From Here to Maternity (7 page)

I wasn’t particularly thrilled to be told how crappy I looked. I was well aware of it. Every time I glanced into the mirror I got a fright at the haggard woman staring back at me. ‘I know I’m a state, Mum, but Yuri’s taking time to settle in. He wakes up at least four times a night and I have to soothe him back to sleep. What can I do? I can’t ignore him.’

‘No, but you can’t give in to his every cry. Sometimes babies cry for no reason and you have to let them at it. He’ll fall asleep again in no time. Still, I suppose the last few weeks have been a shock to him. Poor little fellow.’

‘We were just at the doctor’s having him checked out.’

‘And?’

‘She thinks he’s fine, but she won’t know for sure until the blood tests come back.’

‘He looks grand to me.’

‘I know, but there are a lot of illnesses that children from Russian orphanages can have.’

‘Poppycock.’

‘No, Mum, it isn’t. They told us on the course that it’s one of the realities of adopting.’

‘Well, at least you won’t have to worry about any of that with number two,’ she said.

‘True.’

‘You’ll have to do something about your appearance, though, Emma. You can’t be letting yourself go just because you’re pregnant. Those old jeans are awful on you.’

‘Mum, I got about four hours’ sleep last night, on top of which I was worried about Yuri’s tests. Planning my wardrobe was not the first thing on my mind this morning.’

‘Surely you could have found something nicer than that jumper? Why didn’t you put on that nice pink shirt you have and tie up your hair. You look like you’ve been dragged through a bush. It’s a well-known fact that if you make the effort, you feel better. Anyone who saw you now would think you’d lost interest in your appearance – and it’s not good for a marriage to have the wife going round like the dog’s dinner. Mark my words, many’s the marriage that went askew when children came along and the wife stopped looking after herself. The husband’s eyes start to wander.’

‘Well, that’s great. Thanks a lot. I called in for some TLC and I end up getting a lecture on how appalling I look and that James is going to leave me, wiry-haired, pregnant and with an eleven-month-old child. I feel so much better now, Mum. You’re a real tonic.’

‘Dear, oh dear, Yuri, Mummy’s very touchy today. It must be the tiredness that has her so grumpy. I hope she’s not snapping at your daddy like this.’

‘Can you please not do that?’ I hissed.

‘Do what?’

‘Talk to me through Yuri. I hate when people do that. It’s incredibly annoying.’

‘There’s no pleasing you today.’

‘Why couldn’t you just say, “Hi, Emma, how are you? Sit down there and have a cup of tea and tell me how it’s all going,” like normal mothers do.’

‘Oh, I see. So it’s my fault that you adopted a child who won’t sleep and it’s my fault that you’re exhausted? I knew I’d get the blame sooner or later.’

‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just – oh, forget it.’

‘Fine,’ said Mum, sniffing. ‘Have you heard from your sister?’

‘She called briefly the other night, but I couldn’t really talk because Yuri was acting up. Besides, she only rang to ask me for some money.’

‘I’m worried about her. Selling things on the television – what kind of a job is that?’

I decided to go with this conversation – anything to get her off the subject of me, my marriage (which apparently was under threat due to my frizzy hair and tatty jeans), and motherhood. I was quite happy to talk about Babs.

‘It’s a stepping-stone for what she really wants. If it works out she could end up presenting
Panorama,’
I said, trying to keep a straight face.

‘Mmmm, somehow I don’t see that Terence McDonald quaking in his boots at the thought of Barbara taking over.’

‘Trevor.’

‘What?’

‘It’s Trevor McDonald – and he doesn’t present
Panorama.’

‘And how’s Sean?’ asked Mum, ignoring me. Trevor would for ever be Terence to her, like Gwyneth Paltrow was Glynice Parow.

‘Again, I only spoke to him briefly, but he sounded a bit cheesed off. I’d say Babs is driving them mad.’

‘What do you mean? Does Sherie not like Barbara?’

‘It’s Shadee, Mum, and, no, that’s not what I said. Babs is a handful – as you well know – and I’m sure it’s not easy having her living on top of them.’

