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

by Suzy K Quinn

  Monday, May 16th

  Mum said she would ‘take Daisy off my hands’ today so I could have a rest.

  I told her about Daisy’s routine.

  Mum did her usual, ‘Stop telling me how to do it, Jules, I’ve had three kids.’

  Yes.

  In the eighties.

  Mum’s philosophy is, ‘As long as the baby’s not dead, everything’s fine.’

  She still doesn’t know how to use disposable nappies. Daisy ALWAYS comes back with her nappy on back-to-front and the sticky bits stuck to her clothing.

  Still. It was nice to have an hour to myself. Although Daisy was so upset when she came back that I had to spend a good hour and a half calming her down.

  Tuesday, May 17th

  Althea phoned today.

  She asked if I was still planning on running the Winter Marathon.

  I said no way.

  I never wanted to do it in the first place.

  Althea said Sadie has pulled out.

  Felt pretty happy about that.

  ‘Look, you’re already signed up,’ Althea pointed out. ‘And you’ve raised hundreds for Children’s Aid. Why pull out because of that nasty moon-faced cow?’

  I said I’d think about it.

  Meaning no.

  If being dumped on my wedding day doesn’t give me an excuse not to run a marathon, what does?

  Wednesday, May 18th

  Everyone always says what a happy baby Daisy is, but I really wish she was a sleepy baby.

  I am so jealous of Althea, who says Wolfgang falls asleep all over the house.

  Apparently, all she has to do is give him some beef jerky to chew, and he drifts off.

  Thursday, May 19th

  Took Callum to McDonald’s today, while Brandi studied for her beauty exams.

  The McDonald’s server just COULD NOT understand that I wanted carrot sticks for Callum’s Happy Meal.

  ‘Cheeseburger Happy Meal with carrot sticks please,’ I said.

  ‘So fries, yeah?’ said the server.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Carrot sticks instead of fries.’

  He said, ‘Carrot sticks?’ Like I’d asked for grilled lobster.

  ‘No Aunty Julesy, I want fries,’ moaned Callum.

  ‘So fries, yeah?’ said the server.

  ‘NO. Carrot sticks.’

  The Happy Meal came with fries.

  While we were eating, Callum said, ‘Do you hate Uncle Nick?’

  ‘I don’t hate him,’ I explained. ‘I just feel very, very sad when I think about him.’

  ‘Mummy says Uncle Nick is a right busted,’ said Callum.

  ‘Yes Callum,’ I agreed. ‘Uncle Nick is a right busted. But he’s still Daisy’s dad.’

  Callum said, ‘I never see my dad. And I don’t care. Daisy won’t care either.’

  Sometimes Callum is wise beyond his years. Maybe it comes of having a mum who’s still a baby herself.

  Friday, May 20th

  Got a handwritten letter from Nick.

  Unusual for him. He prefers computers.

  At first, I wondered why he hadn’t texted or called. But then I remembered I’d blocked his number.

  The letter said,

  Juliette,

  Baby. I know I’ve fucked up. The DNA test – so not my idea.

  I miss my little Daisy boo. Is she saying daddy yet? Does she still look like me?

  Can I see my little girl? Pretty please? I know I’ve been a bastard, but I’m still her dad.

  Can we talk?

  Nick.

  He’d put a big flourishy signature under his name, like when he signs his autograph.

  I couldn’t stop crying.

  I’ve read and re-read the letter all day.

  I still can’t forgive Nick, but ... maybe I’m being too harsh … maybe we really can make a go of things. For Daisy’s sake. We’re supposed to be a family.

  Saturday, May 21st

  Mum and Brandi both took turns in shouting at me today, re: the Nick letter.

  Apparently, I’m not under any circumstances to consider going back to him. He is a shit bag. Plain and simple.

  Simple to them. But not to me.

  I thought you were supposed to get married, have kids and live happily ever after.

  Where did I go wrong?

  Monday, May 23rd

  It’s Nick’s birthday today.

  I wonder what he’s doing right now.

