Secrets of the Mummy Concierge

by Tiffany Norris

  ‘I’m so sorry about that.’ She raises her eyebrows and smiles warmly before clinking her water glass against mine softly. ‘You just didn’t see me at my best. Goodness, who knew morning sickness could be so awful!’

  We chat easily for the next 20 minutes and she tells me about her pregnancy so far, how it was all a bit of a shock (a happy one!) when she took a test and realised she was pregnant.

  ‘My own mother was flabbergasted when I told her I was pregnant,’ she explains. ‘The first thing she asked was, “How could you possibly be pregnant – you don’t even have a boyfriend?!”’ She chuckles at the memory. ‘Let’s just say, I don’t think Mummy dear has warmed to the concept that successful career women might not have time for a relationship but are happy to indulge in a casual fling every now and again!’

  Lucy is single by choice (I can’t imagine she’s the type who ever has a problem attracting men) and became pregnant after a one-night stand with a ‘gorgeously handsome Italian called Anton’.

  ‘It was never going to be anything more than a one-night thing, just a bit of fun really!’ She throws back her glossy auburn mane and laughs loudly. ‘And now look at me – single and pregnant!’

  I can immediately tell that this doesn’t faze her. From our first chat on the phone a week ago, Lucy has given me the lowdown on her life. She’s an interior designer who runs her own business (hence the beautiful house) and is completely content being fun, free and fabulous. This baby might not have been planned but she has embraced it like she does everything else in her life – with passion and excitement (and a shopping habit that has gone through the roof, thanks to all the baby paraphernalia that she now desperately ‘needs’).

  She gets up to show me some of the bits she has bought (despite only being eight weeks pregnant) and I watch as the colour drains from her face again.

  ‘Sorry, I think I’m going to be—’

  I grab the nearest thing I can find – a decorative OKA bowl full of potpourri – and she swiftly throws up into it.

  ‘Oh, I’m so embarrassed! Please forgive me.’ She waves a hand in front of her face apologetically. ‘It’s this sickness, I just can’t shake it.’

  Handing her a tissue and disposing of the bowl in the nearest bathroom, I wait until she is ready to continue. When she is, I reach into my handbag and we set to work. After all, my job today is to do whatever I can to help make Lucy’s morning sickness as bearable as possible.

  ‘Right, so number one on the agenda is how to deal with morning sickness. Here’ – I gesture towards my bag and she eyes it greedily – ‘is my bag of tricks.’ One by one, I take each item out and line it up on the coffee table in front of us.

  For those of you reading this who have suffered with morning sickness, you will understand just how crippling it can be. Why, oh why, it’s just called ‘morning sickness’ always astounds me. I want to re-christen it ‘Any time of the day or night sickness’ – it’s far more apt. I’ve seen mothers who literally cannot leave their bed due to constant vomiting. I’ve dealt with mothers who are so nervous about being sick, they don’t even want to leave the house. I’ve had mothers who take it in their stride and are very relaxed about vomiting behind a tree in a park. Some don’t suffer at all and some feel nauseous but are never actually sick.

  Having also suffered with morning sickness myself, I really understand the anxiety that can be all-encompassing when it comes to social situations. In the first 12 weeks of my pregnancy, I avoided any social gathering like the plague. I was, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, a social recluse. Partly because the last thing I wanted was to turn up to a party and throw up all over a new dress, and partly because in those first few months you’re likely to be hiding your pregnancy from others and with constant nausea and a Diet Coke, friends at parties are likely to become suspicious.

  Which is why Lucy has booked in a consultation with me to create a master plan around her morning sickness.

  ‘Ginger tablets.’ Sounding a bit like an army sergeant, I point to the orange pastilles on the coffee table. ‘You need to have these with you at all times. Put a pack of them in every handbag you own so that you’re never caught short.’

  I have brought along a little make-up bag (another part of my morning sickness kit) and place the box of pastilles inside.

