Bad Mother's Diary: a feel good romantic comedy with a heart-warming happily ever after

by Suzy K Quinn

  After going through Daisy’s routine with Nick (she will ONLY sleep with her Teddy Snuggles, her pink sleeping bag and her waffle blanket), I made a break for it.

  Facial was lovely. And I stayed awake for most of it too.

  When I got home, Daisy was red-faced and screaming the place down.

  Nick had put her to sleep without her Teddy Snuggles, pink sleeping bag or waffle blanket.

  After shouting at Nick, I spent an hour walking and shushing, trying to calm Daisy down.

  When she finally fell asleep, she sprung awake five minutes later like a manic devil child, and I had to go through everything all over again.

  Nick tried to help. He sang ‘Strangers in the Night’ in Daisy’s ear. But it just made her worse.

  When she finally fell asleep, I shouted at Nick for a full half hour.

  He admitted he’d panicked and forgotten my instructions. And that I probably should have written them down.

  God – I can’t even trust him for one afternoon!

  Monday, March 7th

  I’ve PUT ON A POUND!!

  Ugh.

  Laura pointed out that I’ve lost a quarter of an inch around my waist and thighs, and I know that should cheer me up. But it doesn’t.

  ‘What would you prefer?’ said Laura. ‘A flatter tummy or numbers on the scale that no one sees but you?’

  The stupid truth is I’d prefer numbers on a scale.

  Told Laura in a sad voice that I’d never wear a midriff top again.

  Laura said, ‘But you never did wear midriff tops.’

  True. But I’d like the option …

  Tuesday, March 8th

  Made the wedding invitations today.

  Helen found me trying to scrub PVA glue off Daisy’s baby gym.

  She gave me her ‘you’ve displeased me’ look and said, ‘This is a wedding, not make do and mend. For heaven’s sakes, buy the invitations. I gave Nicholas three hundred pounds yesterday – you can’t have spent it already.’

  When Nick came home, I asked him about the money.

  He said he’d taken a theatre director for a meal at Claridge’s, and the director had drunk a lot of wine.

  Then he sang, ‘The Circle of Life’ right over Daisy’s cot, waking her up.

  It had taken me nearly an HOUR to rock and shush her to sleep, so I was furious.

  Hitting Nick around the head with a pillow only made me feel marginally better.

  Wednesday, March 9th

  Decided to try the Atkins diet today.

  Had a plain omelette for breakfast with vegetables and lots and lots of oil.

  It was alright.

  By lunchtime, I was absolutely crawling the walls with hunger. I so did NOT want bacon or eggs or butter.

  Then I made the mistake of going round Mum and Dad’s house so Mum could help me do the last of the wedding invites.

  The fridge was full of last night’s ‘double takeaway’ (A Duffy family tradition) – egg-fried rice, sweet and sour prawn balls, slices of Domino’s pizza.

  Decided I’d switch to calorie counting instead. I have no idea how many calories were in that omelette this morning, so I’ll have to start again tomorrow.

  Ate egg-fried rice, sweet and sour prawn balls and the last few slices of Domino’s pizza.

  Thursday, March 10th

  Started stupid, boring calorie counting diet. Now my head is full of numbers.

  It turns out a tube of Pringles has THOUSANDS of calories in it. Which would account for a lot of Mum’s extra weight.

  Friday, March 11th

  Weighed myself today, thinking all that calorie counting has probably shifted … ooo I don’t know, at least seven pounds in time for the wedding.

  But no. I have lost absolutely no weight at all. If dieting doesn’t work, what hope is there for me?

  Phoned Laura.

  She said that muscle weighs more than fat and I shouldn’t weigh myself until I’ve dieted for at least a week anyway. That made me feel better.

  Phoned Brandi and she said, ‘That muscle and fat thing is a load of bollocks. Google it.’

  I googled it, and she was right. Muscle and fat weigh the same.

  I asked Brandi if I looked any thinner to her. And she said, ‘You could look thinner if you let me straighten your hair. It’s not a good idea to have curly hair with a round face like yours.’

