by Tracy Bloom
Ben sighed. He hadn’t been looking forward to his first trip to see a professional with Millie. He feared he would be under scrutiny to check he knew what he was doing, and he was sure it was abundantly clear to anyone that he didn’t have a clue.
‘We call her Millie, actually,’ he mumbled. He knew this would happen. Having a different name on her birth certificate was already causing problems, just like he’d told Katy it would.
‘Okay,’ Pippa nodded enthusiastically. ‘Of course, that’s absolutely fine. So how is Millie?’
‘Fine,’ he replied cautiously. He had no idea if it was the right answer and was gripped with terror that Pippa was now going to find something hideously wrong with Millie and he would go to jail for neglect. ‘She seems fine. She was fine when she woke up this morning,’ he rambled.
‘Good, that’s great. Shall we get her weighed, then?’
‘Okay.’
‘So if you bring her over to the scales and take off her clothes and nappy just for a moment, that would be great.’
Ben took Millie over to a changing pad and started to take off her clothes. He was all fingers and thumbs as he could feel Pippa watching him whilst pretending to set up the weighing machine.
‘Oh shit,’ slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. The smell was undeniable. Millie had filled her nappy. Pippa looked up, alarmed at his expletive, and Ben felt the blood rush to his cheeks.
‘Erm, bit of a nappy situation,’ he said. He looked around frantically before realising he’d left the nappy bag in the waiting room. Now what? It was out there now, the dirty nappy, Pippa had clocked it. Should he do the nappy back up again so Millie’s bottom was enclosed in her poo whilst he fetched the bag, leaving her with Pippa, or did he remove the offending item without being able to wipe Millie clean and thus risk poo and probably fresh wee all over the changing mat? He stared motionless at the scene, his weariness unable to process the right answer under the scrutiny of perfect Pippa.
‘I’ve left the nappy bag in the waiting room,’ he announced eventually. ‘I’ve never left it behind before. I’m normally really good with the bag. It’s honestly the first time I’ve left it unattended.’
‘It’s okay.’ Pippa reached behind her to get a packet of wipes. ‘You go and get the bag and I’ll get rid of this one.’
Ben was so happy he could cry. He bolted for the door and ran down the corridor. Fortunately, Evil Old Lady had gone, and he snatched the bag from beside the chair he’d been sitting in and headed back to Pippa.
‘You can get her dressed again now,’ she said. ‘I’ve already weighed her. ‘Do you have her medical record in that bag so I can mark down her weight?’
‘Yes, yes, absolutely, yes,’ Ben confirmed, delirious that he could answer a question in the affirmative. Katy had warned him that under no circumstances should he ever take Millie to a medical establishment without the red book that documented her progress. ‘Basically, in the eyes of the NHS, Millie does not exist if you don’t have that book with you,’ she’d told him. Now he busied himself dressing Millie whilst Pippa flicked through her record and marked her weight chart.
‘So Millie has gone from the fiftieth percentile to the thirtieth percentile on the growth chart,’ Pippa announced.
Ben swallowed. What was she saying? He had no idea. Was it good or bad?
‘Great,’ he said whilst shaking his head, hoping he was covering all bases.
‘Has she been taking her food okay?’ Pippa asked.
‘Oh, she’s guzzling it down,’ he replied. ‘Can’t drink it fast enough.’
‘And how’s she sleeping?’
Can you not tell by the massive bags under my eyes? he wanted to scream.
‘Not great, actually,’ he said. ‘She was up three times last night.’
‘Mmmm,’ Pippa nodded. ‘Do you think she might be teething early?’
Ben’s eyes widened. What was she asking him for? Wasn’t she supposed to be the expert here?
‘She bit me yesterday,’ he confessed. ‘And it really hurt.’
‘Right,’ Pippa said.
‘So, er, what does all that mean, then?’
‘Well, often at this age if they start waking more frequently in the night and they’re not growing as fast as they were, then it’s likely they’re just hungry. She needs more food to fuel her growth.’