  Probably out shopping on his Helen-funded credit card, buying clothes at Abercrombie and Fitch and hitting another bar from his favourite coffee table book, ‘London’s 100 coolest bars.’

  Bastard.

  Tuesday, May 24th

  By the time I had a baby, I had thought we’d live in a proper house with tasteful wooden board games and a vegetable patch.

  I also thought I would own a rolling pin and be able to fold up a stroller without slicing my fingers open.

  Yet here I am, living in my old bedroom with 80s stripe wallpaper, my baby in a collapsing travel cot, while my ex-fiancé has sex with my ex-best friend.

  Funny how life turns out.

  Wednesday, May 25th

  Spoke to Laura and Althea about Nick’s letter.

  They both shouted at me too. Even Laura and she never shouts.

  Althea said Nick was a horrible, nasty piece of theatrical shit and me and Daisy were better off without him.

  She’d got through to Rylan, Sadie’s gay make-up artist friend, on the cruise ship. Rylan said Sadie ‘fell pregnant’ after the wedding. That’s something at least.

  But Nick has been having sex with her since January.

  What an idiot I am.

  Nick is a shitbag, and I’m better off without him.

  But he’s still Daisy’s dad. He has to see her eventually.

  Thursday, May 26th

  Daisy was eating Dad’s massive bible while I was on the loo, and it opened on a passage about forgiveness.

  And I thought – could it be a sign? A sign I should forgive Nick? Maybe even take him back?

  Everyone makes mistakes. I can’t throw away Daisy’s family just because I’m feeling angry.

  I’m going to the flat today, and maybe we can talk.

  Friday, May 27th

  Those B*******s!

  Sadie’s stuff was all over our apartment.

  She’s LIVING with him!

  Nick had the decency to look embarrassed, but only for a minute. Then he spun Daisy around and asked if she liked his new beard.

  Daisy giggled and cooed and grabbed at his chin. The little traitor.

  Nick asked if I wanted to pick up the rest of my things, like my running gear. He’d put it all in a bin bag for me.

  I lied and said he should get ready to pay his bet, and buy me a new wardrobe when I finished the marathon.

  Brave talk I know.

  I stalked out with my head held high.

  Then I burst into tears in the lobby.

  Saturday, May 28th

  Dark curtains and sobbing again. It didn’t last all day though because I had a play date with Althea. She hammered on my bedroom door and wouldn’t stop shouting until I got dressed and came out.

  We ended up in the Great Oakley pottery café.

  It’s one of those places where kids get to paint their own plates.

  Daisy and Wolfgang were way too young in my opinion, but Althea insisted they should express themselves.

  Wolfgang’s plates were very intense – all angry slashes, deep purples, blacks and reds. He’s either going to be an artist or need therapy.

  He only smashed two things. He would have smashed a third, but the pottery lady wrestled it out of his hands.

  She didn’t exactly throw us out, but she made it clear we wouldn’t be getting any more cups of tea.

  Told Althea about my trip to Nick’s apartment.

  She boomed, ‘That SHIT bag.’ Then she offered to slash Nick’s tyres.

  Althea is a good friend.

>   Sunday, May 29th

  Laura and I had a chat about ‘next steps’, re: Nick and Sadie.

  She said, ‘Sort out maintenance quickly. Because it looks like she’s getting her claws in. How pregnant did she look?’

  I told her I didn’t know. Sadie had been under the duvet when I came round.

  I confessed my bravado speech about running the marathon, and Laura said, ‘Why not run it? Show them both what you can do? Make Nick pay that bet.’

  ‘But I can’t do it, Laura,’ I moaned. ‘I can barely manage two miles. And that’s in warm weather.’

  ‘Of course you can do it,’ said Laura. ‘You know what they say in my martial arts class? A black belt is a white belt who never gave up. We can start training again. Whenever you like.’

  I said I’d think about it.

  Meaning no.

  Monday, May 30th

  Spring Bank Holiday

  Heard from mutual friends that Sadie has been ‘sort of living’ with Nick for a few weeks.

  So pretty much since the wedding.

