Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1

by Amanda Egan

  #9 The disco started at about 8 and the dance floor was never empty. Meg & George did a brilliant ‘Lambada’ and Nic boasted that he got his dancing skills from them.

  Sure he didn’t learn the pole dancing from his mother though. He spent a lot of the evening getting very familiar with a pillar on the edge of the dance floor and he’d obviously been practising his art.

  His audience loved it and Rick looked on admiringly - all the encouragement he needed for a few repeat performances.

  Evening ended with us all doing the conga - snaking in and out of the room via entrances and exits and then through the gardens and back again. Got some strange looks from the other party as both Nic & Rick had ‘just married’ signs on their backs and empty cans tied to their legs.

  Meg looked flushed and dishevelled and she flopped into a chair giggling, “Don’t suppose there’s any ‘Pink Cock’ left, do you Ned?” Mrs S nodded happily in agreement, chignon askew and sari happily being flapped up and down across her knees.

  Ned nodded his head resignedly, “Oh I’m sure there is ladies. I’m sure there is.”

  Monday 25th August AM

  Still recovering from the wedding - feel like I’ve done a hard day in the gym (although that’s a distant memory). Really should dance more often. Must try it around the house while cleaning or hoovering.

  Quick phone call to Mrs S this morning to check she was still alive and kicking. “Oh, Libbybeta. My head is pounding like bongo drum. It is Babycham only for me from now on. I am very much hoping that Krishna will strike me down if I ever touch another ‘Pink Cock’ again.”

  Might take some explaining to Pritesh. But not a conversation I feel I should be having with him.

  Now that the puppies have gone off to their respective homes we’ve realised we need to book Dog in to get his tubes tied.

  Spent a while over breakfast explaining to Max that Dog would be going to hospital soon as he needed an operation to make sure he didn’t have any more puppies.

  Answered all the expected questions. “Will he be OK?” “Will they take good care of him?” “How long will he be gone for?”

  Wasn’t expecting the biggie though.

  “Did you have a tummy operation and that’s why I don’t have any brothers or sisters?”

  Didn’t really know where to go with that one so just replied, “No Hon, it’s just because some people are only meant to have one very special baby. And you’re ours. But you’re very lucky to have such lovely friends who are a bit like brothers and sisters.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the same is it? I really want one.”

  ‘Stuffed Dog’ was only a temporary fix so I don’t hold out much hope of ‘Feeding/PeeingDolly’ doing the trick!

  Discuss with Ned tonight.

  PM

  Didn’t get round to ‘Max’s sibling expectations’ with Ned, as we were too busy mulling over our finances.

  The new oven arrives tomorrow - four hundred quid.

  Booked Dog in for his girlie op - another hundred and twenty quid.

  Ned looked thoroughly depressed and said once we’ve paid the school fees in September that would be our rainy day fund pretty much gone.

  Reminded him he’s due a bonus around Christmas so we should be OK for the spring and summer fees.

  “Doesn’t give us much of a buffer though, does it Lib?”

  Could see his point but told him there were always ways to balance the books. Like cutting back. (But on what? Wine is my only remaining luxury but then what would I give Fenella to drink? Or myself, for that matter?). A new career for me? (Cake baking and floristry were out). Donating bits of ourselves to medical science? (Check how much Lou could have got for the bits of Cam she was threatening to dispose of).

  We managed a chuckle and agreed that a line on the lottery this weekend was probably a more realistic option.

  Tuesday 26th August AM

  Took Dog & Dot, Splodge & Brown (Fenella’s chosen puppies) for a long walk with Fenella and the kids.

  Had a pub lunch and told Fenella that Dog was booked in for his op tomorrow. Max sidled up to Fenella and asked, “Have you had the tummy operation or will you have more babies?”

  Fenella looked at me with amusement and a definite look of panic as she considered her answer.

  “No gorgeous, I haven’t had an operation but I don’t think I’ll have any more babies.”

  This wasn’t enough for Max.

  “Why not? If your tummy still works, you could.”

  I shot Fenella a ‘sorry’ look but couldn’t think of anything to say that might bail her out.

  “Well you see ….” she continued, “My tummy didn’t quite work properly in the first place so I needed a bit of help from the doctors to help put Todd and Charlotte there.”

  Max quickly cottoned on to this fact and gushed excitedly, “So, we could get a doctor to help put a baby in Mummy’s tummy. I’m gonna talk to Daddy tonight!” And he ran off to play with Todd and Charlotte, his ‘only child status’ solved.

  Fenella looked mortified. “God, Lib, I’m so sorry. I’ve made things worse haven’t I?”

  Told her not to worry and then giggled. “Can’t wait to see how Ned deals with Max’s solution tonight though!”

  PM

  Dog not happy being denied any tid-bits after his dinner - how do you explain to an animal that they’re on ‘nil by mouth’? Dread to think what he’ll be like when he’s not offered his gourmet breakfast in the morning. Must remember to boil him up some special chicken and rice for tomorrow night after his gynaecological ordeal.

