The Bad Mother's Detox

by Suzy K Quinn

  Truth be told, I’m terrified of ever giving birth again. Those giant barbeque tongs haunt my dreams.

  Laura and Zach have decided on a homebirth.

  Knowing Laura, it will be perfect and spiritual and pain free.

  But probably not.

  Still – I can’t tell Laura the potentially awful truth. It goes against everything she’s learning in her hypno-birthing classes.

  Laura’s perfect pregnancy is ongoing. No throwing up, no tiredness.

  How did she sidestep all the bad stuff?

  When I was pregnant with Daisy, I went to bed at 7pm every night.

  And my morning sickness lasted months.

  The midwife always said:

  ‘Eat some dry crackers first thing in the morning.’

  It never worked. And even now, Jacob’s Cream Crackers turn my stomach.

  Wednesday 11th October

  The Ikea kitchen arrived at 7am.

  Althea and I tried to install it, while Mum looked after Wolfgang and Daisy. Mum is one of the few adults who actually likes Wolfgang, calling him a ‘tough little sod’.

  The kitchen definitely was NOT like hanging cupboards.

  Within an hour, Althea and I were both in tears. And Althea never cries.

  ‘I can’t do all this measuring shit,’ Althea moaned. ‘I’m too much of a free thinker. And where can all these fucking screws go?’

  At midday, Dad came over with ham sandwiches and crisps.

  He found Althea and I clutching each other and sobbing.

  ‘What’s all this then?’ Dad asked, setting down his tartan flask and picking up the kitchen plans. ‘It looks dead simple to me.’

  The word ‘simple’ set Althea off again, and she began to wail loudly.

  ‘Let’s have some lunch and I’ll take a look at it,’ said Dad.

  After sandwiches, Dad fetched his tool belt, three tape measures, tinted eye protectors and a hardhat.

  ‘Who will run the pub?’ I asked.

  ‘John Boy can manage,’ said Dad. ‘My little girl needs me.’

  He sorted screws into twenty different piles and made neat little pencil marks all over the kitchen.

  By teatime, Dad had fitted the lower cupboards and half the countertop.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow to fit the rest,’ he assured us, tucking his pencil behind his ear. ‘They’re right about Ikea kitchens, aren’t they? They’re a doddle.’

  Thursday 12th October

  Dad fitted the rest of the kitchen today, so I took his shift in the pub, while Mum looked after Daisy.

  It’s a different world, dealing with daytime drinkers.

  Amazing how intellectual some of the regulars are, before they reach the drunkenness of early evening.

  Yorkie made some excellent observations about electoral reform and the refugee crisis.

  Am so excited to have a kitchen.

  Have ordered more Kilner jars and multi-coloured pasta, ready for the grand finale.

  Court hearing in six weeks.

  I think I can do this, you know. I think I can get the house ready in time.

  The only problem is not having enough money left to fit a bathroom.

  My current solution is simply not to let Johnny Jiggens upstairs when he visits for his pre-court living assessment.

  Friday 13th October

  I have a kitchen! And on a supposedly unlucky day of the year, which just goes to show how stupid superstition is.

  Dad has done an amazing job – the kitchen looks just like the Ikea website.

  He’s even managed to get the cupboards straight against the wonky west wall.

  Have spent the morning twirling around the lovely, rot-free kitchen cupboards with Daisy in my arms.

  I am SO grateful it is ridiculous.

  It’s like Mum says about Mr Lao’s Chinese.

  You only know stuff is good because you’ve had it bad.

  Saturday 14th October

  Laura’s in labour!

  It’s definitely real labour, because she’s stopped saying please and thank you.

  Mum and I are going up to London in a minute, and Dad will stay with Daisy.

  I’ll drive, because Mum can’t be trusted in an emergency. She’s erratic at the best of times – often treating traffic lights and zebra crossings as suggestions.

  Have phoned Alex to tell him the news.

  It seemed like the right thing to do, even though we haven’t spoken for a while.

  We had a formal sort of phone call, during which Alex told me he couldn’t come to Zach’s house, because women often take their clothes off during labour.