  ‘Next, you’ll need to start wearing these.’ I laugh at the horrified look on Lucy’s face as I produce a pair of seasickness bracelets. Easily bought online, these are the one piece of equipment I swear every pregnant mummy should own. They were first brought to my attention by that kind woman on the tube who wrote their name on a piece of paper, and I had since come across a YouTube channel of a Navy SEAL Officer giving tips on seasickness. His stocky demeanour and thick American accent told me what I needed to know – ‘seasickness bands work’, so I immediately ordered them and within minutes of wearing them, my morning sickness had disappeared.

  I explain this to Lucy.

  ‘But they’re so ugly.’ She frowns, slipping the elasticated fuzzy purple material on over her wrists. ‘I literally look like I’m about to go to an eighties fancy dress party – all I need now is a fluorescent tutu and some leg warmers.’

  I smile at the horrified look on her face but remind her that, as it’s currently November, she should be able to cover them up with one of her gorgeous cashmere sweaters. That seems to placate her and she keeps them on throughout the rest of our consultation.

  ‘You’re going to need a lot of these,’ I explain, producing about 20 aeroplane sick bags from my bag of tricks. I can see the fear flicker across her face – I presume she thinks this is my way of telling her that she’s going to be being very sick for a long time yet, but this isn’t what I’m getting at.

  ‘I sometimes find that the fear of being sick – and maybe throwing up in a taxi or in the middle of the road – is something that makes mums really anxious. I always tell my clients to have a couple of sick bags in their handbags just in case. It’s not because I think they will actually use them, but knowing that you have somewhere to be sick – that won’t leak or stain your Mulberry – can be quite comforting,’ I explain.

  Relieved, Lucy grins and watches as I fold them up into the make-up bag.

  I slowly take her through the next couple of items on my list – a citrus aromatherapy stick which can be rubbed onto temples and pulse points to relieve nausea, a pack of chewing gum (to get rid of the taste afterwards), a packet of almonds (snacking regularly can help keep sickness at bay) and peppermint hand cream (the smell can help relieve sickness). She balks as I show her the ‘poo drops’.

  ‘Don’t worry, these are just great for disguising the smell of vomit if you end up throwing up in somebody else’s bathroom!’

  She takes the little bottle from me and reads the ingredients, nodding her head in interest.

  ‘And finally . . .’ I pick up everything on the table and adding it to the make-up bag, and look up at Lucy. ‘What antenatal vitamins are you on?’ She gets up and heads to her bedroom, before reappearing a few minutes later and handing me a brand of vitamins specifically aimed at pregnant women. They are the type that have all the vitamins you need in one vitamin tablet. I frown down at them.

  ‘This could be your problem,’ I explain, turning the packet over in my hands. ‘Some women find that when they take these sorts of vitamin, it actually makes them feel sick. Obviously, it’s always a good idea to check with your doctor first, but from personal experience, you might be better off just buying individual folic acid tablets and vitamin D tablets rather than these multivitamins. It’s a tip a midwife told me and it’s worked for many of my mummies.’

  I hand Lucy the little make-up bag with a smile. ‘Here’s your morning sickness SOS kit.’ I tap it against her knee. ‘Now, let’s raise a glass of Perrier to feeling better soon.’

  We clink glasses and I see the look of relief pass over her face.

  Right, one client down, one more to go . . .
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br />   * * *

  Looking at my watch, I realise my meeting with Lucy has gone on longer than I expected, so I rush down the steps to the Underground and jump on the tube heading towards Canary Wharf. I’m due to meet another client who is also just few weeks pregnant – although her request is a little more ‘wacky’.

  Forty minutes later, I step out onto the concourse at Canary Wharf and run over towards Jane, who is tapping away urgently on her BlackBerry. I have met her numerous times before as we worked together when she first started her fertility treatment a few months ago. Thankfully, this meeting is not like one of our past meetings – where I would console her over the IVF not working and we would look into other fertility doctors. This time, she is pregnant – nine weeks and counting – and I’m here to help her out with something that I can only describe as interesting.

  ‘You’re here!’ She throws her arms around me and stands up straight in front of me, sucking in her tummy. ‘You can’t tell, can you?’

