Finally I will no longer feel like a prisoner. I will be able to socialize again without looking at my watch every fifteen minutes wondering if I have time for another drink or whether I need to rush home to let the Brazilian babysitter off. Or allow my mum retire to bed. I’m now counting the hours for the girl’s plane to land at Dublin airport.
It’s mad that I’ve an au-pair now. After all, it only seems like yesterday that I was an au-pair myself in a strange country with a very strange family where they expected me to clean the family swimming pool every week and cook nightly dinner for them and all their friends. Hello? Since when does ‘light housework’ mean running the equivalent of a small restaurant? Without the tips, I might add…
Anyway I didn’t stay long with them. You can’t treat au-pairs badly and think they’ll stay because they won’t. The days of slavery have been abolished in case some people haven’t noticed. Now I know about the recession and everything but sometimes I see ads posted on the Internet for au-pairs and I read them out of curiosity. The other day I stumbled across an ad from a family looking for a girl to work ten hours a day, six days a week, plus Saturday nights for a 100 euro pocket money a week. Oh, and they had five children. Five! That’s not an au-pair they’re looking for but a crèche manager! They have some chance of getting somebody to put up with those terms, I thought to myself.
An au-pair is supposed to be an extra pair of hands to help Mum but sadly many families try and take advantage of them. There are always horror stories but I’m sure my girl will work out fine. I’ve been busy decorating her room and I’ve put up a shelf full of DVDs that she can watch in her spare time. I’ve even bought in lots of pasta and ice-cream because you know, she’s from Italy and I want to make her feel at home!
My friend, Alice, is all too sceptical about it. Her last au-pair lasted three days before she legged it. Personally I think she deserved a medal for putting up with Alice for more than three minutes! Alice, like me, was also an au-pair in her day. She remembers, not too fondly, of the time she stayed with a family who had a penchant for nudist beaches. ‘They used to play volleyball,’ she told me shuddering at the memories, ‘with all their bits jigging up and down as they played. I didn’t know where to look!’
Well, at least my au-pair is safe with me. My nearest beach is Sandymount Strand. And I like to keep my bikini on!
HANGOVER HELL!
Have you ever changed a nappy with a hangover? Well, if I guarantee you, you wouldn’t do it twice. It’s a truly, truly horrible experience. Recently Nana said she’d take Baba for the night but the next morning Baba was crying so much that Nana thought it best if she brought him back to Mama. Uh oh! The doorbell went at 7.00 am and I’d been asleep for all of four hours.
‘Surprise!’ said Nana with a big smile.
No! I groaned, head throbbing. This can NOT be happening to me.
‘We didn’t wake you, did we?’ enquired Nana handing Baba over.
‘Oh, no,’ I lied. ‘I was just about to get up.’
‘I found your shoe in garden. Is it yours?’
It was. God knows how on earth it got there but I presume when I was searching for my keys it fell out of my bag. Incidentally I always carry my slippers around with me on nights out. Some girls will make sacrifices to look good such as getting blisters on their heels in order to give themselves extra height. Not me. Since Baba came along it’s all about comfort now. Actually, if I could wear my tracksuit or maternity pyjamas on nights out I would.
Anyway, my mummy friends always warned me about the perils of being hungover with a tiny tot. ‘It’s not worth it,’ they insisted.
They were right. When I first started working as an air hostess the older girls used to say ‘never fly with a hangover.’ But I did. Just the once. Unfortunately it was a 13 hour flight to LA but it felt like 13 weeks. There is nowhere to hide on a plane. It’s not like working in an office where you can skive off at lunchtime or open a window for some fresh air. And it’s unprofessional to throw up in front of passengers.
Same goes for Mummies. There’s no place to hide and Baba doesn’t care that you are so not in the mood for changing his dirty nappy and definitely won’t understand that the last thing you want to do is sing happy lullabies. The show must go on, says he. And so it does. There’s no taking to the bed and pulling the duvet over your head. You’ve got to roll with it and vow it’ll never happen again.