  ‘Zachary will message when my nephew arrives,’ said Alex.

  ‘How do you know it’s a boy?’ I asked.

  ‘Tradition,’ said Alex. ‘In our family, we always have boys first. When Zach is ready and the dust has settled, he’ll book me in for a visit.’

  Typical Daltons.

  So bloody formal.

  I’m well rid of all that.

  It may work for Laura, but not for me.

  Sunday 15th October

  Still at hospital, waiting for Laura to give birth.

  Pity Laura’s homebirth plans fell through, but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.

  When we arrived in Bloomsbury yesterday, Laura had turned Zach’s wooden-floored living room into a magical birthing cave.

  There was an aroma lamp blowing out clouds of lavender steam, and twinkling candles on every surface.

  Laura’s contractions had slowed down when we arrived, so everything felt very calm.

  We were welcomed, between contractions. Laura even offered us herbal tea.

  Zach looked at her fondly and said, ‘I’ll make the tea, darling. You’re doing all the hard work.’

  Mum pulled out a Bell’s whisky bottle and said, ‘Anyone fancy a splash of this?’

  I gave Mum a long lecture about pregnancy and alcohol.

  ‘What about Bailey’s then?’ said Mum, rummaging in her shopping bag.

  ‘Laura can’t have any alcohol,’ I said. ‘She’s pregnant.’

  ‘You’re all being so bloody precious,’ Mum argued. ‘I’m telling you. We’ll be glad of this when things kick off.’

  ‘Kick off?’ said Laura, looking confused. ‘But things have already kicked off.’

  Mum and I exchanged glances.

  ‘It’s going to get worse, love,’ said Mum, matter-of-factly. ‘This is just the start. Pace yourself. You could still be going tomorrow. Or even the day after, if you’re really unlucky.’

  I realised that my niece or nephew could be born on my birthday.

  How exciting!

  ‘The baby will be here today,’ Laura insisted. ‘Things are really full on. You probably don’t realise, because I’m doing hypno-birthing exercises.’

  Mum and I exchanged more glances.

  ‘Maybe we should get the birthing pool ready,’ Zach suggested.

  An hour later, he was still blowing air into the giant, inflatable pool.

  ‘Darling,’ said Laura. ‘Is it nearly ready? I’m getting quite uncomfortable.’

  Zach said, ‘Apologies. I should have thought about a pump.’

  ‘Why didn’t you think to blow it up earlier?’ Laura snapped. ‘It’s taking blimmin hours.’

  Mum and I both gasped in shock.

  Laura nearly swearing.

  ‘Give it here, let me have a try,’ said Mum, grabbing the valve. She huffed and puffed and delivered great lungfuls of air, but after another half-hour, the birthing pool still looked like a sad, week-old party balloon.

  I had a go, but did little better.

  ‘I think it’s getting bigger,’ said Zach.

  ‘Just fill it with water!’ Laura shouted.

  ‘That could take rather a while too,’ Zach admitted.

  ‘How long?’ asked Laura, through gritted teeth.

  Zach scanned the birthing pool instructions and said, ‘Half an hour. Or more.’
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  ‘It HURTS,’ Laura sobbed, rocking back and forth on her birthing ball. ‘It really, really HURTS. PLEASE. Just get me some warm water to sit in.’

  Zach ran a hose from the sink, and a tiny stream of water began trickling into the pool.

  Laura threw off her clothes.

  ‘Darling,’ said Zach. ‘It’s not full yet.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Laura, kneeling in the ankle-deep water. ‘More water. MORE WATER.’

  Zach ran back and forth with kettle loads of boiling water.

  He had to forgo a partial kettle load though, because Mum had made herself a cup of tea.

  For the next two hours, we watched a naked Laura in the pool, moaning and wailing, while we added more water.

  ‘Would you like a Jaffa Cake, love?’ Mum suggested. ‘They’re from Aldi, but they taste just like the real ones.’

  With screwed-shut eyes, Laura shook her head.

  ‘Anyone else?’ asked Mum, offering the packet.