‘Oh, right, actually that makes sense, I get it.’ He was relieved that he finally got something, and just maybe this was a solution to Millie’s sleeping problems. ‘So what do I feed her, then?’
‘Oh, just carry on with the milk.’
‘Just milk?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But . . . but you said she was hungry. I can feel teeth. Shouldn’t we be giving her more than milk?’
‘No. The guidelines are that you wait until six months old.’
‘The guidelines?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Should I know these guidelines? Where do the guidelines come from?’ he asked, starting to panic.
‘It’s information gathered by the NHS from leading health experts.’
‘Oh.’ Ben was confused again. Why did he seem to spend most of his life confused? He bit his lip for a moment but then couldn’t help himself.
‘And the guidelines say she shouldn’t have solid food yet?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But she has teeth,’ he continued. ‘And she is chewing . . . everything.’
‘The experts say that a baby’s digestive system is not ready for solids until around six months old.’
‘And how do they know that?’
‘Through a lot of studies.’
‘Studies? So do they cut babies’ stomachs open at four months and go, nope, not ready for puréed carrot yet?’
Pippa said nothing. He had a vague sense that he was asking the kind of questions Braindead might ask and that Pippa was looking at him as if he was brain-dead.
‘Did they ask to see all the stomachs of dead babies so they could decide exactly when parents should be buying a blender?’ he continued.
‘I’m sure that however they have come to this conclusion it was through very thorough and moral means,’ said Pippa, turning to get something off her desk in order to mark the conversation as finished.
‘But Millie has teeth,’ pressed Ben. ‘Teeth! Which means she can chew. Teeth are in the human body so we can eat solid food. It’s part of our evolution over the past thousands of years. When did these so-called health experts decide that six months was the right age to start chewing food?’
‘In 2003,’ replied Pippa.
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what did they think before 2003?’
‘Prior to then they were recommending between four to six months.’
‘Millie’s age now.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what changed their minds?’
‘Research findings.’
‘Are those the same research findings that tells us one minute not to eat sugar, then not to eat fat, then not to eat carbs, then actually good fats are alright as long as you combine them with good sugars and only on Tuesdays?’
‘Are you making fun of me?’
‘No!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘No, seriously, I’m not. It’s just that I’m new to all this. I’m a baby virgin . . . no, bad choice of words.’ He noticed Pippa’s cheeks redden slightly. ‘Look, I’m sorry, it’s just, none of any of this baby stuff makes sense to me, and I’m so tired. I really am incredibly tired.’
‘We are here to help you,’ said Pippa softly.
Ben nodded dejectedly.
‘So I should just increase Millie’s milk,’ he said, feeling his shoulders slump in defeat.
‘That’s the best advice I can give you at this point.’
‘But I shouldn’t give her proper food, even though she has teeth.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Will that make her sleep more?’ he asked
, desperate for something good to come out of this meeting.
‘Probably not.’
‘So what will make her sleep through the night? What do the experts say about that?’
‘Well, that’s a very difficult question. Every baby is different. You just have to be patient.’
Ben couldn’t stop himself from letting his mouth fall open in amazement.
‘So the experts are more than willing to spend their precious time on the notion of when babies are allowed to eat, which seems plainly obvious to me, but the truly useful answer to making a baby sleep through the night is not a subject that the NHS is willing to investigate. Do you realise how much money could be saved if we cracked that? How many fewer murders would be committed if parents could just get a decent bloody night’s sleep?’
Pippa didn’t answer – just sat looking startled.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ben, shaking his weary head. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Perhaps your partner could take over tonight,’ said Pippa gently. ‘You look like you need a break.’
‘No,’ said Ben quickly. ‘It’s fine. She works full-time. Millie is my responsibility.’
‘But if you told her you were struggling . . .’