  I raise an eyebrow at her in amusement and shake my head. ‘You look incredible. And no – no one will know. Shall we make a move?’

  Jane is a very big deal in the city. So much so that she is one of the highest regarded (and probably highest paid) women in the investment bank where she works. Having spent her twenties and thirties working her way up the career ladder, thoughts of becoming a mother only began to appear when she turned 40. Three years of numerous unsuccessful attempts at IVF and she had been ready to throw in the towel, until only a few weeks ago when a miracle happened and the pregnancy test turned positive.

  But there was a problem. Like so many women, Jane was apprehensive about telling her work too soon about her pregnancy. Understandably, she was nervous. It was still early days and after such a horrific couple of years trying to conceive, she was very cautious about something going wrong and losing the baby. She also knew that being pregnant and telling your boss can be daunting and worrying. So, for the time being, she wants to keep it a secret. And that’s why I’m here.

  ‘The party started an hour ago, so they are all probably already two sheets to the wind,’ she explains as we walk past a gaggle of girls in their twenties retouching their make-up and head over to the bar. Jane has just been promoted (another reason she is nervous about announcing her pregnancy) and, as such, her team have decided to throw her a party.

  ‘And with a party comes drinks . . . alcoholic ones,’ she explains. ‘And I’ll be expected to drink them.’

  We had brainstormed ideas about how she could get around this a week beforehand, but everything had been met with resistance:

  ‘I can’t say I’m hungover and that’s why I’m not drinking because it’s unprofessional to turn up hungover at work.’

  ‘Nope, can’t say I’m on antibiotics. One of my colleagues’ wives is a doctor and she’s bound to start questioning me.’

  ‘Ha! If I just say I’m not drinking, it will raise too many suspicions. That’s the last thing I want.’

  In the end, we decided that the only thing that would work is for Jane to have a ‘wingwoman’ – and that wingwoman was to be me.

  I can see an area that has been cordoned off and raucous bellows and laughs are coming from it. Someone immediately spots Jane and waves a bottle of champagne in her direction.

  ‘Here she is! The Woman of the Moment! Let’s get you a glass of bubbles . . .’

  Jane and I exchange glances and I subtly give her a nod of encouragement.

  ‘Oh, I actually really fancy a G and T first,’ she explains, hugging the champagne bearer and kissing another man on the cheek in greeting. ‘Long day – I think gin is the only thing to fix it.’

  This is my cue. I quickly introduce myself as Jane’s friend to her group of co-workers, then say loudly, ‘Jane, I’m heading to the bar. I’ll get you that G and T.’ She smiles at me gratefully and I can see her shoulders relax.

  We can do this.

  Ten minutes later, I return to find her chatting animatedly to some of her female colleagues and I pass her a glass filled with tonic and ice and garnished with a wedge of lemon.

  ‘Your G and T,’ I say loudly, so everyone can hear.

  The rest of the night passes in much the same way. When someone hands Jane a glass of champagne, she takes ‘pretend’ sips and then places it on a table, where I exchange it for a glass of sparkling water. Everyone else at the party has had their fair share of alcohol and they’re far too tipsy to notice that she’s sipping on water, not Cristal.

  In the taxi home later that evening, Jane – who has taken off her heels and is rubbing her swollen feet – exhales slowly. ‘Thank you, Tiffany,’ she says. ‘I can’t quite believe we pulled that off.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ I respond, stifling a yawn and smiling to myself.

  Who would ever have thought that one of my ‘jobs’ as a Mummy Concierge would be swapping champagne for water? Watching the lights of London whizz past, I feel a swell of pride in my stomach. For some, tonight might have seemed like a bit of a gimmick, but for Jane it was exactly what she needed. I take out my notebook and cross off the items on my to-do list with satisfaction.

  1. Morning sickness SOS bag

  2. Disguising early pregnancy

  Not a bad day’s work at all.

  Chapter 6

  It’s not often I merge work with my own personal life, but in this situation, it seemed silly not to.

