by Poppy Dolan
Life feels a bit less like a Bourne movie now – no looking over my shoulder as I leave the house, no worrying my phone has been tapped. I think because I’ve been so quiet and not posted on social media or the blog, the press have got a bit bored and moved on to the next ‘scandal’: Mitzy, the back-flipping feline who won Britain’s Got Talent last year, has been exposed as three separate cats, two of which have their white patches turned Midnight Noir with the help of Just For Men every week. The animal rights organisations are angry, the sponsors are angry, and – worst of all, in the nation’s hearts – Ant and Dec are angry. I feel momentarily sorry for the trainer whose doorstep is now getting as crowded as mine temporarily was, but then I remember he puts hair dye on animals and he can have all that bashing if it teaches him not to do it again.
Cherry and I have done our usual supermarket shop without being accosted – just maybe a few whispers down the refrigerator aisle. I even braved the library sing-along session again with Nelle and Will in tow as my ‘heavies’. I managed to come away with the child I arrived with and the little demon librarian even gave me a sympathetic nod as he replenished True Crime.
Life has levelled out in lots of little ways, but of course there’s a big, gaping Ted-shaped hole smack bang in the middle of everything. And every time I notice his absence around the house I’m reminded of how badly I screwed things up between us. I’ve been showing Cherry pictures of him, pictures of us as a couple and of us as a family. Mostly to remind her that he’s her dad and he loves her, but also to remind myself why I’m about to do the crazy thing that I’m about to do. The kind of thing that six weeks ago would have reduced me to a wobbling wreck in a bathroom stall. But it must be done. And I can do it. I can.
It’s 3.50pm and I’m due to kick off at 4pm. I’ve managed to fashion myself an elevated stand for my iPad at the kitchen table out of hardback books and cereal packets. This way I can see myself back in the screen at the right level without bending down awkwardly or getting any unfortunate chin angles. Let’s just say Cherry doesn’t get her multiple chin layers from her father. She’s in the bouncing chair at my feet, with the forbidden remote control to drool over for entertainment, and if she gets fussy I can jiggle her with my foot. I’m not sure this is how the legion of mummy vloggers do it – it’s doubtful, and it’s very much proof why I didn’t gravitate towards YouTube as my blogging method of choice. Too much tidying up of the background shot, too much angling of lamps so you get some form of lighting that doesn’t make you look like the re-animated corpse of a toad. With the only image associated with me out in the world looking like an EastEnders extra from a heroin den scene, I’m happy to put a bit of effort in today to cancel that out – but I won’t be a vlogger any time soon. OK, I’ve got some primer and foundation on (the lid of the foundation was caked shut from old age, but I soldiered on), a swipe of eyeliner and some lip balm. I feel like I’m as scrubbed up as it’s possible to be. My face is quite literally ready to meet the world. More specifically, the Gin and Sippy Cups Facebook page.
Sarah helped me polish an email approach to my fellow blogger while we finished off the last of the M&S nibbles – an exclusive Facebook Live moment with First-Time Mum, the only interview she’s willing to give: she’s throwing it open to the parenting public to ask her whatever they want about that blog post, about her real life, about getting sick stains out of a car seat.
Bloody luckily for me, she said yes.
So I’m syncing up with her at 4pm. The beans are ready to be spilled. The loose ends will be snipped. First-Time Mum will pop her video cherry. Maybe there’s just enough time to pour a glass of wine to keep out of shot, just in case it gets bad…
The screen flashes into life just as a text pops up on my phone, from Stephanie, the real name of the blogger who’s given me so much great support. I mean, she really broke me out. So if Ted is angry with anyone, maybe I should quietly share her number with him…
Steph: Looks like we’re good to go – if you’re ready.
Stevie: As I’ll ever be! X
As the seconds tick down to 3.57, I slug back some wine, clear my throat and fiddle with my hair one last time. Tell your story, Stevie. Tell it your way.