  Then she suggested I come to her pole dancing class tomorrow, claiming that one student lost 14 pounds in ‘like a week’.

  I told her that in my wobbly, fat post-baby state, the idea of me dancing around a pole makes me think of an elephant in fishnet stockings.

  But Brandi promised I definitely wouldn’t be the fattest one there.

  Saturday, March 12th

  POLE DANCING!!!!!

  What was I thinking?

  I definitely WAS the fattest. The mega-sized pole dancer Brandi promised me didn’t show up. If she ever really existed.

  The instructor was a bright orange girl with muscles on every part of her body. She drank two bottles of Lucozade, then bounced and jiggled non-stop for a full hour. She was like a blurry line.

  ‘And step, step, spin, squat, LEGS!, spin, drop – HAIR FLICK!’

  We were also supposed to climb the pole. The combination of my weedy, chicken arms and my big fat bottom meant I could barely get myself an inch off the ground.

  When it was over, my muscles ached so badly I could hardly get my coat on.

  Brandi bounced along beside me talking about how energised she felt and saying we should get a drink.

  I said I couldn’t because of Daisy.

  Brandi looked all confused and said, ‘But isn’t Mum looking after her?’

  ‘Yes, but Daisy might wake up,’ I pointed out.

  ‘So?’ said Brandi. ‘Mum will handle it.’

  ‘Didn’t you worry?’ I asked. ‘When Callum was a baby?’

  ‘To be honest, I’ve blotted out that first year,’ said Brandi. ‘It was so awful.’

  I asked if Callum was sleeping better now, and she said not really.

  She counted her gold-ringed fingers and said he still wakes up three or four times a night.

  I asked what she did when he woke up.

  She said she hides under the duvet, adding, ‘I love Callum to bits, but I wish I’d waited until I was a bit older. It definitely puts a crimp on things. I mean, I have like NO social life.’

  Then she Facebooked her friends and arranged to hit a few clubs.

  Sunday, March 13th

  Wedding SO soon now.

  But I think we’re pretty much on top of everything. Helen can worry about all the frills – I don’t care if the table placeholders coordinate with the napkins.

  There’s this thing going around Facebook called a ‘no make-up selfie’. You’re supposed to take off all your make-up and do a selfie looking rough.

  Brandi volunteered me, but there’s no way I’m taking a close-up of my baby-worn face. No way.

  Monday, March 14th

  Made Nick promise to go on a family picnic tomorrow.

  Ended up having to watch some boring war film as a bribe, but it will be worth it because tomorrow we’ll have a lovely family picnic at Hyde Park, and talk about our wedding day.

  I’ve even bought a wicker picnic hamper with chequered cloth inside and little elastic loops for cutlery.

  Tuesday, March 15th

  Baguette, wheel of brie, Kettle Chips, a bottle of elderflower water – all packed into our new picnic hamper.

  And it poured with rain.

  Nick thought this was hilarious.

  He sat on the sofa all day eating Kettle Chip and brie sandwiches, watching the Wizard of Oz and saying, ‘Whoever cast the Tin Man is a dickhead. He so can’t act.’

  Wednesday, March 16th

  Had another big row with Nick.

  I just can’t stand Helen coming round anymore.

  If I have to spend another day watching her criticising, moving an
d wiping things that look completely perfect, I will go mad.

  Helen is one of those women who has everything but is never happy.

  She is skinny as a rake, incredibly rich, and works as a hobby. And yet everything is wrong. The shade of granite in the kitchen is ‘a total disaster’. Her new cashmere cardigan makes her look ‘disgustingly fat’. Henry, her husband, is going ‘horribly bald’.

  When Helen’s here, the flat isn’t a home at all. It’s a showroom. There can’t be so much as a cushion out of place.

  Living here is like a 24/7 job interview. It’s constant stress.

  One of Daisy’s socks was on the shag-pile rug this morning, and Helen stared like it was an unexploded bomb.

  ‘Jul-iette. (It’s never Ni-ck.) This shouldn’t be here.’

