- The continuing trials of an accidental mother, week 26 -
Perhaps I should brush over this week. It was not a happy one. I was not a happy person. I hated everyone and everything. This was compounded by the official and public confirmation that the Glam Rocker's band would be supporting Lady Gaga on her worldwide tour, which meant I would be mothering it, alone.
I drove past weary pram pushing mothers thinking "suckers!" Yet I too was bound for that treadmill, those black ringed eyes, the repetitious drudgery. I could find no shard of light to illuminate my situation. The initial six months of motherhood were going to be (by the very virtue of the baby being a baby), hardcore, intense, full on and exhausting.
I fell into a pot and got into a stew. Unsurprisingly, I then turned on my nearest and dearest, and forced several helpings upon the Glam Rocker. I stuffed him to the gills then showed him that, which comprises a door; hinges, locks, spyhole, letterbox and a polished knob. A knob to turn and twist, to enter and exit. All was in working order even the thud as it closed behind him.
Was I being rash? The truth is I'm more R&B, hip hop with a twist of garage. Glam Rock is a whole other world. Let the Glam Rocker tour with Gaga. Did I care? Not a jot. I'd revert to my original plan. Paris beckoned once again. Damn it, why should I change my plans to accommodate a Glam Rocker who would only be present by virtue of his absence? The Interloper and I would fall in love in Paris, the lure of the lights and je ne sais quoi. I concede it would be a tad ambitious to conquer this city with a tiny baby but I wasn't scared to go it alone. Truth was the reverse. To be dependent on someone else emotionally, physically or financially was far scarier.
I opened my front door and screamed, "I don't need you Glam Rocker." He didn't hear. He wasn't waiting on the doorstep. I continued down the road, round the corner, still no trace of him, which was fine. He was someone I really didn't need. I jumped on a bus, on the overground, crossed London repeating my mantra all the way to an east end door. A door similar to my own but with a bell as opposed to knocker. When it opened, I would be ready. Should the Glam Rocker pose the question, "What do you want?" I would answer emphatically, "Not you. I don't need you."
My finger pressed down hard on the buzzer. I heard the approach of footsteps. My heart was gearing up ready for the fight. Slowly the door opened and face to face with his flatmate, the words perched on the tip of my tongue fell silent.
"Are you looking for the Glam Rocker?" she asked.
"He's not here."
"Do you know where he is?" My voice sounded higher than usual and my lips began to quiver.
She shrugged her shoulders, "do you want to leave him a message?"
Yes, I most certainly did. How dare he. How dare he just disappear. Just cause I showed him the door and told him to get lost... did he have to take me so literally? It wasn't my practice to traipse the breadth of London for nothing, what with the Interloper now six months heavy in my belly. I had a very clear message I wanted to impart to the Glam Rocker and it was a real pain he wasn't in.
"Here", she said and she handed me a tissue to wipe my eyes.
"Thanks," I snuffled, "tell him... just tell him... I'm sorry."
TO BE CONTINUED
Itching to exit (just like Daddy?).
By now your baby has fingernails. Too cute! Your baby's lungs are beginning to produce surfactant, (what the...?) It's a substance that allows the air sacs in the lungs to inflate and keeps them from collapsing and sticking together when they deflate. Lengthwise we are talking in and around 230 millimeters long and weight wise 820 grams.
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