‘Hey, guys! Yes, it’s me, First-Time Mum, not all that long ago outed as Stevie, really average mum from High Wycombe. Average but capable of causing some serious chaos, it seems. So my lovely friend at Gin and Sippy Cups has let me jump onto her Facebook account today to talk to you, clear some stuff up and then let you send in your questions, which should appear down here.’ I point down towards the table top, and already on my screen I can see some comments appear:
OMG, is that really you?!?!
Love those cabinet doors, are they IKEA?
I try to keep the cracks out of my voice and rally on. ‘Ha, oooh, I feel like a Going Live presenter. Anyway, I’ve got a bit of a thing to say first, if that’s OK. I figured if I could say it with the mighty reach of Sippy Cups I’d definitely reach all the switched-on parents of the UK. Because, to be honest, I’ve been freaking out as to what you guys think of me.’ I shuffle the handwritten notes on the table a little.
‘OK. This last week I’ve been accused of lots of things – being ungrateful, being lazy, being a hypocrite. You might think those things, you might have made up your mind about me and that’s that.’ I shrug. ‘But I hope – if you’ve started a family of your own already, especially – that you can appreciate things are never so black and white. Parenting is all about shades of grey.’
I can hear my pulse thumping in my ears. ‘I am grateful every day that I have a beautiful baby, a family, a roof over my head, food in my cupboards. Each of these things is a sign of the universe being crazily kind to me. I never once meant to insinuate these things were burdens, or encourage anyone to throw them off and be pig-headedly selfish. What I meant to say was that you can have all this, all these wonderful luxuries in life, and it can still feel hard. And just because something is hard, that doesn’t mean you are weak.’ My voice catches on the last word and I briefly lean out of shot to take a drink. ‘Pretend you didn’t see that,’ I mutter.
Ha ha, it’s wine o’clock round our way too!
Explains why she’s such a state, glug glug glug…
‘If you read any of my posts, you’ll know that I did find it hard, in a million small ways that somehow wore me down from the confident woman I’d been to the shell of a mum I felt like. Maybe I had hidden strengths I wasn’t seeing, maybe you guys have always felt strong as parents, but I didn’t feel strong. At all. I felt scared to talk to people – and I used to be a PR! I felt lonely, even though I had a husband living right here with me. I felt like such a terrible mum because I have a baby that rarely stops crying long enough for me to butter a piece of toast, even though all babies cry, in different ways. I felt like I was falling behind as a mum, in a way I never had in my adult life. Before, I could set myself a goal and follow it through. In motherhood, I could hardly follow through on one load of washing, let alone match up to the cosy Insta images of perfectly neat babies and glowing mothers. I felt like I was failing, lagging behind.’
We’ve all been there, FTM. Chin up, love.
Behind you?!
‘I felt like a let-down as a mum. Was my baby so sad, so sicky, because I was just intrinsically crap at motherhood? And if I admitted that I was so sad, so bored, so lost, would that mark me out as a heartless old moaner? It’s not exactly a great conversation starter at a playgroup, is it? “Hey, I think parenthood has drained my life force, how about you?” Or, worse, to your partner: “Yeah, thanks for bringing home all the bacon and that, but let me just recite to you the top ten things I hate about newborn nappy changes: the peanut-poo smell, when it gets under your nails, when it somehow gets on the skirting board…’
I rub my hand over my temples. ‘I have been a pretty rubbish person to live with. I don’t think I could have helped most of it, the way I was feeling, and not sleeping a full night’
s sleep will make even a saint lose their shit over an unloaded dishwasher. But I shouldn’t have said the things I needed to say to a blog, when I couldn’t even say them to my husband first. Yup, guys, that is the sad truth of First-Time Mum. In all her righteous ranting, she couldn’t just look over the rim of her Special K bowl and say “I’m struggling. I feel like crap. Help me.”’
My throat is crying out for more vino, as is my courage. The comments rolling at the bottom of my screen are whizzing through at a bonkers speed; I can hardly read them before they are replaced with the next. My phone buzzes on the table.
Steph: Did you set this up?