  I didn’t think I had any tears left, but I do.

  Poor Daisy. Poor, poor Daisy.

  Tuesday, May 31st

  Desperate to find out more about Sadie and Nick, but nothing on Facebook. Just the usual daily selfies from both of them.

  I keep checking Sadie’s relationship status.

  She’s single. Like Nick.

  Maybe they’re not actually living together. Maybe she just came round to see him that one day. And threw her stuff everywhere …

  Wednesday, June 1st

  Brandi’s birthday.

  Her favourite present was a T-shirt from Mum. It was skin-tight, bright pink and said, ‘I’m a Mum, not a Nun’.

  I used three different pots of glitter to make Brandi’s birthday card.

  Brandi said, ‘What’s that big sparkly splodge on the front?’

  ‘Your niece’s handprint,’ I explained.

  ‘My niece?’ said Brandi. ‘Who’s my niece?’

  ‘Daisy is your niece.’

  She nodded slowly like it was all suddenly making sense.

  Then she said, ‘So is Daisy Callum’s niece too?’

  No wonder she failed all her exams at school.

  Thursday, June 2nd

  Daisy had a cold last night.

  She woke up every two hours, all snuffly.

  I was so worried I couldn’t sleep – I just lay next to her, checking she was still breathing.

  I know I should nap today, but I just can’t seem to nod off. Plus I’ve nearly cracked level 50 on Candy Crush Saga.

  5 pm

  Sooooooo tired. But can’t sleep.

  8 pm

  Daisy has woken up.

  11 pm

  Daisy still awake! Desperately looking for sleep apps on my phone.

  11.30 pm

  Found an app that makes hairdryer noises. Seems to have done the trick. Daisy asleep. My turn now, thank goodness.

  Friday, June 3rd

  3 am

  Daisy just woke up!

  I woke Mum in sleep-deprived tears.

  ‘The Duffy family have never been good sleepers,’ Mum said. ‘Remember Brandi? She used to suicide dive out of the cot.’

  I broke down, sobbing, ‘Why doesn’t she have an off switch? Why are there no answers?’

  Mum reassured me that, ‘Feeling confused is what motherhood is all about.’

  Then I remembered the iPhone app that makes hairdryer noises.

  I shouted, ‘I need my phone, Mum. I can’t find it! I’ve lost my phone!’

  Mum pointed out that I was holding my phone.

  I am so sleep-deprived!

  Then Dad suggested I put cinnamon in Daisy’s milk.

  I sobbed that we didn’t have any sodding cinnamon.

  Mum said she’d drive over to the all-night supermarket. Then she remembered she’d lost the car keys.

  While she was looking for them (and arguing with dad), Daisy fell asleep.

  SO tired.

  4 am

  Can’t sleep! Keep thinking that Daisy will wake up any minute.

  5 am

  Still can’t sleep.

  6 am

  Daisy just woke up.

  Thank God for Dad – he’s giving her milk and singing ‘Food Glorious Food’ from Oliver!

  Afternoon

  The health visitor came round today.

  She was a big, busty clucky lady called Pam Fairy who had a lot of strong opinions about the right and wrong way to look after babies.

  I could tell Mum was itching to disagree with her. Having ‘got through’ three kids of her own, Mum can’t stand it when anyone else has opinions.

  Pam pulled her notes out and asked lots of questions about my sudden change of address.

  Then she said, ‘You had a nice arrangement, didn’t you? Fancy apartment in London. Daisy’s father on hand. Any chance of a Mummy-Daddy reunion?’

  I said, ‘I don’t think so.’

  Mum added helpfully, ‘He slept with her best friend, Mrs Fairy. They broke up on her wedding day.’

  Then Pam said, ‘Oh, you’re the Great Oakley Runaway Bride!’ And looked all pleased like she’d met a celebrity. Then she remembered herself and started asking about Daisy’s diet.

  Mum told Pam that Daisy loved Cheesy Wotsits.

  Pam went all serious and asked about vegetables.

  Mum said, ‘She likes potato smiley faces. And tomato ketchup.’

