen vegetables once in a while, or if he misses his bedtime one night. Who cares? Weren’t you the one to tell me rules were meant to be broken when you pashed that chick on your hen’s night?’

  Ellie flashed an indignant look. ‘That’s enough.’

  ‘Oh, calm down, it’s not a big deal.’

  ‘It is a big deal, George. I don’t want Lucas thinking his mummy is some drunk failure. He deserves better than that. And I don’t want to give him frozen vegetables, because they’re not good for him. I don’t want him to miss his bedtime, because he needs sleep. And I actually do want him to be the centre of my universe, because guess what? He is. He really is. And I don’t see a problem with that. I like that. I think it’s weird that you are somehow uncomfortable with the idea of loving someone that much. I think it’s weird that you’re worried that this –’ she gestured to the room, filled with its Lucas leftovers ‘– isn’t cool enough for you.’

  ‘I don’t think that,’ I said, distinctly unnerved by the fact that Ellie had articulated my fear perfectly. Why did I think it was uncool to love a child the way Ellie loved Lucas? It was ridiculous, I knew that. But I couldn’t help it. I cringed every time Ellie posted a photo of Lucas on Facebook or Instagram, accompanied with a saccharine caption about her ‘darling little man’. I rolled my eyes inwardly when she started banging on about how advanced he was when it came to whatever new skill he was learning. And Ellie was right about another thing: I never, ever instigated conversations about Lucas with her because I knew that once she got the ticket, Ellie would stay on that ride for hours and hours. ‘It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you’ve … you’ve lost yourself in him. You’re not you anymore.’

  Ellie shrugged, her eyes wide, like, ‘big deal’. ‘P
eople are allowed to change when their circumstances change. Having a baby is a huge adjustment. You don’t just wake up and do the same things you’ve always done, just with a baby attached to you. It’s not like that. So yeah, I have changed. That’s normal.’

  She brought two fingers to her forehead like the conversation was giving her a headache. I felt an odd wave of nausea but pushed it aside.

  ‘I know I’ve changed, George,’ she said in a calmer, quieter tone. ‘And I guess you’re right about some things. Maybe I do try to be too perfect for Lucas. But you have no idea how hard it is. When a little person depends on you for absolutely everything, you just want to do the best you can by them. And that can be so overwhelming. But it’s also really amazing. I love Lucas. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed to tell the world that. I know that you and Nina make fun of me for all that stuff I put on Facebook and for going a bit nuts with Lucas’s food and whatever, but … maybe when you do this, you’ll understand where I’ve been for the last three years, George.’

  I took a deep breath. I desperately wanted Ellie to be wrong. I wanted to be able to add the baby to my life and continue as before. I wanted to travel with it and take it to meetings and have it sit beside me in cafes as I conducted interviews. I was still naive enough to think all that was possible, all the time. And so I said the worst thing I could possibly say.

  ‘I’m not going to be like you, Ellie.’

  Her face was stone, but for a slight raise of her eyebrows. So slight that you might miss it, in fact. Then she laughed – bitter and brief.

  ‘I get it. I do. You think babies are boring and motherhood is a prison sentence. You think that you’re going to be able to be the same person you are now after you’ve had this baby, but you’re not. I’m sorry, but that’s just a fact.’ Ellie paused and sighed. She spoke more softly. ‘This baby needs you, George. Not some of the time, or when you feel like it: all the time. She’s going to be hungry and you will have to feed her, no matter what. She’s going to be scared and you will have to drop what you’re doing and hold her. All those people who keep telling you, “The baby has to fit into your life”?’ Ellie sniggered. ‘That’s the biggest load of batshit I’ve ever heard. It’s a goddamn baby, Georgie. You can’t just strap it onto your chest and carry on with life. You chose to have it. You have to keep choosing it every single day, because your baby can’t make that choice. She’s stuck with you. Or he,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘No, she.’

  Ellie’s face broke into a brief smile. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s a girl,’ I said, and promptly burst into tears. ‘I mean, I actually don’t know that. I just … have a feeling.’

  She pulled her mouth to one side, studying me. ‘You told me you didn’t have a feeling.’

  I shook my head and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably not right.’

  ‘George. You have a feeling.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So … You have a feeling! About your baby. You’re into this baby, George.’

  ‘Duh.’

  ‘Start acting like it. Grow up, George. Grow the … fudge up.’

  I nodded. ‘Oh god, El, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said I’m not going to be like you. You’re a good mum. A really good mum. I’m going to be terrible at it. I can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I’m too selfish and vain and cool. Or you know, I think I’m cool. I’m not really. But … I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t have this baby. I should have had an abortion, I know I should have.’ I stood up from the breakfast bar – no mean feat at this stage of the gestation game – and began pacing, shaking my head as I thought of all the things I would never be ready for and the fact that my entire parenting philosophy was simply ‘don’t do what Ellie does’. I’d given no actual thought to how I would raise my baby, what I would do with it day to day – all I had focused on was how not to be Ellie. It was shameful.

  ‘I don’t even know what to do with a baby. What will I do with it? Where will I put it? I don’t even have a cot or a pram. I have three weeks left before this baby comes and I haven’t even found it a place to sleep. I’m so sorry, Ellie. I’ve been the worst friend. And now I’m going to be the worst mother. I can’t do this. I can’t do it like Gemma Knight says I should.’