  I said if she was offering to do the laundry for me, that would be a great help.

  She gave me her Helen glare. Then she checked her slim, solid-gold watch and said, ‘I have twenty minutes to talk last-minute wedding details.’

  She stood in perfect ballerina posture, one hand on the granite work surface, stomach held in and said, ‘You’ve put on weight.’

  I said, ‘Nice of you to be so supportive, Helen. Dieting is hard with a baby.’

  Helen told me she had ‘a few ex-ballerinas tips’ to get slim. They were basically, ‘Drink only Diet Coke, and if you feel very faint have a spoonful of honey.’

  Then she went on about the wedding photos and said maybe she should talk to Mum about the dress code.

  I told her there wasn’t a dress code, and that Mum had already bought her dress.

  Helen asked where from.

  ‘Forever 21.’

  Helen squeezed her eyes tight shut and said, ‘Heaven help us.’

  Thursday, March 17th

  St Patrick’s Day

  Mum and Dad are doing their usual Paddy’s Night party at the Oakley Arms this evening.

  I really wanted to go, just for an hour or so, but Daisy wouldn’t settle.

  Called Dad to let him know.

  The pub sounded pretty lively.

  I could hear an Irish band and the ‘stamp! stamp! stamp!’ of people dancing on the bar. Mum was drunkenly singing ‘The Irish Rover’ in the background, and yelling at Brandi for drinking Guinness straight from the tap.

  Friday, March 18th

  All my friends keep nominating me for a no-make-up selfie.

  Saturday, March 19th

  Had a brainwave! Put up a picture of Taylor Swift as my no-make-up selfie. Hopefully, everyone will think it’s funny and not bother me to do a real one.

  Sunday, March 20th

  25 comments on my Facebook page telling me off for my Taylor Swift picture.

  Put up a real picture of my tired face.

  Got a load of lovely comments telling me how beautiful I look without make-up. Awwww…

  Monday, March 21st

  I am pretty sick of being a mother today.

  The worst thing is just not knowing what I’m doing.

  Daisy just wouldn’t sleep last night.

  I think she was over-tired. The only way I could get her to nod off was walking around the room making Darth Vader breathing noises and bending my legs in time to the Hokey Cokey.

  Tuesday, March 22nd

  The wedding is creeping up, and I haven’t lost any weight since last Saturday.

  Am trying the PureLife milkshake diet.

  Had one for breakfast and lunch, but by teatime, I was absolutely starving. So I cooked spaghetti bolognaise and ended up eating Nick’s portion because he was late home.

  Then I took Daisy to the 24-hour supermarket and bought a melt-in-the-middle fondant chocolate pudding and a bag of toffee popcorn.

  Will carry on the diet tomorrow.

  Maybe strawberry milkshakes will taste better.

  Wednesday, March 23rd

  Tried the PureLife strawberry milkshakes. They taste like chalk mixed with women’s deodorant.

  Nick came home with another huge toy for Daisy today – a swinging chair with disco lights.

  He was all excited, saying it would teach her to be a musical genius.

  ‘If I’d have grown up with toys like this,’ he said, ‘I’d get way more parts.’

  It turns out he got rejected for a musical today for not being able to dance. Which I think is unfair, because Nick is a pretty good dancer. He’s the only person I know who can properly vogue.

  I told him it didn’t matter and that I loved him no matter what. And that Daisy loved him too.

  We’re a family. Together for richer or poorer. For better or worse.

  Friday, March 25th

  Good Friday

  Feel like I should be doing something with Daisy – taking her on an Easter egg hunt or something. But I’m just too exhausted.

  Did manage a small bit of normality though. Made it to the village supermarket, and bought Callum a Cadbury’s Buttons Easter egg. Daisy’s too young for chocolate (although Mum says we had Easter eggs ‘practically from birth’), so I bought her socks with little chickens on them.

  I won’t give Callum his egg until Easter Sunday.

  Dad always insisted we didn’t have our Easter eggs until then, and it taught us patience and self-control.