  She didn’t bother to mention all the organic vegetables I puree!

  Pam gave us a long lecture about nutrition and pulled out leaflets about healthy baby food.

  Then she told us to ring her if we needed anything else. Apparently, health visitors offer a sort of ‘fourth emergency service’ and are always on hand if we have any worries or concerns.

  Saturday, June 4th

  Looked at houses on Rightmove today.

  The only ones in my budget are ‘in an up-and-coming area’ (shit area), ‘delightfully cosy’ (shit size), ‘priced to sell’ (massive shit hole) or ‘remarkably energy efficient’ (shit-smelling basement).

  I’ll keep trying though.

  It’s time I started rebuilding my life. Seeing Sadie’s stuff all over the flat … things will never be how they were. It hurts, but I have to move forward, for Daisy’s sake.

  Like Althea says, pain closes the door. It helps me let go of my old life and look to the future.

  Sunday, June 5th

  Morning

  Sunday lunch with the family today.

  Dad has ‘spring cleaned’ the pub, scrubbing the Tudor beams and whitewashing the walls, so everything looks sparkly and clean. The pub really is a beautiful building. A piece of village history, with its latticed windows and oak doors.

  Shame Mum’s neon-pink fairy lights are strung around the bar – she has no sense of tradition.

  At lunch, Mum tried to give Daisy a teaspoon of Guinness for her runny nose.

  I literally had to wrestle the spoon away.

  How does she not get that alcohol isn’t good for a baby?

  ‘Don’t be so paranoid,’ Mum bellowed. ‘You had spoons of Guinness when you were her age. And you turned out just fine.’

  Brandi started bad-mouthing Nick, saying what a lucky escape I’d had. That I didn’t have Helen coming round anymore, checking my windowsills for dust. And that Nick was a total waste of space.

  Little Callum said, ‘What does fuck up mean?’

  I told everyone I didn’t want to hear about Nick anymore, so we talked about their news instead.

  Laura is thinking of becoming a vegan.

  Brandi has (another) new boyfriend.

  Dad saw a meteor in the sky last night.

  Mum’s been teaching next-door’s dog to sing ‘Let it Go’.

  I told everyone I was determined to lose my baby weight, and Mum said, ‘Righty-o. Just four potatoes for you then. Don’t you worry. I’ve cooked this whole roast
in olive oil.’

  I showed her the calories on the Aunt Bessie’s roast potato packet.

  ‘Two hundred,’ she read. ‘Is that a lot?’

  Yes – if you add olive oil when you’re cooking them. And eat four.

  Considering Mum is overweight and has type II diabetes, it’s pretty shocking she knows nothing about calories.

  She had eight roast potatoes on her plate, a mountain of buttery mash, oven chips and three huge slices of beef.

  One time, she asked me if coffee beans counted as one of her five a day.

  I worry about her (we all do) but I’ve given up nagging. Mum just calls me ‘obsessive’ and warns me about getting an eating disorder.

  ‘Men like a bit of something to hold onto,’ Mum said. ‘Isn’t that right Bob?’

  Dad replied, ‘It certainly is!’

  Mum still dresses in skimpy tops and skin-tight leggings. And Dad still wolf-whistles at her. If anyone criticises Mum’s weight, she says, ‘I’m a complete original. Which makes me absolutely fucking priceless.’

  Afternoon

  Just had nice country walk with Laura, Brandi and little Callum (Daisy bobbing along in the sling), and afternoon tea at Mary and John’s Family-Friendly Farm Café.

  Mary and John hate children though, so we had to sit outdoors by the pig pens.

  Evening

  Thinking about Nick’s letter.

  I am fed up and tired and depressed this evening.

  Motherhood is SO gruelling. It just doesn’t stop. Feed, change, wash clothes, Daisy sleeps when I don’t want her to, wakes up when I don’t want her to, feed again … and on it goes.

  And I don’t want to do it alone. Of course Nick never really helped (in fact, I have more time now I don’t have to do his washing). But I’m still technically a single mum, and everyone knows single mums have it hard.