‘Well, they shouldn’t be living in sin before the wedding. You know my thoughts on that one,’ said Mum, pointedly. She had not been happy when James and I had moved in together before getting married, although for once – miraculous though it might seem – she had held her tongue because she was so shocked that I had met someone nice, normal, good-looking and successful (truth be told I was a bit shocked myself). However, Shadee’s background – i.e. the fact that she was raised Iranian and Muslim (although not practising) – was still something Mum was trying to get used to. Initially she had told her friends that it was a casual thing, that Sean was just experiencing other cultures ‘over there in London’, but when they’d got engaged, she’d had to change her story. She was now telling her bridge cronies that Shadee was English with a drop of foreign blood. Just as Shadee’s parents were probably telling their friends that Sean was Irish but had lived in London most of his life.

‘Any news on the wedding? He tells me nothing any more,’ she continued, probing me for information. Sean had told me that they were going to have it all booked before he came home for Christmas next week, but I decided to remain vague. I didn’t fancy having to listen to a tirade of ‘Why couldn’t they get married in Ireland? Was it not good enough for them?’

‘I think they’re still looking around. I’m not sure, really.’

‘And would they not look around here? With all the beautiful castles and churches they could have a spectacular wedding. Oh, no, I suppose it’s not good enough. It has to be some fancy place in England. I don’t know why he wouldn’t even look at your cousin Pat’s hotel in Wexford. It’s a lovely spot.’

Cousin Pat’s hotel in Wexford was a dump. Mum had tried to strong-arm me into getting married there, but when James and I had gone down to check it out, the stench of boiled cabbage and the nylon sheets on the beds had been enough to send us hurtling out. Mum thought everything should be kept in the family and I admired her loyalty – but there was no way I was getting married there and neither would Sean.

‘Mum,’ I said firmly, ‘you should be thanking your lucky stars that they aren’t getting married in Tehran. Leave it be and don’t stick your oar in.’

‘I never interfere in my children’s lives,’ said Mum, looking genuinely put out as I choked on my tea. She fussed over Yuri for a bit, then asked, ‘And will all her relatives be coming over from Iran covered with the big black sheets?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I suppose there’s no chance she’ll convert to Catholicism?’

‘Highly unlikely.’

‘But Sean won’t become a Muslim, will he?’

‘No, Mum, he won’t.’

‘Well, then, what’ll the wedding ceremony be?’

‘I have no idea. Maybe a blessing of some sort.’

‘In a Catholic church?’

‘Or a mosque.’

‘A mosque! Lord save us and bless us, that Taliban crowd and your man Osama bun Ladle will be turning up next.’

‘Mum!’

Chapter 8

A few days later when James came home from work, he found me on my hands and knees with my finger in an electric socket. ‘Wouldn’t a bottle of sleeping pills be a more civilized way to go? Less messy,’ said our in-house comedian, as he threw himself onto the couch and kicked off his runners.

‘Stop, please, you’re cracking me up,’ I said, poking my little finger further in.

‘All right, let me guess. You read that electrocution restores energy to the body. Am I right?’

‘No. To cut a long story short I was ironing in the kitchen with Yuri sitting on the floor playing with his toys when the next thing I knew he had his head in the cupboard under the sink, had pulled out the bottle of bleach and was sucking the cap. Once I had recovered from the shock I realized that this house is a danger zone. Tracey says that – ’

‘Who’s Tracey?’

‘Tracey Hogg,
The Baby Whisperer.’

‘The what?’

‘The book, James! The one that gave us the instructions about bathing Yuri. Anyway, she said that once the baby is crawling, your house must be childproofed and that the best way to do this is by crawling around on your hands and knees and seeing what your baby sees at his level. Apparently there are loads of things we need to be careful of – poisoning, which we almost had today, airborne pollutants, strangling, electric shock, which I was testing when you came in, drowning, burning, falling and bashing into things with sharp corners.’

‘Airborne pollutants?’ said James, trying not to laugh.

‘Yes, James, and I would imagine they include the toxic smell of your sweaty socks, so please either put your runners back on or wash your feet. After that you can prove your prowess at DIY. I have a bag full of clips that need to be attached to all the cupboard doors.’

James groaned. ‘Mercy, please. I’ve just spent three hours at a training session.’

‘Well, why on earth did you have to train with the team? You’re the coach, for goodness’ sake. I doubt Alex Ferguson jogs about in his tracksuit with the Manchester United squad.’

‘He’s in his sixties and, besides, it’s good for me. It keeps me fit. Do we have anything decent to eat? I’m starving.’

‘I’m afraid I spent half my day pulping food for Yuri so I didn’t cook. You do, however, have the choice of mashed banana, stewed apples and pears or chicken and pasta, also mashed.’