What’s she on about? Of course we set this up. She knows that! Maybe she thinks what I’m saying is too rehearsed, but I needed to have some notes or I would have blurted tears and snot all over the place and never got to the core of what I really wanted to say.
‘I owed my other half so much more than complaining about him behind his back. He’s a great dad, he loves us both so much. Now that I’ve had time to think things through at a distance, he’s only giving it his best First-Time Dad shot, just as I’m bungling my way through being a First-Time Mum. I can’t expect him to read my mind. I need to tell him what’s going on with me.
‘He works really hard for our family. In fact, he’s away working now. He definitely didn’t need to be dragged into a public shaming. And, for the record, in case you are still in any doubt: I don’t think single parents have it “easier”; I would never advise anyone on their relationship status until I actually knew them really, really well. And then possibly only after four gins.
‘The only truth is: no one has it easy. Single, married, straight, gay, rich, poor, one kid or twelve. If it feels hard to you, it’s not because you are weak. It’s because it’s bloody hard! I might get that put on book bags, you know, because we’d have a lot more fun as parents if we remembered it and didn’t beat ourselves up so much. No one has a manual for being a parent. No one has the right to look down their nose at anyone else’s family style or setup. We just need to stick together and get our heads down. And firstly that starts with the people you love most.’
He’s right there for you, girl!
Um, HELLOOOOOOO, FTM? LOL you are clueless!
‘So, I don’t know what the future of the blog will be right now. I might be coming back, I might not. A lot of that will come down to what’s best for my family, and that’s a group decision. But the one thing I will stick with is a brilliant thing called ParentFest, which is taking place not far from me, at the end of the summer. It’s a festival but for us. Where kids come second, and there is a gastro grub, places to sit, craft beers to knock back. Oh, yes! The link is, again, somewhere down here.’ I waggle my fingers below my bust line, hoping that I’m hitting roughly the right area. ‘That looked a bit rude, didn’t it? Good job, too, to balance out that whole Oprah spiel. Just wish me luck with saying it all again to my husband, yeah?
‘Right then, who’s got a question that isn’t about the best nipple creams because I never cracked that and you don’t want to know what mine look like these days. Do you remember the ads with those singing Californian raisins? Well…’
‘I have a question.’
My mouth freezes in the perfect position to catch bluebottles and I whip around. ‘Ted?’
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, briefcase in hand, crumpled-up coat over one arm. His face is blank except for his slightly narrowed eyes. ‘Are you talking to someone real there?’
I feel my throat ping red with heat. ‘Um, it’s a Facebook Live thingy but…’ I look back at the screen and the twirling carousel of comments. If there was ever a moment to sum up the crossroads I was at, this is it. My audience or my husband. ‘Sorry, guys, I’ll have to pick this up another time. Husband’s home!’ I hope the whites of my eyes will tell them just how excited/petrified I am right now.
Don’t cut us off now!!!!!
First-Time Dad is hot. FILTF.
Seriously, girl, you’d better let us know what happens… in due course. ;)
The screen goes dark and it’s just the three of us, as it should be. Cherry has barely made a gurgle through my whole speech, saliva dripping off the Sky remote and onto her purple onesie. And now she smiles up at us both, her legs turning circles in the air at the sight of Mum and Dad back in the same time zone.
‘How long have you been listening?’ I swallow the lump in my throat. The wine is sadly all gone.
Ted looks down at his shoes for a beat. ‘Not long enough, Steve. But I came in somewhere around you being desperately lonely, even with a husband right next to you.’
‘That sounds bad out of context. It’s not that I’m not happy with you, it’s just—’
Ted lets his bag drop to the floor with a gentle thud and throws his coat on top. For the first time this stirs up no irritation in me whatsoever. In a weird way, I have missed his little baggage hurdles. He reaches his long frame down and picks up Cherry. She makes an instant grab for his ears.
‘Nothing beats that slightly off-milk mixed with custard smell, right?’ His eyes light up as he takes her in. ‘My girl.’