‘I’m not struggling,’ said Ben firmly, opening his eyes wide to stave off yet another wave of tiredness. ‘I’m only doing what thousands of women do every single day. It cannot be that hard. I can do this. I know I can.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Braindead as Ben sat down on a worn leather sofa opposite him the following week. ‘And what on earth possessed you to suggest meeting here? This place is weird. I’ve spent more money in here in the space of ten minutes than I spend in an entire night down the Red Lion and I have bugger all to show for it.’
‘Believe me,’ said Ben flopping backwards, ‘given the day I’ve had, I’d love to be meeting you down the pub, but I’m not sure that drinking beer at four o’clock in the afternoon with a baby in tow is to be recommended.’
‘Look at this,’ demanded Braindead, holding up an oversized cup and saucer. ‘I could have bought a decent pint for less money than this cup of hot water with a dash of caffeine cost me. And who really wants to drink this much coffee? I mean really? I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I can’t wait to be off my tits on copious amounts of coffee today.’
Ben didn’t reply. Perhaps they should have met at the flat. Who knew a visit to a coffee shop could make Braindead this mad?
‘She asked me what size I wanted,’ Braindead continued, nodding dismissively over to a girl standing behind a coughing and sputtering brewing machine. ‘Then she reeled off a load of words that bore no relation to size whatsoever. She may as well have said we only sell enormous so that we can extract an enormous amount of cash from your wallet.’
‘Look, I’ll pay for your coffee,’ Ben sighed.
‘And the cake?’ asked Braindead.
‘You bought cake, in here? Are you insane?’
‘Oh yes, and I’ve spent the last ten minutes trying to find the gold leaf they must have put in it in order to feel the need to charge me what they did. Why do people come here exactly?’
Ben had got Millie out of the pushchair and was bouncing her up and down on his knee. He looked around at the fake homely interior jammed with mismatched wooden furniture and worn leather sofa’s gathered around low tables. People of all ages were clustered together for a chinwag, hugging drinks and nibbling on overpriced food.
‘It’s like it thinks it’s a pub,’ Braindead pointed out. ‘It charges as much as a pub, but there’s no beer. ‘It’s a big fat con. I don’t get it.’
‘Probably everyone here is just too embarrassed to go to the pub this early,’ offered Ben.
Braindead shook his head in disbelief and took a sip out of his enormous cup, eyeing Ben over the brim.
‘So what’s up then?’ he asked. ‘You sounded like you had another baby machine malfunction situation going on when you rang.’
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ said Ben.
‘Do what?’
‘Be a stay-at-home dad.’
‘I thought you’d sussed it. Got that weirdo machine to work.’
‘If only the only problem I had was machine related.’ Ben didn’t continue, just shook his head with a look of defeat.
‘So what is it then?’ asked Braindead.
‘Well, besides the utter exhaustion, it’s the conversation,’ said Ben, getting a milk bottle out of his bag.
‘The conversation?’ Braindead echoed.
‘Yeah.’ Ben looked around distractedly. ‘Can you just hold Millie whilst I get this warmed up?’
He plopped Millie down on Braindead’s lap before he could protest and wandered off to the counter to see if they would warm a bottle for him. Millie blinked up at Braindead and he blinked back. If he didn’t move an inch it would be alright, he told himself. He was just reciting football scores in his head when he noticed a woman sitting on her own by the window was smiling at him. That never happened. He smiled back. She didn’t stop smiling. That certainly never happened. Ben reappeared, obstructing his view.
‘Do you want to feed her?’ he said, offering the bottle.
‘Shit, no,’ said Braindead with a start, and thrust Millie back into his arms. Ben sat back down and Braindead peered round him to see if the woman was still smiling at him. She wasn’t.
‘I think I’ve pulled,’ said Braindead.
‘What, here?’ said Ben.
‘Yeah, maybe this place isn’t so bad after all. Don’t look now, but the woman sitting behind you was smiling at me before you came back.’
‘Oh, that happens all the time.’
‘What does?’
‘If you’re on your own with a baby then women seem to find it attractive. Must be because it shows your caring side or something.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me that before? Hand her back over here. I’ll feed her.’