‘I’ll order pizza.’

‘No. I’ll order pizza. You get out the screwdriver. Oh, and, James?’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re not planning on leaving me any time soon, are you, because I look like a bag of hammers?’

‘I don’t know, darling. Between your handicap and your loss of looks, I have strong grounds for annulment.’

‘Seriously, though, do I look that bad?’

‘I presume I owe this latest attack of paranoia to your mother?’

‘The one and only.’

‘Emma,’ he said, getting down on his hands and knees to talk to me at eye-level, ‘with my airborne pollutants, I’m in no position to complain.’

The next day Lucy called in. She was back from honeymoon and, aside from some nasty grazes on her arms and legs, she looked great and was as brown as a berry. I felt like a washed-out ninety-year-old beside her. She rushed in, hugged me, then ran to Yuri, who was sitting in his playpen looking angelic.

‘Oh, Emma,’ said Lucy. ‘He’s perfect. Can I hold him?’

‘Sure, but I’ve just fed him so he may burp on you.’

‘Who cares?’ she said, lifting Yuri and kissing him. She bounced him up and down in her arms and then, as if on cue, he threw up all over her.

‘Oh, shoot,’ I said, taking him from her and handing her a towel.

‘No problem,’ she said, as she tried to wipe vomit out of her hair. Lucy was an only child and had no nephews or nieces. Babies were as alien to her as they had been to me – until I found Yuri.

I cleaned him up and put him back into his playpen, surrounded by at least thirty toys. I was hoping for twenty minutes with Lucy before he started acting up. ‘So, how was it?’ I asked.

‘Brilliant,’ she said, grinning.

‘Oh, God, you’re all loved up, and brown and skinny and stunning. If you weren’t my best friend I’d hate you. Tell me all. Sex three times a day, cocktails served in coconuts, dinner at sunset on the beach…’

‘Pretty much all of the above until Donal got bored and decided to book us on a jungle trek.’

I began to laugh. ‘Oh, God, how bad was it?’

‘Well, these scars on my arms and legs are the result of being flung off my bicycle while I was hurtling down the side of a mountain – the same mountain that I had just cycled up, in one hundred degrees heat.’

‘You? Cycling?’

‘I know. But I kept thinking, marriage is about compromise, so I agreed to it. Mind you, we left the camp immediately after my fall and booked into the most luxurious hotel in Thailand. So we ended on a high note. Anyway, enough about me, how are you? How’s motherhood?’

‘It’s amazing, and he’s such a little dote. I honestly can’t remember what it was like before he arrived. I can’t believe we have him. He’s as much our own child as the next one will be,’ I said, getting a little emotional.

‘Oh, Emma,’ said Lucy, squeezing my arm. ‘It sounds perfect.’

‘It is – but you know the way you always hear mothers going on about how exhausted they are and how nobody could possibly understand the tiredness unless they’d experienced it first hand?’

‘God, don’t remind me,’ said Lucy, rolling her eyes. We had always thought Jess was exaggerating when she droned on about how tired she was all the time and how we couldn’t understand it…

‘Well, I’m sorry to say that it’s true. I never could have imagined how wrecked I feel. My brain has turned to fuzz.’

‘Is it really that bad?’

‘Mind-blowing,’ I said. ‘Honestly, Lucy, I hate to be a bore, but it’s true what they say. Mind you, the fact that I’m pregnant as well probably makes it worse. I’m up at least three times a night with Yuri.’

‘Your pregnancy is just the best news. I’m so pleased for you,’ she said, hugging me again. ‘But you need your rest. Aren’t babies supposed to sleep all night after a month or two?’

‘Apparently, but I think he’s unsettled because he’s been transported to unfamiliar surroundings.’

‘Will he settle down soon?’ said Lucy, asking the exact question I wanted answers to myself.

‘No idea. But I hope so.’

‘What’s it like – you know – when you look at him and stuff? I mean, do you just think, Oh, my God, there’s my son, I couldn’t love him more. Is it really love at first sight?’

‘Between you and me, sometimes I want to send him back to Russia on a one-way ticket. Like at four o’clock this morning when he started crying for the third time and I was so tired I wanted to scream. But then he’ll smile, or snuggle into you, or sigh, or yawn, or just look at you in a certain way and, I swear to God, your heart just stops. It’s overwhelming.’