I feel a hollow coldness in my heart. I have thrown so much away. I have hurt such a great man, such a loving dad. His name has been dragged through the mud behind mine, maybe dirtying his career permanently. He didn’t ask for any of this. Definitely not an emotionally constipated wife.
‘I need to tell you it was never you, Ted. All the things that I was feeling, they came out of me. Not because you did or didn’t do anything. But because motherhood hit me like a truck and I’ve been… flat ever since. And I didn’t know how to tell you. Because that wasn’t the Stevie you met. When I was—’
‘Full-bodied?’
The slight smile on his face catches me completely off guard. I hop out of my chair. ‘What?’
Ted shakes his head. ‘I’m not going to say this has been my favourite week, Steve. You walking out that night was… a shocker. And then suddenly we’re internet news? Yeah, pretty full-on. I should have called you but I needed a bit of time.’
I bite my bottom lip. ‘Understandable.’
‘And I thought you’d have your mates rallying round you, your parent mates.’
‘They’ve been amazing. Yeah.’
He hitches Cherry further up on his side and scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. ‘I’ve been feeling a bit boring in comparison to them, actually. They’re all you ever talk about.’
‘You’ve felt boring? Mr International Man of Travel? Mr Entertaining Clients at The Ivy? And I wouldn’t say they’re all—’
A rapid knock at the door interrupts me.
With a sigh, Ted goes out to open it – to find Will panting and leaning on our doorframe.
‘Came. Soon. As I saw.’
I look between the two men. ‘Um, hey, Will. This is Ted. Ted, this is Will.’
Will swats my introductions away. ‘Yes, obviously. But you…’ He lets out a light wheeze.
‘We need to talk,’ Ted says flatly. ‘It’s what we are doing, mate, thanks.’
Will nods furiously. ‘Yes, mate. That’s why. I came. Take Chez. You guys go out. Talk like this needs. A real drink.’ He holds out slightly wobbly arms and after a reassuring nod from me, Ted hands the baby over.
Will plonks himself down at our kitchen table with Cherry. She has never had such a teatime drama unfold in her midst, so many comings and goings, and she is positively a fountain of excited drool as she watches it all keenly, her natural nosiness at its peak.
After a few deep lungfuls of air Will recovers himself and smiles broadly.
‘Why did you run here?’ I ask in a low voice, not wanting to seem ungrateful for a chance to escape the house.
Will blinks. ‘I don’t know. I was watching the Facebook Live, saw Ted arrive in the background and thought you’d need some proper grown-up time. So I made Adrian come down from the home office once his conference call ende
d. Then I sprinted over.’ He looks genuinely baffled by himself. ‘It seemed the Richard Curtis thing to do, in the heat of the moment.’
We’re shrugging on our jackets awkwardly, not really knowing how to behave when someone turfs you out of your own house, when Will continues: ‘And Nelle wanted me to say that ParentFest tickets are now fifty-five per cent sold, from thirty per cent this morning. Looks like that mention worked wonders!’
‘Aiiieee!’ Forgetting the seriousness of the situation otherwise, I jump on the spot and clap my hands. ‘Amazing! Oh god, I am so pleased.’
Ted stands by the door, holding it open for me. ‘There’s a lot to catch up on, it seems.’
* * *
The Fox and Gherkin shushed just briefly when we walked in. Local celebs are a bit thin on the ground round High Wycombe so I suppose a flash-in-the-pan online type will have to do. Just to get away from the bar and to a secluded table as quickly as possible, I ordered two pints of the special offer cider. Ted followed me to two red velvet-covered stools.
We’ve been sipping now for ten very long, quiet minutes.
I catch his eye and give a cheesy grimace, the kind that hopefully says, ‘Well, this is so awkward you’d better forgive me quick so we can get on with things, huh?’
In reply he curls his lips in on themselves a little, in a kind-of smile.
He takes a deep breath. I can’t let him make any sort of final statement before I apologise again. ‘I’m sorry!’ I almost shout, just as he says, ‘I’m sorry, Stevie.’