‘Noo,’ cried Ben. ‘You cannot drag Millie into your desperate efforts to get a woman.’
‘Aw, come on. There has to be some upside to you doing this stay-at-home gig, doesn’t there? If it gets me a girlfriend, it will all have been worthwhile, won’t it?’
‘I’m not sure any more,’ said Ben. ‘I had the weirdest experience possibly of my entire life this morning. I’m really not sure I’m cut out for this. I don’t think I can ever go back there.’
‘Back where?’
‘Playgroup.’
Braindead contemplated Ben for a moment.
‘You’re a grown man,’ he declared. ‘You shouldn’t be anywhere near a playgroup.’
‘I know,’ said Ben. ‘But Katy used to go, so I thought I should.’
‘Attracted by the thought of a room full of women, maybe?’ asked Braindead. ‘Hey, I should take Millie,’ he said, glancing over to the woman who’d smiled at him.
‘You wouldn’t last five minutes.’
‘Why not?’
‘Braindead, it’s like . . .’ Ben was lost for words. ‘It’s the single most boring thing you could ever do with your time. I mean, it’s literally mind-numbing. It’s like a form of torture. If they’d locked Saddam Hussein in a playgroup for an hour he’d have been squealing like a baby to get out.’
‘It can’t be that bad, surely?’
‘Oh, it is. You arrive, right? Bit nervous because you don’t know anyone, but you tell yourself it’s only a playgroup so nothing to be scared of. So you go in, get Millie settled on a blanket, get told off for not putting a pound in the tin and then guess what happens?’
‘What?’
‘Absolutely nothing. Everyone ignores you. No-one comes over to say hello. It’s like you’re a leper. Now I don’t know if it’s because I’m a bloke, but seriously, I have never been so successfully ignored in my life. And then it gets worse.’
‘What? I’m on the edge of my seat, mate. This is the best story you’ve ever told.�
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‘Then everyone disappears. They go off into this room, but you’ve no idea why and no-one has told you to go, so you don’t know if it’s a girl only thing, but anyway, I’m so bored I pick Millie up and wander in. They’re only all sitting down having coffee and biscuits. They all look at me but no one speaks, so I just sit down and grab myself a coffee. It’s the most disgusting coffee you have ever tasted – like the sort you used to get when coffee was just cheap stuff, like tea.’
‘Those were the days,’ replied Braindead, picking up his enormous cup of oversized, over-expensive coffee.
‘Anyway, I try not to spit it out, and then lo and behold, someone speaks to me. I’ve been there over an hour and someone finally says, ‘Would you like a digestive biscuit?’
‘Chocolate?’ asked Braindead.
‘No. Plain.’
‘Digestives aren’t a biscuit,’ cried Braindead. ‘They’re . . . they’re a commodity, an ingredient, only to be eaten supporting a mass of cheesecake. You can’t just eat a digestive as a biscuit. Hobnob, yes, Bourbon, yes, maybe even a party ring, but to offer a digestive . . . who are these people? Are they living in the Dark Ages?’
‘I know, but that wasn’t the worst of it,’ Ben continued. ‘Little did I realise that actually being ignored would be a far better situation than being part of the conversation. Once I’d been offered a biscuit it opened the floodgates. Everyone wanted to talk to me.’
‘Brilliant. That’s great. You fitted in. Well done.’
‘Oh no,’ said Ben, shaking his head again. ‘Believe me, you do not want to fit in with this conversation. It was horrific. I have never been so ashamed of myself in my entire life.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Braindead, we discussed baby poo, baby sick, nappy rash, diarrhoea, the direction babies piss in – you name it, we covered it, and Braindead, I couldn’t help it, I joined in. What is happening to me?’
‘It’s alright, lad.’ Braindead leaned forward to pat him on the shoulder. ‘There must be rehab available for this.’
‘It’s like I had nothing else to talk about. Like anything interesting I had to say had been zapped out of my head to be replaced with the bodily functions of babies. It’s like I’ve become some kind of baby zombie. What am I going to do?’