  I was two months pregnant and one of my clients, Kathryn (who had discovered me after reading an article in the newspaper about my job), was also pregnant and due at around the same time. She had contacted me initially via an email that was so long, I had to sit down with a hot cup of tea (which was finished before I even finished reading the email). Like any first-time mother, she was mostly obsessed with the birth and had explained in detail in her email her worries and concerns about how she was going to give birth. Like me, Kathryn was going to have her baby privately, but didn’t know which hospital or which obstetrician to go with.

  It was on our first phone call that she suggested a ‘birth-date’.

  ‘Oh, it will be hysterical! You’re pregnant, I’m pregnant, let’s do the hospital tours together! My husband doesn’t care where I give birth so long as the food is good, so it would be nice to have another pregnant woman’s opinion.’

  I could hear her smiling down the phone. My initial reaction was to say no. I was quite looking forward to Patrick being with me (and felt it was important) when we met obstetricians, but when I explained this to him, he quickly encouraged me to take Kathryn up on her offer.

  ‘Look, you know you don’t want to give birth in a birthing pool.’ He laughed as I visibly shuddered at the thought. ‘But it might be good for you to see it and to learn how other forms of birth work at each hospital so that you can feed back to any new clients.’

  Goodness, he was so right.

  ‘You look around the hospitals with her and then we can try and make appointments for the same afternoon to meet one of the obstetricians – and I’ll come with you.’

  * * *

  Two weeks later, I was following Kathryn and a buxom midwife through a labyrinth of corridors at Queen Charlotte’s and Chelsea Hospital in west London.

  ‘So, you’re wanting a C-section?’ The midwife pulled her half-moon glasses down her nose and looked over at me expectantly. ‘That would take place in here. This is one of our many operating theatres.’

  I poked my head around the door to see a sterile-looking room complete with an operating table, various bits of equipment and bright lights.

  Yup, that would do me fine.

  I must admit, when I first found out I was pregnant, I did spend a lot of time agonising over how I would give birth. Deep down, I knew I wanted a C-section – this seemed much less scary to me than having a baby via your vagina – but I still felt the need to justify my decision to myself and anyone else who asked. I vividly recall lying in a bath and writing a list of ‘pros and con
s’ of every birth option. The list took me so long to write, by the time I was finished the bath water had gone cold and I was actually shivering.

  In the end, the decision was easy. I was never going to opt for a water birth (I didn’t like lukewarm baths at the best of times, let alone when trying to push a small human out of my body) and I wasn’t brave enough to try having my baby naturally (even the thought of it made me tense up, which I presumed wouldn’t be good when it came to the actual delivery). There was something about having a scheduled C-section and knowing the exact date and time your baby would arrive that made me feel calm. I suppose that just shows how much of a control freak I am! Once the decision had been made, I didn’t worry so much about the technicalities around it. If I was going to have a C-section, then it would be in an operating theatre – and most operating theatres looked pretty much the same.

  Beside me, Kathryn shuddered. ‘I can’t believe you want to be cut open,’ she whispered, clutching my hand as she did so. I could tell she was nervous – we both were. Looking around hospitals and seeing the place where your baby might enter the world is rather mind-blowing and nerve-racking at the same time.

  ‘And this is one of our birthing rooms . . .’ The midwife swung open the door to a room which looked like it belonged in a children’s nursery. The walls were hand-painted with images of beaches, whales and dolphins and I could hear some sort of ‘warbling’ coming from the speakers.

  ‘It’s whale music,’ the midwife explained, clocking my look of confusion. ‘Some of the mothers find it relaxes them and enables them to get into the “zone”.’ Kathryn and I had bonded hugely during this hospital tour and so I nudged her playfully in the ribs, expecting her to join me in thinking about the absurdness of this birthing suite. But when I looked over at her, I saw she was staring in wonder at the room, her hands clasped to her cheeks in amazement.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I HAVE to have my baby here!’ she squealed and actually jumped up and down on the spot. ‘This is just incredible. The music, the murals . . . I can’t think of a better place for my baby to enter the world than this.’