  Ned put Max to bed and read him a story while I finished preparing dinner.

  When we finally sat down to eat, (Ned’s such a soft touch -“Just one more page Daddy.”), Ned tucked into his ‘Fishy Pasta Passion’ (MG, of course) with a slightly bemused look.

  We then went on to have the most bizarre conversation, which we’ll remind Max of when he’s a teenager.

  Ned started it off with:

  “So … Maxie boy tells me we’re off to the docs to stick a baby in your belly? Do I need to get involved at all with this?”

  “Oh God, Ned. How did you deal with it?”

  (Silently prayed that the birds and the bees conversation hadn’t taken place. (a) Max has only just turned five. (b) Ned is Ned! (c) The dead chicken!)

  “Well, after he’d insisted that Fenella had done it twice so it must be very easy, I told him that it wasn’t actually that easy and cost a lot of money. Think I ended it with, ‘Sorry mate. We don’t have enough pennies in the bank’.”

  “So did he accept that?”

  “Nope. Said he’s going to save all his pocket money from now on so that he can eventually pay for a brother or sister himself.”

  “Oh. Looks like I’ll be pregnant again when I’m about ninety then?”

  “Yep. And he’s also going to talk to the vet about it tomorrow. Thinks he might get more information from a professional.”

  Great, my inability to conceive is now going to sorted out by a bit of animal husbandry! Hope the vet’s a woman and can see the funny side.

  Wednesday 27th August

  Dog’s Op Day

  Dog looked like a condemned man as we herded him into the car with a grumbling tum.

  Arrived at the surgery in plenty of time and sat down to wait with a couple of other patients and their owners.

  Max wanted to know if the lady opposite had a rat in her huge handbag (Gucci) and then I realised it was ‘Gestapo Mummy’ from the coffee morning, with a Chihuahua (not rat) in designer diamanté collar (Piers would have loved it!) and a leopard skin T-shirt.

  “Oh hello. Libby, isn’t it?” She effused falsely.

  Felt like answering, “Yes, Gestapo, isn’t it?” I couldn’t actually recall her real name and had no desire to.

  She then looked down at Dog with an expression that made we wonder if perhaps we’d trailed some poo in on our shoes. He’s obviously not in the designer do
g league but we love him and I didn’t acquire him because he goes with my handbag.

  “What a peculiar looking animal. I don’t think I know that breed.” She smirked.

  “No, you wouldn’t because he’s a very special breed,” Max smiled. “You wouldn’t even be able to pernounce the name so we won’t bother telling you. What’s your little rat called?”

  How does he do that? And with such ease? I really need to start taking some lessons from him.

  Left her looking thoroughly confused as we were called into the surgery and Max added, “Have to go now. We need to find out how to get a baby in Mummy’s tummy.”

  Wonder how that one will get filtered back through the Manor House grapevine?

  Thursday 28th August AM

  Think Yvette (can you believe a vet could actually have a name like that?) dealt very well with Max’s questions yesterday. She didn’t laugh once, although she was clearly borderline.

  She explained that she didn’t really know that much about how doctors did all the baby stuff but she did know that it cost a lot of money - far more than a boy’s pocket money - and she’d heard it could be a bit upsetting for the mummy.

  Thank you Yvette, Max is now off the IVF route because, “I won’t have my Mummy upset.”

  Think he was especially pleased when she said that Dog was her best patient as some of them growled or bit her.

  “Yeah”, he agreed, “I’d be careful with the rat in the waiting room cos I think it’s got really pointy little teeth.”

  Is there no stopping him?

  Anyway, Dog returned safely last night - a bit groggy, minus one side of fur and sporting a ‘lampshade’ to stop him biting his stitches - but the deed is done and the ‘puppies/babies’ issues dealt with.

  PM

  Max has now remembered that one of the boys at Tiny Terrors was adopted.

  “What does that mean?” He enquired innocently.

  Ned shot me a ‘not again’ look but didn’t tackle the question.

  I told Max it was time for bed and we’d talk about it tomorrow.

  Procrastination - a mother’s best weapon.

  Friday 29th August

  Ned off work today to look after Max and prepare for my party while I go on a shopping trip. Left it a bit late to find the ‘miracle dress’ but I live in hope.

  Fenella would have come with me but she’s bogged down preparing the food for tomorrow. Secretly pleased - not happy for her to see me in my greying knickers and saggy bra. She’d probably go all ‘Trinny and Susannah’ on me and start going on about my ‘droopy arse’ or ‘out-of-control-hooters’. I’d rather be ‘Gokked’ any day and at least come out with a modicum of dignity.

  Thankfully Mum had sent me a rather welcome cheque for my birthday, with a note saying ‘Use some of this to buy yourself some decent undies. I was appalled by the contents of your drawers’. Sure there was no pun intended.