  Saturday, March 26th

  Did a bad thing. Ate Callum’s Easter egg.

  Luckily the village supermarket was still open, so I bought him another one.

  9 pm

  Did a bad thing again. Ate the replacement egg.

  Supermarket closed now.

  Sunday, March 27th

  Easter Sunday

  Snuck out early to buy a replacement egg, but the village supermarket was closed.

  Ended up taking Daisy to London and buying a giant chocolate bunny rabbit from a 24-hour off-licence.

  It was enormous – almost as big as Daisy.

  Of course, Callum ate the whole thing at once. Then he jumped on every bouncy surface in the house and put his foot through a wicker coffee table.

  Monday, March 28th

  Easter Monday

  Bit sick of chocolate. But Mum has made a double-chocolate Easter cake covered in chocolate frosting, chocolate chicks, and chocolate bunnies. There’s also a surprise in the middle – chocolate fondant.

  Tuesday, March 29th

  Have decided to hit the gym, pre-wedding. I know one session isn’t going to make a lot of difference, but a bit of toning won’t hurt.

  Found a special-offer coupon for Fitness Factory and signed up online.

  Will go tomorrow.

  Wednesday, March 30th

  Made it to the gym to do a pre-wedding workout.

  Put Daisy in the crèche, and she cried and cried. Thought I might have to take her home, but then the crèche ladies put her in a bouncy swing, and she was instantly happy. So I had to exercise.

  I spent ages walking around the gym, touching equipment and then being too scared to actually get on it.

  Eventually, I worked up the courage to sit on a weight machine. I pulled at some handles. Then this Lycra bicep man said, ‘Let me show you how to do that properly.’

  The proper way absolutely killed my arms. So I did some jogging on the treadmill and watched Eastenders on the mini telly.

  Everyone wears Lycra at the gym these days. How can fashion be so cruel?

  Thursday, March 31st

  Was too hungry to sleep last night, so typically Daisy slept perfectly.

  Ended up squirting cream on Oreo cookies at 1 am, and suddenly Helen appeared like some pale big-nosed ghost.

  After I’d stopped screaming, Helen explained that she’d had an ‘all-nighter’ in the city and decided to stay on the guest mezzanine without telling us.

  She looked at my cookies and said, ‘Children have midnight feasts, Juliette. Grown women watch their weight.’

  I said I hardly saw the point of dieting anymore, what with the wedding being so soon. Nick would just have to accept me for me, baby weight a
nd all.

  I asked Helen if she’d put on any weight after Nick was born.

  She stroked her bony hips in skinny black jeans, pulled her cashmere cardigan around her bony ribs and said, ‘No, I lost weight actually. The whole experience was so traumatic. The hospital staff were worried I was just too slim.’

  Then she went on about how perfect her wedding day had been.

  I asked how Henry had liked it.

  She said, ‘Not my wedding to Henry. My wedding to Nicholas’s father. Marrying him was the best day of my life.’

  Often, Helen makes me think of a raven bobbing its nasty head around the insides of an animal.

  When she smiles, she looks like Mr Punch.

  ‘What about the day Nick was born?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh that day was awful,’ she said. ‘Absolutely awful. Being handed this scrawny, ugly little thing covered in … God, I don’t even want to say it. I seriously wanted to complain to somebody. But I really did love Nicholas’s father. From the moment I met him.’

  Then her eyes went all sharp and Helen-like, and she said, ‘Men are imperfect creatures. You mustn’t forget that. Don’t love a man too much. He’ll only let you down.’

  Friday, April 1st

  April Fool’s Day

  Nick’s stag party tonight.

  Ugh. I do not even want to THINK about what Nick will be up to.

  I’m not exactly having a hen night, but Mum, Laura and Brandi have ‘something planned’.

  Helen turned up unannounced again, and said, ‘Christ – don’t have one of those hideous L-plate bingo heavy-drinking affairs, will you? So tacky.’

  I told her we’d probably just go for a nice meal somewhere in Great Oakley. I’m a mum now, after all. No more wild nights for me.