  Suddenly, there was an ominous groaning, creaking sound.

  Mum leapt towards Laura, clutching faux Jaffa Cakes to her chest. ‘The bloody pool is sinking,’ she shouted. ‘Look.’

  She was right.

  A big, soft dip had appeared in the pool, behind a moaning, wailing Laura.

  Mum hauled Laura out of the water, but the dip was still growing and widening.

  By the time we got Laura to the sofa, the whole birthing pool had sagged right into the floor. Then, with a slow and determined creak, it crashed down into the solicitor’s office below.

  Three suited, soaking-wet solicitors stared up at us, one mid-bite of a now-soggy caramel shortbread slice.

  There was an outraged cry about original land registry documents and a recently restored ceiling rose.

  Then one solicitor pointed right at me and said, ‘It’s her, Jonathan. The woman who stole my antique dresser!’

  I gave an awkward wave.

  ‘Would anyone like some whisky?’ Mum bellowed. ‘Or I’ve got Bailey’s if you’re driving home?’

  Monday 16th October

  Poor Laura.

  I’d forgotten labour could be so long.

  We’re STILL in the hospital, with Laura dozing fitfully on Zach’s shoulder.

  Laura was in too much pain to dress at Zach’s house, so we had to wrap her in towels and carry her down to the ambulance.

  The solicitors glared at us through their office window.

  ‘What are you bloody looking at?’ Mum snapped, as we carried a semi-naked Laura down the townhouse steps. ‘Pull a mop and bucket out and get on with it. And what do you expect if you leave a dresser out on the street?’

  By the time we got to hospital, Laura was so far dilated she couldn’t walk.

  Zach and an especially strong hospital orderly had to carry her up to the maternity ward.

  Our family has now consumed a bottle and a half of Bell’s whisky, a bottle of Bailey’s, a triple pack of Aldi-own Jaffa Cakes, several foot-long Italian Subway Sandwiches, three packets of Kettle chips and a large Indian takeaway with papadums and naan.

  The midwife told us off for having takeaway food delivered to the labour ward, but turned a blind eye when Mum gave her a shot of Bailey’s in a specimen cup.

  Praying the baby will be here soon.

  Poor Laura.

  Tuesday 17th October

  Just realised it’s my birthday tomorrow.

  Laura STILL in labour.

  Managed a brief trip home to see Daisy, but was soon back at the hospital because the midwives told Mum the baby would arrive any minute.

  By the time I returned, Laura was accusing the midwives of lying and selling false promises. Then she screeched about never, ever wanting another baby.

  ‘I hate seeing her suffer,’ said Zach, taking a fretful sip of whisky. ‘But I’d rather hoped we’d have three children.’

  ‘Oh she won’t remember any of this,’ Mum reassured him. ‘Juliette was moaning like a cow and asking for Crunchy Nut Cornflakes at 10cm dilated. And you don’t remember a thing, do you love?’

  I nodded in agreement.

  Wednesday 18th October

  1am

  Have just realised it’s my birthday RIGHT NOW.

  Seems a bit inappropriate to get everyone singing Happy Birthday, so will just write it down.

  Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me …

  Afternoon

  Very weird birthday so far, spent in the labour ward by my screaming sister.

  Poor Laura!

  Brandi turned up at lunchtime with supplies from the pub (whisky and vodka), wanting to know why Laura couldn’t have an epidural.

  ‘It wasn’t part of our birthing plan,’ Zach admitted. ‘And now it’s too late. We didn’t know. We didn’t know.’

  Laura moaned and swore about ‘bloody hypno-birthing’.

  Then a new midwife came on shift.

  Laura screeched, ‘Give me an epidural! That other bitch said no. You have to help me!’

  ‘Oh, it’s far too late for that,’ said the new midwife. ‘Baby will be along in a minute. I can get you a couple of aspirin if you like.’

  A cacophony of swearing followed.

  ‘I think she needs something stronger,’ I said. ‘She’s been in labour for days.’

  ‘I’ve seen labours last two weeks before,’ said the midwife. ‘The human body is designed to suffer. She’ll be just fine.’