  I couldn’t talk anymore through my racked sobs. My mind played footage of my David Jones change-room breakdown as I slid awkwardly to the floor of Ellie’s kitchen, in a way I hoped was like an excited puppy losing its balance, but was probably more like a sea lion trying to nab a flying fish and slipping into the water. I cried and cried and cried. She was right. I was a bad person. A bad friend. I did think babies were uncool and that motherhood was boring and that people who banged on and on about how rewarding parenting was were in desperate need of class-A drugs. So how the fuck was I going to cope with a baby of my own?

  Ellie sat down next to me and held me. She was crying, too.

  ‘Come on, you’ll be OK,’ she said gently.

  ‘I’m going to be rubbish.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You just need to grow up a bit, George. This baby’s relying on you. This baby needs you.’

  ‘Oh shit.’

  ‘What?’

  I felt a warm pool of water underneath me. ‘I just wet my pants,’ I said, pressing my hand to my forehead. This was worse than the Change-Room Incident.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Ellie, who looked more concerned than the situation really warranted. I nodded. I was fairly unsurprised – my bladder had been ready to burst for weeks now. It only needed the slightest touch to spring into emergency bathroom-finding mode.

  Ellie, entirely unselfconscious about such things, lifted my dress and I heard a gasp. ‘George, you didn’t wet your pants. That’s your water breaking.’

  ‘What?’

  No no no no no no no no. To my eternal shame, all I could think was: what about my date?

  And then: holy mother of fuck, how does any woman do this without the drugs?

  29

  B-Day

  As fate would have it, I actually did do it without the drugs. I made it to the hospital, was swiftly taken to the maternity ward and after forty-five minutes of panting and pushing, out came a beautiful baby girl, pink of cheek and chubby of thigh.

  I swear, when she emerged, her head even turned to greet me – ‘Hey, Mum.’

  Not quite.

  *

  ‘I need an epidural,’ I said, by way of introduction to the receptionist. ‘Immediately. If not sooner.’

  He gave me a tight smile and the kind of mildly scathing look I used to give to juniors who offered flimsy excuses about why they’d needed to ‘just pop into the beauty cupboard for a second’.

  ‘Uh-huh. Your name?’

  ‘George. Georgie. Georgie Henderson. H-E-N-’

  ‘I’m her support person. For the moment. Eleanor Hughes. Hello,’ said Ellie, stretching out her hand and offering Tight Smile a muffin.

  Spying them, Lucas waved his hands at Ellie and started maniacally yelling, ‘Snack time, snack time, snack time!’

  Ellie smiled at him, embarrassed, and quickly handed him a muffin. ‘Go play with those toys, sweetie,’ she whispered.

  ‘Where did you get those muffins?’ I asked.

  We’d made our way to Ellie’s car in less than two minutes; how the hell had she found time to pack a picnic?

  ‘I made them this morning. I have a whole bunch,’ she said sweetly, turning to Tight Smile. ‘They’re gluten-free.’

  ‘Georgie Henderson. Gotcha. Did you call on your way here?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ellie. ‘We called about –’ Ellie looked down at her watch – ‘six minutes ago.’ From the toy corner, Lucas began yelling ‘six minutes!’ ‘six minutes!’ ‘six minutes!’ I suddenly understood the concept of daycare.

  Tight Smile nodded exactly once and handed me some forms. ‘Just fill these out and we’ll get you checked in.’

  Checked in? Chec
ked in? This was a hospital, not a hotel. I didn’t need my bed turned down or a mint on my pillow or a dozen tiny bottles of shampoo. I needed good, hard drugs to paralyse me temporarily, thank you very much.

  I looked at Ellie, my eyes undoubtedly wild with panic.

  ‘Uh, I’ll fill those in for you, George, you just take a seat.’

  But I couldn’t take a seat, because my legs were burning with a pain I’d never experienced before. Why were my legs so sore? I wasn’t having a baby out my knees, was I? Fifteen minutes of contractions under my belt and I knew why every actress in every movie about pregnancy I’d ever seen was histrionic in portraying the pain: this was the most unbearably painful thing I’d ever experienced. It was like the worst period pain I’d ever had and the worst stitch I’d ever had combined, then multiplied by about 700 million, then multiplied again by roughly the same number. I wanted it over. Right now.

  ‘Come with me,’ I heard a clipped Eastern European voice say.

  I looked up. A petite woman with a shock of peroxide blonde hair was motioning me to join her. Ellie nodded and waved at the paperwork.

  Oh my god. I’m having a baby with Roxette.

  ‘Help me,’ I said, as Roxette led me away.

  She nodded.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Almut. What’s your name?’

  ‘Georgie. George.’

  ‘OK, George, you are going to be fine. I need you to lie down on the bed and I will get the anaesthetist.’

  ‘What? Where is he? Why haven’t you called him already? I told you on the phone – my friend, my friend told you on the phone that I wanted the drugs.’

  Almut nodded. ‘It’s a big hospital. The anaesthetist will come when he can.’

  ‘One? There’s one anaesthetist? Where are the rest?’