"What does one do when contractions begin?" My arm shot up. I knew this one. "Scream," I answered. This response was met with disdain: "Wrong... You need to be in control. Screaming evokes the idea of someone who has lost control." I suddenly came over all John McEnroe. Was she serious? She could not be serious? How could she possibly say that?
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.
Don't get me started on the pink aisle. I'm a little bit rabid about the pink aisle. I'll bore you - suffice to say I don't do pink. If the Interloper is a girl, there will be a careful vetoing of toys reinforcing the idea a women's worth is dependent on her looks, or that catering to the needs of men is the only way forward (basically, all toys on the pink aisle).
After the fast living, rock star adrenaline pumped existence of nonstop touring, partying and god knows what else, the Glam Rocker announced it would take a while to settle back into civvy life. To hasten the process, within two hours of his arrival, jet-lagged and plane-weary, I dragged him straight to the antenatal unit for our 20-week scan.
The Glam Rocker is neither religious nor cut. The idea is wholly foreign to him, whereas to me, circumcision is as natural an act as cutting the umbilical cord. I realise in the current climate my opinion may strike a foul chord.
Good parenting has nothing to do with one's social or marital status though I concede it is more practical for two people to share the job of child rearing. However, a conventional status does not necessarily deign parenting attributes on anyone. If you don't believe me just go see, 'We Need to Talk About Kevin.'