by Suzy K Quinn
Poor Nick – he looked so tired. His dark hair was all dishevelled and actually quite sexy looking, but he kept smoothing it down and saying, ‘I look like crap.’ He was also humming ‘Jerusalem’ to himself – a sure sign of stress.
When the doctor said Daisy was fine, Nick said, ‘Oh thank GOD!’ and threw his arms to the heavens.
Actors!
So dramatic.
Monday January 19th
Nick’s birthday today.
It’s so near Christmas that most people forget. So I always try to make it extra special.
Bought him an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt, Jean Paul Gaultier aftershave, plus a coffee table book called London’s Coolest Bars (pretended that last one was from Daisy ;)).
Helen turned up with a whole wardrobe of birthday clothes – designer suits, wool coat, shoes, scarves, etc.
I’ve made Nick’s favourite tea: lamb shank, chunky chips with caramelised onion, and rocket and parmesan salad.
But he’s still out, so I’ve put it in the fridge for breakfast.
Bit annoyed about that, but you can’t shout at someone on their birthday can you?
Tuesday January 20th
Did postnatal depression test online. Just in case.
I have an unhealthy fixation with Coldplay and salted caramel. Which I think could be signs of depression.
But the test came back fine.
Apparently I love Daisy too much to be depressed.
Phoned Althea and she said, ‘Feeling sad? It’s called being a mother.’
Thursday January 22nd
More house hunting.
Viewed three absolutely shit holes in East London.
The last house was so bad that even the estate agent said, ‘It’s a bit oppressive, isn’t it?’
I tried to be open-minded and imagine how things could look with different colour walls. But realistically, a fresh coat of paint won’t fix a cellar full of water.
I think Nick was secretly happy I didn’t like any of the houses. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to get our own place. As far as he’s concerned, the fewer responsibilities we have the better.
But this is getting desperate.
Helen’s apartment is big for London. But having a baby takes up so much space.
Our bedroom, once a posh executive double room with view of the Thames, is now a jumble sale.
Cot, changing table, baby wardrobe, bouncy chair, baby gym.
And then there’s all the scrapbooks we made of Daisy’s first bath, first Christmas, first fingernail cut, etc.
Nick’s as bad as I am – he makes a new scrapbook practically every day. And he’s always coming home with huge toys.
Friday January 23rd
Helen has got me worried about our changing table.
She says it’s ‘dangerously high’.
I told her she was being paranoid. But now I look at it, it is a very long way off the ground.
Daisy is always strapped down. But when I’m changing her, I do a mad rush to the sink shouting, ‘DON’T MOVE DAISY, DON’T MOVE!’
I suppose it’s unlikely she could unclip the strap. But what if she’s an early developer? I mean – not likely in our family. Still … it’s a worry.
Saturday January 24th
Nick has another job up north next week, so I’m staying with Mum and Dad again.
I SO wish we could move back to Great Oakley. But it’s too far from Nick’s work. Anyway, everyone around here laughs at him for wearing his sunglasses indoors.
On the train to Great Oakley, I got a text message from Helen.
She always writes her text messages like letters:
Dear Juliette,
Nicholas tells me you’re in the village this week, so thought we should meet up re: wedding flowers. You should ONLY go to Perfect Petals nr Dalton Road. The owner and I are old friends and she’ll be very offended if I go elsewhere.
Regards,
Helen Jolly-Piggott
When Nick first told me his mum’s surname, I thought he was joking.
Then he got all cross and I realised he wasn’t joking at all.
He said the Jolly-Piggott name was very famous in the right circles.
I told him I didn’t move in the right circles.
He said, ‘That’s what I love about you. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not.’
Nick’s surname is Jolly-Piggott too, but he goes by his stage name – Spencer – after his dad. Henry Piggott is his stepdad.
When we get married, Helen wants us to carry on the family name.
So we’ll be Nick and Juliette Jolly-Piggott.
I texted Helen back:
Dear Helen,
I cannot be bothered to flower shop today because Daisy has pooed all over the sofa.
Regards,
Juliette
Sunday January 25th
Didn’t I just cut Daisy’s finger- and toenails yesterday? They’ve already reached slasher proportions.
How do people cope with three children? That’s sixty finger- and toenails, not even counting your own.
Mum offered to help me, but I don’t trust her with a pair of scissors.
She can’t even cut a loaf of bread straight.
The Oakley Arms is famous for its wonky cheese sandwiches.
Monday January 26th
Mum and Dad drove me to Aldi today because (yet again) my car wouldn’t start.
Dad drove there, Mum drove back.
Dad drove 5 mph under the speed limit, put his face right up against the windscreen and cut the engine out to save petrol going down hills.
Mum sped up at amber lights, beeped the horn constantly and ate M&Ms/swigged Gaviscon while overtaking on the motorway.
Tuesday January 27th
The good thing about babies is they won’t tell anyone you’ve farted.
Which is good because this Food Guru diet is wind city.
Helen rang, but I really can’t go wedding flower shopping today. Nick’s mum doesn’t find farts funny.
Not like our family.
Mum can even make her boobs do farty sounds.
Wednesday January 28th
I asked Mum if I could see her wedding photos today.
