father is a driver for Tesco and her mum works at a local school signing in the latecomers and listening to parents’ complaints. I told them about my job; I thought they’d look down their noses at me, but they seemed impressed that I fed so many people a day … although I can’t help thinking it would have sounded better if I hadn’t had cheese sauce drying all down my front.
They asked if I had any hope for the sex of the child. That wasn’t the first time someone’d asked me, Boris wanted to know if it was a boy, would I think about naming him Boris, after him. I’d dismissed that instantly and tried to think about other things as every time I thought about the sex, I thought about that conversation with Boris and, seeing as it was between the stalls in the toilet, I’d rather not remember it.
Alison’s dad would like a boy and her mum, a girl. I think it’s universal amongst humans that they want whatever sex they are. My parents were the same when we spoke about it later on the phone.
I suppose I’d like a son, but I wouldn’t want him to be all hyperactive like I used to be before the doctor gave me the pills that calmed me down. I was a right handful. Maybe it’s a trade-off, boys are a nightmare when they’re young, but with girls you get all the worry of their teenage years and that they’re going to end up with someone who can’t carry their own dinner to the table without throwing it all over the place.
Sunday March 25th 2012
Today I cooked us a bit of lamb. Apart from the burnt bits it was nice. Alison wanted to eat early as her restless legs were bad in the late afternoon. Over dinner we talked about the sex of the baby. I’ve predicted a boy and she claims that she knows it’ll be a girl and that I’m completely wrong. I pretended that I was indifferent about my prediction and that it was just a bit of fun, but deep down, I’ll be gutted if I’m not right.
Alison said she can feel the kicks now. I keep rushing over, but the little chap stops when I put my hand there. I’m being blanked out by my own baby – already.
Saturday March 31st 2012
Alison was in the bathroom for hours and hours this afternoon. I couldn’t work out what she was up to. I thought, for a while, that she was upset with me and had gone in there for a cry. After half an hour I went up to check, but was shouted at as soon as I said, ‘Alison?’ so headed back down again. After two hours, Alison came down walking like she had hurt her leg. She wouldn’t say what was up, though. I just carried on and cooked dinner. She clearly didn’t want to talk to me because she completely ignored my questions.
9.30 p.m.
Alison went to bed early tonight. I looked on the Internet and found out that pregnant woman suffer with constipation fairly badly, in some cases. This must have been what was bothering Alison today.
I’m not sure, but I think the fact that I was concerned enough to not only look for whatever problem it could be, but also to order some cream for her, means this is true love, like Romeo and Juliet the scat version.
There’s a little bump poking out the front of Alison now; you can only just see it through her clothes.
Thursday April 5th 2012
Alison is getting a lot of problems with her legs. Boris says when his wife was pregnant that he used to have to massage them for her. I think I’ll wait until I’m asked before I do that task. I was told once that my massages are a bit like being beaten up by a small child or midget.
The kicks are proper boots now. There is no mistaking it. I’ve felt it for myself, so Alison isn’t lying about it. The last three nights the baby has kicked before Alison went to sleep, but I’ve not been there as she’s been in bed early. Tonight was different though, there was a full on kick-off at tea time. It was a special moment to feel the baby inside.
It’s an amazing thing that we humans can grow inside one another. Males can’t, but females have both and men and women grow inside them. I’m not sure how alien warlords procreate, something weird, probably, but how we do it is amazing. All the male needs to do is something he loves doing anyway and the female body, over nine relatively short months, makes a complete baby. I started thinking about this tonight and had to stop. It’s just such a huge event and wonder of nature, I felt overwhelmed.
Saturday April 7th 2012
I’ve found myself feeling Alison’s belly in the night while she sleeps. I am normally much later than her at turning in so she’s asleep when I get there. It feels a little like I’m abusing her, but there’s nothing like that going on, I’m just connecting to my child. The last two nights I’ve put my hand there and I’ve had a little acknowledgement by way of a kick. Last night it woke Alison up. I got scared that it would be my fault so I quickly pretended I was asleep.