WHAT HAPPENED MY SOCIAL LIFE?
You’ve been keeping a low profile!’ somebody said recently on a night out.
‘Yes, but I’ve an excuse,’ I explained. ‘I’ve been busy having a baby.’
‘A baby?’ She looked confused. ‘Eh…when did I see you last?’
‘A year ago.’
Yes, it was a year since I’d met this girl at a friend’s wedding. I was pregnant at the time and didn’t know it. I’d had about twelve vodkas and twenty cigarettes that night and when I found out I was expecting the following week I was racked with guilt.
But what a difference a year makes. I mean, how did I get here? I knew life was going to change but I’d no idea how much. How did I end up being a single mother with no financial or emotional support? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I was meant to get married and find a loving husband and live happily ever after like all the heroines do in the romance books that I write.
Sometimes I’m pushing the pram down by Sandymount Strand and I see other mothers pushing prams with babies the same age with loving partners by their sides, I kind of feel sorry for myself. But there are must thousands of girls like me out there in the same boat. And I wouldn’t be without my baby for anything in the world. However, it’s tough and very challenging.
Pregnant women whose partners have suddenly lost their jobs who must be dreading bringing a new baby into a world that’s on its knees financially. And yes, babies are expensive but there are means and ways to survive.
For example, if you know people who have had babies in the last couple of years, don’t be afraid to ask them for stuff. Most people will be glad to de-clutter as their kids grow and will be only too delighted to off-load the baby clothes. I only spent a couple of hundred euro on baby clothes and I really needn’t have bothered as I got so many presents from friends I could have opened my own baby shop!
If there’s something you really want but can’t afford to pay full price, check the Internet. I bought an almost new Fisher Price swing for a song and even got the woman to drop it off to my house. I also bought a much-admired baby blue snowsuit in Oxfam for just five euro. It was brand new and the shop assistant explained that many shops donate unsold stock to charity shops.
Don’t spend money on things like Moses baskets as babies outgrow them in six weeks. Try and buy one second-hand or ask friends if they have one. Buying a new pram was probably my biggest expense but that was definitely worth it as I’m all but surgically attached to it. But forget about designer labels. As long as they’re fed and warm, babies couldn’t care less.
DANCING QUEEN
I used to be the queen of clubs. In fact I used to be out so much I didn’t even see why I should have to pay rent as I was never at home. Waking up in the morning I always had to check my wrist for the nightclub stamp to remind me where I’d been the night before. That’s how much of a party animal I was. But oh what a difference a year makes. Now, being a new mum, it’s pretty rare for me to be bopping under flashing lights until the wee hours. Now and then, however, I do manage to get out of jail and the other week, the Daddy said he’d take the baby for the night, which was great. It meant that my lovely new dress that I bought for my big night out wouldn’t suddenly get baby sick all over it five minutes before leaving the house.
The baby went off with the daddy and his other son and the dog in the car. I waved good-bye as they headed for the countryside for a lads’ weekend. I was sad for about, oh, all of ten minutes, and then the fun really started chez moi. I put on some of my favourite music and had a long, leisurely bath without f
retting that the baby was oaky. I spent a couple of hours putting on my make-up, fake tan and doing my hair. Then I went into town wearing my one black dress that still fits me, but at least it isn’t a maternity dress which is great. I was wearing my maternity dresses two months after giving birth and people were still asking me when I was due. How embarrassing. Why can’t I be more like Posh Spice and miraculously lose weight after having babies rather than gaining it?
Anyway, off I went into town in my non-maternity gear and my baby bag slung over my shoulder. Well, it’s black and it’s big and we’re in a recession so I can’t justify buying another smaller black bag for my nights out without baba. The only problem with it is that it’s so huge with so many pockets in it that I find it hard to locate my mobile phone, keys and money. At one stage in the nightclub I felt a sneeze coming on and reached into my baby bag for a tissue only to pull out a nappy instead. Oops! At least it was clean.