After months of Helen showing me model brides in stately homes, I wanted to remind myself what a normal wedding looked like.
Mum and Dad’s wedding photos are all postcard-sized and printed at the Kodak booth. They didn’t go in for ‘all this professional-photographer bollocks’.
In fact, their whole wedding was a low-key affair. They spent thirty pounds on sausage rolls and a barrel of beer and that was it.
It’s important we get married – for Daisy’s sake as well as mine. But there’s no point of wasting money on a big, flashy wedding.
Mum and Dad’s wedding was simple, and they’re still together forty years later.
In the pictures, everyone is staring at Mum’s boobs. Dad, the vicar … everyone.
But I suppose it was the eighties. See-through lace and lots of cleavage were the fashion in those days.
Thursday January 29th
Oh. My. God. I CANNOT be TWENTY POUNDS heavier than before I was pregnant!!!
And that is standing completely naked on the scales after I’ve been to the toilet.
It’s such rubbish that your body ‘knows what it needs’ when you’re pregnant.
I knew my body couldn’t have needed all those double-chocolate crème frappuccinos.
Friday January 30th
Nick home, so back in London today.
It’s nice to be able to buy a fresh croissant 24 hours a day. It’s not nice seeing Helen.
Nick had good news – he’s won a role in a potato wedges commercial. He plays a dancing potato wedge. A spicy one.
Sadie called round just as I was putting Daisy to bed with ‘something urgent’ to tell me. My so-called best friend has an amazing habit of dropping round at the wrong time.
Sadie and I have b
een friends for years. Since school. We’ve gone travelling together and all sorts. And I’m loyal – once I make a friend, I keep them. Even if they’re a little bit of a nightmare.
Sadie has a big, beautiful face like the moon. And one of those figures that looks amazing in everything (she was wearing leather trousers and a bright red soldier jacket when she called).
She’s an actor like Nick. Which means she loves being the centre of attention. And that’s probably why Nick and Sadie absolutely hate each other.
Sadie calls Nick ‘lizard boy’ because his Star Trek Enterprise character was (without his knowledge) CGI’d into a lizard.
Nick calls Sadie ‘pancake face’.
The urgent thing turned out to be the London Marathon. But not the usual spring-time London Marathon. The Christmas one. In winter.
Sadie showed me the flyer, which said the marathon would be: ‘Brutally awesome’.
It turns out Sadie has signed us up for it. And no – she wasn’t joking.
Apparently, she’s been offered ‘an amazing opportunity’ to sing ‘We Are the World’ at the marathon finish line. But only if she actually runs the marathon.
I said, ‘Sadie! I haven’t even run a regular marathon. This is clearly for mad people who want to punish their bodies. It’s in WINTER for Christ’s sake! There’s no way I can do it.’
‘This could be my break as a singer!’ she insisted.
Sadie can sort of sing. As long as it’s an easy song. But she sounds a bit like a goat and can’t get any of the high notes.
Sadie called me selfish and unsupportive.
Which is a bit rich coming from her. When I had morning sickness, she refused to see me, saying it was ‘all too gross’.
I said, ‘I’ve just had a baby. There’s no way I can run twenty-six miles. Especially not in winter.’
Sadie said, ‘It’s twenty-seven miles. And you had a baby ages ago.’
Then she said she’d already signed me up, adding, ‘You might finally lose some of that baby weight.’
I have to admit that swayed me a bit. Maybe I can become one of those makeover stories you read about. Where a dumpy woman takes up running and transforms herself into a super-toned athlete.
After a lot of theatrics on Sadie’s part (anguish, disappointment, false bravery ‘no it’s fine, I’ll go on without you’), I eventually relented.
It’s easy signing up for a marathon whilst lounging on a warm sofa.
Sadie said Nick should come home early some nights. So we could train.
I said, ‘But he’s just got a new role. He needs to work.’
She said, ‘Nick’s actually got a job? Since when?’
I said, ‘He does work you know.’
She said, ‘Yeah right.’
I said, ‘It’s a very insecure life being an actor.’
Sadie said, ‘I know. Maybe he should get a real job.’
Saturday January 31st
Lunch with Laura and Brandi in London today.
Laura suggested some healthy vegan place.
Brandi wanted to go to Burger King.
We compromised on Pret A Manger, although Brandi moaned because there was lettuce in her sandwich.
They both laughed when I told them about the London Christmas Marathon. Then they apologised when they realised I was serious.
Brandi said, ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea? You complain about walking upstairs with Daisy. And it’s in winter. I mean, even top athletes struggle in those conditions. Don’t you remember that Danish runner who slipped on ice at Tower Bridge and broke her coccyx?’
Laura said, ‘If you’re really serious, I’ll help you train.’
My healthy big sister goes jogging three times a week. Usually ten miles or so.
I said it was fine because Sadie and I were training together.
Laura said, ‘I’ll help you train on the nights she doesn’t turn up.’
Brandi pulled her skinny jeans around her tiny waist and said, ‘Maybe I’ll run it too. I could do with losing weight. How many miles is it?’
I said, ‘Twenty-six.’
Laura said, ‘No, it’s twenty-seven.’