Tuesday April 10th 2012
Work was dreadful today. Jane stuck me on dishwasher duty as I was late. Alison was feeling faint when I got up so I couldn’t very well leave her alone. I managed to get some food down her, followed by a couple of pints of water, and she felt much better. I didn’t want to have an argument, but she would have been fine if she’d eaten breakfast.
Jane said she wasn’t prepared to let me have more time off than any of the others. She said this despite me only being twenty minutes late and Boris regularly taking an hour to sit down in the toilet and talk to whoever is unlucky enough to use the cubicle next to him. It’s got silly, lately, too; last time I was in there he started showing me pictures from the car magazine he was reading under the partition wall.
I didn’t say anything to her, but I’m starting to get a little bit annoyed with Jane. I think it’s because I have my own ideas and am not a complete moron, like most people she’s ever managed, that she doesn’t like me. I’ve had managers like that before. They have little qualification other than a name badge that says ‘manager’, they’re completely unpredictable in mood, and they just like telling others what to do. It just depends on the day as to whether it’s done politely or not.
I spent the rest of the day at the dishwasher, ignoring everyone in the kitchen and thinking about what I could make Alison for tea that wouldn’t set her off. I finally decided on salad as it was a hot day. Then, when Jane had gone off for what she called a managers’ meeting (but we all know it’s an appointment at the hairdressers) I plated up a couple of ham salads and put them in my bag. It’s not stealing, as we all do it and everyone is OK with it.
Thursday April 12th 2012
I woke up in the night to the most horrendous noise. I’d been dreaming that I was being chased by a hippo. The noise that woke me up told me that there was either a hippo or a helicopter in the room. Alison has wind and indigestion. Her burps are something I would have been so proud of when I was a teenage boy. Now, however, I wasn’t so much proud as terrified. It took ages to get back to sleep, so I rubbed Alison’s back until she dropped off then got up and stayed up watching the news on the Russian channel. It’s quite interesting; they report all sorts of things I wouldn’t know about from the UK news. This morning there was a report on how many Russians come to the UK then go home again as they don’t think it’s a nice place to live. Their gripe isn’t the weather, like most people, it’s the people. The people interviewed said they think Russians and Britons are incompatible.
That goes some way to explaining Boris.
Saturday April 21st 2012
I asked Alison outright if she was living with me now today. I didn’t mean it to be rude, I’ve gotten used to her being here now, she is still thinking about it apparently.
Little else to report today other than one of the longest waits in the world for a pizza to be delivered. The delivery guy must have known how shoddy he’d been as he didn’t lurk around looking awkward after he’d handed over the boxes, like his sort always do.
Sunday April 22nd 2012
This morning’s wake-up call was Alison blasting Mozart as loud as her phone would let her play it. Apparently babies start to hear around this time. I’m not sure that the first thing I’d want to hear is some boring old classical music. In fact, I definitely wouldn’t. I think I’d h
ave liked the first bit of music I listened to to be something like Bob Marley, Don’t Worry, Be Happy. I should imagine that being a baby is fairly worrying. One day you can’t see, a week later you’ve grown a pair of eyes.
I drifted off to sleep again once I’d got over the initial shock.
Later I rang Mum and asked her if she used to play me music. After umming and ahhing for a bit she asked if The Archers counted. Then she confirmed that she hadn’t, but she was always near a radio anyway. She did say that my dad used to make monkey noises to me while I was still inside. This must explain something, surely.
I told Alison and she laughed. She said that it didn’t matter what the noise was from the father as the baby gets used to the two main voices in its life. She then asked me to start talking to her stomach.
I don’t mind telling you, Diary, I didn’t want to and made the excuse that I needed to go to the toilet, which is an old favourite I have happily been using since the eighties. Alison laughed as I jogged off upstairs. I could hear her calling after me, something about being scared. I wasn’t though, I just felt uncomfortable not being able to see the person I was talking to. I’m not that good on the phone, either. It’s normally just a brief sharing of information
The Diary Of An Expectant Father (The Diary Of A Father Book 1) Page 8