My friend was trying to drag me onto the dance floor but I shook my head resolutely. I love to dance more than anyone but until I’ve lost all three stone of my baby fat I am, seriously not getting up in front of lots of people and wobbling around to music. Instead I found myself a nice seat where I could rest my poor aching feet. No schmoozing or socialising for me. It’s just too much effort for me these days.
Another friend of mine arrived into the nightclub all set to party. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ she offered before heading for the bar.
‘No, thanks,’ I told her. ‘I’ve had two already.’
‘Two!’ She looked at me as if I was joking. ‘But it’s your weekend off. No baby to feed in the morning. You need to get drunk!’
Drunk? Oh no, I could think of nothing worse than spending the weekend in bed with a hangover. I hadn’t a decent night’s sleep since I got pregnant. Anyway I’d been up since 6.30 am feeding baba. It was now 2.00am. The tiredness was beginning to kick in. I decided to escape without telling anybody. The problem with telling people you’re leaving is that they’ll try and make you stay. Especially if they’ve been drinking. I’ve learned lessons in the past though. I’ve stayed for one or four or seven. And then suddenly I’ve found myself thrown out on the street with the masses trying to find a taxi in the pouring rain, with my fake tan streaking, my false eyelashes half way down my face and cursing the friends who always seem determined to find a chipper or kebab shop that’s still open .
So feeling sensible I slipped outside and into a taxi without telling a soul. I’d had a great night but was thrilled to be leaving. I couldn’t wait to get home, take off my high heels that were, at this stage, trying to blister both my feet, change into a fluffy pair of slippers and make myself a cup of tea. Oh God, doesn’t that make me sound so old?
BYE-BYE BABY CLOTHES
I packed my baby’s new-born clothes in a large plastic sack bag the other day. It was with a tear or two that I completed this difficult task. I mean, it was heart-wrenching folding his miniscule yellow and white striped baby-grow for the very last time knowing that he’d never wear it again. This particular outfit was the only thing that would fit him when he was in his incubator in Holles Street and looked so small and helpless.
It’s hard to believe that he once squeezed into such a teeny garment as he’s now a fine bonny four month old and sometimes a bit of a thug to be honest. Like this morning when he started yelling at 5.00am in the morning I just looked at my watch and thought ‘you can NOT be serious, Mister!’
But he was and he continued yelling until he got his own way and I eventually brought him into my own bed and he fell asleep cuddled into me, happy as Larry.
I know, of course, that all the books say it’s a bad habit to have baby sleeping in your bed, but give me a break, I’m just looking for a peaceful life. To be honest all the books out there can tell you how to raise your child but ultimately you just have to use your own common sense. They say breast is best but it wasn’t at all for me and my son ended up in ICU because he wasn’t able to feed from me. They also say that it’s best not to give solids to babies under 6 months. Well, try telling that to my little guzzler. He’d eat the hand off his arm if I wasn’t feeding him solids.
I know a mother with a baby two weeks older than mine. Her baby is still on bottles only because she is reading a book which tells her exactly what to do. The same woman can never go anywhere because her baby is always crying. I feel sorry for them both.
The thing is that all babies are different, so what works for one baby won’t necessarily work for your own. Don’t have your baby starving just because you’ve read some book telling you not to give solids before four months. Use the brain God gave you. The rules are always changing anyway. Our mothers were told us not to put babies to sleep on their back yet we’re told the complete opposite. So who makes up the rules? In your house you are mistress so remember that. It doesn’t matter what your friends or your mother-in-law or the nosy neighbour down the road thinks. You will instinctively know what’s right for your own baby so take no notice of women who think they are experts because they’ve done it all before. Nobody knows your little one like you do.
THE PERFECT AU-PAIR
My friend Alice has an au-pair and so I looked to her for advice. ‘Make sure your au-pair is not too attractive or your man will be tempted,’ she warned. ‘And don’t go for a very large girl or she’ll eat you out of house and home. A girl on a diet is preferable.’