  Spent a fruitless morning trailing around the shops in town. Had pre-conceived idea that I wanted something black, full-length, bias cut, strappy and low cut (accentuating the good bits and covering the bad).

  Stopped off for a coffee and to re-evaluate my requirements. Realised I needed to widen the net a bit and try other colours and styles. Maybe black was too heavy for summer anyway, and I’d got a pretty good tan from all the trips to the park, so a softer colour could work.

  Fenella rang on the mobile to see how I was faring.

  “Now, Sweedie. Forgot to tell you, I saw a perfect dress for you in either Monsoon or Phase 8 - can’t quite remember which. Copper embossed silk - gorgeous with your hair - full length, bias cut and very low at the front. Fab with your tits. Now off you go to try it on and, if you buy it, get a decent bra to show off your rack to its best advantage. Ciao!”

  Knew she’d find some way of doing a makeover on me - ‘What Not to Wear’ could have some serious competition.

  And boy does she know her stuff! The dress did wonders and seemed to take a few years and kilos off me. That woman is wasted. (Often!)

  Found great bronze sandals and ‘Grecian Goddess’ style jewellery to go with it and headed off to get the knockers sorted out. Didn’t want to incur Fenella’s wrath tomorrow night for letting the side down. (‘Slide down’, more like!)

  The contraption I ended up with couldn’t be described as the most attractive of undergarments but, like the magic knickers (which I also bought), it did exactly what it claimed. Don’t think they’d ever use me as an ambassador though because I’d describe it as ‘rounding ‘em up and herding ‘em in’. Guess when you hit the big four-oh, it’s all about smoke and mirrors and I’m not too proud to turn down any helping hand (or gusset or under-wire) which might help.

  Last stop was for some anti-ageing make up. Normally I’d make do with a bit of the usual slap but, as I still had a reasonable amount of Mum’s money left, decided as a ‘mature woman’ I’d go the whole hog.

  Totally bamboozled by ‘penta-peptides’, ‘light deflecting particles’ and ‘aha’s?’ Shit, in my day that was a band, not something I’d slap on my spots.

  Settled on the first reasonably priced tube of gunk that looked vaguely the right colour for my skin tone, from an assistant wearing a full tube of something which clearly wasn’t the right tone for her - unless she was an orange, of course.

  Trundled home feeling like a bit of posh totty clutching the carriers containing the goods that would, hopefully, turn back the years.

  Shame the experience had left me feeling a lot older than my years. Hoped the ‘Miracle Elixir’ I’d got as a freebie from ‘the orange’ would do the trick.

  Saturday 30th August AM

  My 40th birthday & party

  Was woken obscenely early this morning by a very excited Max. Could hear Ned clattering around downstairs preparing something.

  Turned slowly in my bed, checking my limbs and muscles. Silly, I know, but I just wanted to see if anything felt different now I was old. Everything seemed in order, so I assumed it would all show in the face when I looked in the mirror later.

  Ned appeared with a lovely breakfast tray, complemented with a rose and Bucks Fizz - all very civilised.

  Max was eager for me to open his present first because he’d made it himself and was feeling rather proud of himself - a beautiful photo of Dog & Dot, framed with painted pasta shapes.

  Gave him huge kisses and hugs and said it was the best present ever.

  “Won’t bother giving you mine then,” Ned teased.

  Hadn’t really been expecting anything as I know the party was already costing a fair amount, mates rates and all.

  Was amazed to unwrap a fake but gorgeous Prada handbag similar to one he’d seen me drooling over in one of Fenella’s glossies. He’d picked it up on eBay, obviously at a fraction of the price.

  Ned looked very pleased with himself, “Every Yummy-Mummy should have one - only sorry it isn’t big enough for Dog to fit in.”

  The three of us had a huge laugh about that because Dog is rather on the large side and the idea of him ever being an accessory was just ludicrous.

  Had a lovely card from Lou and Cam with a lottery ticket for tonight and a note saying, ‘Remember if you win, half of it’s ours!’ Bloody Scots!

  Mrs S had put together a lovely selection of pickles and chutneys in a woven Indian basket - they look amazingly professional and her labels, done in the style of a hennaed hand, really set them off. Pritesh had also sent some exquisite hand made chocolates which Ned tested and then (over dramatically) spat back in the box.

  After a very leisurely breakfast was told to get dressed as Ned had booked me a hair appointment for 10 - monsieur is really spoiling me! I could just about get used to this forty business if the treats continue.

  Afternoon

  Got back from the hairdressers feeling rather sleek and groomed - my usually wayward hair had been tamed into gloriously shiny and bouncy curls, clipped on one side with a little gold clasp.

  Mum was do
ing a fantastic job of putting the finishing touches to the marquee - not a balloon or paper chain in sight. Ned must have given her strict instructions.

  “Oh, Libby, you look gorgeous,” she said. “Not your usual wild self at all. Come here and let me kiss you. Happy birthday, my love. You don’t look a day over forty.” She tittered.