Brandi said, ‘Fuck that.’
I said Brandi could always babysit. On the nights Nick came back late.
She said, ‘Which is pretty much every night, isn’t it?’
I said, ‘It’s not every night. Only when he’s in a play.’
Brandi said, ‘Plays don’t go on that long.’
Honestly!
She’s only ever been to the theatre once. To see a panto. And anyway, Nick has to socialise after work sometimes. That’s how he gets new roles. I told Brandi that, and she said, ‘How come he hardly ever gets new roles then?’
It’s true – Nick hasn’t had a good part for a while. The whole Star Trek CGI thing really knocked his confidence.
When I met Nick, he was still getting good parts. Everyone remembered him as Tyke Turner from Whizz Bots. He was pretty famous as a teenager. But that was a long time ago.
Sunday February 1st
First marathon training session.
Sadie didn’t turn up.
Nick said, ‘Typical Sadie. Never there when you need her.’ And I have to admit he was right.
Managed a few minutes on my own, before collapsing red-faced and panting against our neighbours’ railings.
Perhaps it would be better if I lose weight first. If I diet, then I’ll be lighter and running will be a lot easier.
I’m going to do a total fascist starvation routine and lose weight uber-quickly.
Soup for tea.
And tomorrow I’m going to do a juice fast. Only fruit and vegetable juice.
Monday February 2nd
Woke up with a runny nose and sore throat.
Stupid to diet when you’re ill.
Had three rounds of buttered toast and a big mug of hot chocolate.
Tuesday February 3rd
Despite all my hard work, I haven’t lost ANY weight!
I am very disheartened. Phoned Laura and she gave me the nice big sister talk. ‘Don’t worry. You’re doing great. Don’t give up.’
Then I phoned Sadie. She told me I was naturally large. ‘Look at your mother,’ she said. ‘It runs in the family.’
Felt very depressed.
Althea wasn’t picking up her phone, so I called Brandi.
She said, ‘Look, moaning gets you nowhere. Why don’t you come to my pole dancing class and get fit?’
I told her that the idea of me dancing around a pole, right now, makes me think of an elephant in fishnet stockings.
But Brandi promised I definitely wouldn’t be the fattest one there.
Wednesday February 4th
POLE DANCING!!!!!
What was I thinking?
I definitely WAS the heaviest. The mega-fat pole dancer Brandi promised me didn’t show up. If she ever really existed.
The instructor was a bright orange girl with muscles on every part of her body. She drank two bottles of Lucozade, then bounced and jiggled non-stop for a full hour. She was like a blurry line.
‘And step, step, spin, squat, LEGS!, spin, drop – HAIR FLICK! Curly girl (that was me), watch the skinny one (that was Brandi).’
When it was over, my muscles ached so badly I could hardly get my coat on.
Brandi bounced along beside me talking about how energised she felt and saying we should get a drink.
I said I couldn’t because of Daisy.
Brandi looked all confused and said, ‘But isn’t Mum looking after her?’
I said, ‘Yes, but Daisy might wake up.’
Brandi said, ‘So? Mum will handle it.’
Then I said, ‘Didn’t you worry? When Callum was a baby?’
She said, ‘To be honest, I’ve blotted out that first year. It was so awful.’
I asked if Callum was sleeping better now, and she said not really.
She counted her gold-ringed fingers and said he still
wakes up three or four times a night.
I asked her what she did when he woke up.
She said she hides under the duvet.
She added, ‘I love Callum to bits, but I wish I’d waited until I was a bit older. It definitely puts a crimp on things. I mean, I have like NO social life.’
Then she Facebooked her friends and arranged to hit a few clubs.
Thursday February 5th
Had a big row with Nick today. We NEED to move house. I just can’t stand Helen coming round any more.
If I have to spend another day watching her criticising, moving and wiping things that look completely perfect, I will go mad.
Helen is one of those women who has everything, but is never happy with anything.
She is skinny as a rake, incredibly rich, and works as a hobby. And yet everything is wrong. The shade of granite in the kitchen is ‘a total disaster’. Her new cashmere cardigan makes her look ‘disgustingly fat’. Henry, her husband, is going ‘horribly bald’.
When Helen’s here, the flat isn’t a home at all. It’s a showroom. There can’t be so much as a cushion out of place.
Living here is like a 24/7 job interview. It’s constant stress.
One of Daisy’s socks was on the shag-pile rug this morning, and Helen stared like it was an unexploded bomb.
‘Jul-iette. (It’s never Ni-ck.) This shouldn’t be here.’
I said if she was offering to do the laundry for me, that would be a great help.
She gave me her Helen glare. Then she checked her slim, solid-gold watch and said, ‘I have twenty minutes to talk about the wedding. Christ. I need a coffee.’
Usually, I’d offer to make the coffee. But there’s no point with Helen. She hovers over you, telling you exactly how to do it. So I let her do it herself. That way she can do it perfectly.
She made coffee, then stood in perfect ballerina posture, one hand on the granite work surface, stomach held in and said, ‘You’ve put on weight.’
I said, ‘Nice of you to be so supportive, Helen. Dieting is hard with a baby. I get really knackered.’