I didn’t like to point out to Alice that her own husband would be attracted to anything that walked and I felt sorry for any girl who had to share their roof. Seriously. But there’s no chance of my man chasing the hired help because he’s not living with us. It would be just me, baby and the au-pair. I think I’d be a nice employer. I mean I was an au-pair myself in the past and I know how tough it can be, especially if you get a slave driving family who expect you to clean the stairs with a toothbrush. Oh you may laugh but there are families out there who will hugely exploit a foreign girl who is far away from her friends and family. I remember one man in France trying to get me to clean the carpets!
Now the problem with me getting an au-pair is that my four month old son doesn’t speak much English so the girl wouldn’t get to practise on him. On the other hand I’m a qualified languages teacher so I am good at correcting people. Also, I live near town so the au-pair could have a social life and attend English classes. Most girls don’t want to live out in the sticks understandably as there’s nothing for them to do on their day off. I worked for one family in a little village of 400 people on the Austro-Hungarian border, miles and miles from anywhere. It was so boring I found myself attending Mass on a regular basis just for the social aspect of it.
Everybody I talk to has strong opinions on au-pairs from the good to the downright awful. The worst was from one mother who was exasperated by the au-pair staying out until 3.00am every morning and being dropped home each time in a different car. She was convinced the au pair was double jobbing a call girl. I think it’s the luck of the draw really. I mean I don’t care about getting somebody to do my housework as long as they keep their own room tidy. The most important thing is that my little boy is safe and happy. I hope I find him the perfect girl. And I hope my au-pair’s experience in Ireland is a positive time and she won’t have a horror story like the one I have from Vienna. It was my first job, I was sixteen, and when the mother went into hospital to give birth, her sleazy husband was banging on my door in his underpants shouting for a kiss. You couldn’t make it up!
YUMMY MUMMIES
‘Hands up who didn’t get a night’s sleep last night?’ asked TV3’s Sybil Mulcahy. I tried to put my hand up but I couldn’t because I had a bottle in one hand and a baby in the other, so I simply nodded instead. A panel of experts had gathered to launch www.pampersvillage.ie and the place was thronged with yummy mummies. When I saw all the glamour in the one room I was so glad I hadn’t worn my tracksuit which is kind of my standard uniform these days and remembered to put matching socks on the baby.
I’m telling you, the competition for the best dressed baby was fierce and I proudly had my little munchkin all dolled up!
Anyway the morning was thoroughly enjoyable even though my baby wasn’t able to join in the organised games like the older kids. Ah well, I suppose he’s not even four months yet and I don’t want to rush him. When I came home I was telling my mum about it all. ‘You’ll be an expert yourself soon,’ she said. ‘and then you’ll be on a panel too!’
Mum, bless her, means well but she has no idea about my parenting skills. True, I love my baby to bits and try and spend as much time with him as possible but I have a few secrets that would surely exclude me forever being part of a parenting panel. First of all, my child is already an addict. Yes. His addiction is Jeremy Kyle which of course should ring alarm bells. But it’s all very simple really. You see, I watch Ireland AM in bed every morning with baba beside me having his bottle. He usually finishes up his breakfast as Jeremy Kyle is starting his show at 10am. That’s when the baby is getting his wind up, and as it takes ages, the two of us end up watching Jeremy’s guests fighting among themselves. The baby seriously can’t take his eyes off the television and it’s proving to be a great babysitter but now I’m worried that the baby’s first word will be DNA as nearly everyone of Jeremy’s guests seems to want to find out whether they’re parents.
As I write this I’m on my holidays in the South of France. When I told somebody I was going on holidays they said, ‘ah, that’s lovely, just the three of you is it?’
I swallowed uncomfortably. ‘Three? Oh, no, just the one of, eh, me.’
She looked at me like I’d grown horns. How could I abandon my baby like that? How could I even contemplate enjoying myself without my family? The thing is, I did consider taking baba abroad but the thought of packing all his things including the steriliser, car seat, pram and all his clothes would have been enough to bring on a mini nervous breakdown. Maybe next year…
Confessions of a Single (Irish!) Mother Page 16