  I suppose midwives have to be a bit oblivious to pain, or they wouldn’t be able to do their job. Mind you, I can also see why some people call them ‘madwives’.

  ‘Laura, love,’ Mum whispered. ‘Do you want some more whisky?’

  Evening

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

  I have another nephew. A beautiful, scrunchy-faced blond nephew.

  And we share the same birthday.

  What a day. And night. And then another day and night. And a day.

  Am exhausted, but happy.

  Laura is even more exhausted and even happier.

  She’s calling the baby ‘Bear’ after Bear Grylls – a surprisingly unusual name for her, but she’s spent days without proper sleep.

  Zach likes the name, saying the baby must be very strong and determined to give Laura such a hard labour.

  Nice he’s looking at things that way. Other people might think of their child as cursed or a bringer of disaster.

  Phoned Alex again.

  He asked me if I’d been home yet.

  ‘Only briefly,’ I said. ‘Laura wanted me with her. She’s been in labour for days.’

  ‘There’s a birthday present waiting for you,’ he said.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I said. ‘We’re not even together.’

  ‘We’re still friends aren’t we, Juliette? That hasn’t changed.’

  Agreed with that. We are still friends.

  Alex seemed happy about his nephew, but was critical of Zach and Laura’s ‘outlandish’ name choice, saying it would ‘severely affect the boy’s career options’.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said. ‘It’s just a name.’

  ‘How many high court judges do you know called Bear?’ Alex replied.

  Late Evening

  Got home to find Alex’s present – an antler coat stand.

  It was made of resin, which was a relief. He hadn’t shot any deer.

  Good choice of gift, I think. Not romantic. But thoughtful. The sort of thing a friend might buy another friend.

  Thanked Alex for the present, and let myself miss him for a moment. Then I put a billion photos of baby Bear on Facebook.

  Couldn’t be prouder.

  Daisy was still awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wanting stories of baby Bear and the hospital.

  She’d had a good time with Dad, helping to squirt Mr Sheen and sort nuts and bolts into containers.

  I think she was glad to see me home again, even though I was exhausted.

  Told Daisy tha
t a magical prince had been born, then fell asleep on the sofa.

  Woke up to hear Daisy and Callum giggling like maniacs.

  They’d scribbled permanent marker on my eyebrows and written ‘stinky’ on my cheek.

  Dad said, ‘You’ll want to get that off before your pub shift, love.’

  ARRRRRG!

  Thursday 19th October

  The permanent marker still won’t come off.

  I can’t work in the pub like this.

  I look like an evil vampire princess. A stinky one.

  Friday 20th October

  The pub regulars all teased me about the permanent marker last night.

  Felt annoyed about their insensitivity and said so.

  Have managed to remove most of the word ‘stinky’ from my cheek, but my eyebrows are still black and pointed. To scrub at them too persistently would mean losing eyebrow hair, so it’s a tough call.

  Evil vampire princess or sickly heroin user?

  Saturday 21st October

  Promised Laura I’d see baby Bear today, so Mum offered to take Daisy to Nick’s for visitation.

  Mum said there were packed suitcases in Nick’s hall, because Sadie is threatening to move out again.

  Typical Nick and Sadie drama.

  ‘How was Nick?’ I asked Mum. ‘Is he nervous about court?’

  ‘He just went on and on about wanting you back, love,’ Mum told me. ‘I was so bored in the end, I had to bash open the Terry’s chocolate orange I’d bought for the Halloween raffle.’

  When I shouted at her about diabetes, Mum looked hurt and said, ‘I only had eight segments, Julesy. That’s progress, don’t you think?’

  Sunday 22nd October

  Have decided Daisy and I should move into Hillcrest House.

  The property still looks like a concrete squat and has no bathing facilities, but I’ll get lots more done if I’m actually living there.

  Time is running out.

  There’s no way Johnny Jiggens will assess it as a ‘nice family home’ right now, and there’s no budget to pay decorators. I need to be onsite all the time, doing whatever I can.