25/11/2012 15:56 GMT | Updated 25/01/2013 05:12 GMT

The Marmite Mother Versus Lady Gaga

- The continuing diary of an accidental mother - Week 21

The week was spent chasing tail (nothing salacious you understand - I refer to my own). The feature, An Accidental Mother was noticed... and I was deemed Marmite, i.e. loved or loathed.

Being a writer, this viscous black state is one to be welcomed. The editor of the Irish Independent received numerous returned copies of the magazine torn and scrunched up. They were symbolic of the disgust felt by its readers. The relics of Holy Ireland were on the stir, how dare the editor of the Irish Independent sink so low as to publish such filth, an unmarried mother in this day and age!

Somewhere in the midst of all this hoo-hah, lay the Interloper. To be honest I momentarily forgot about being pregnant. Pregnancy took a back seat to an overload of work and the following earth shattering news....

I was out having lunch with an aunt when the phone rang.

"You are not going to believe this." It was the Glam Rocker sounding jubilant.

"Believe what?"

"The band have been offered a world tour supporting a huge international female artist. Guess," he said, "Guess who?"

I ran through the usual suspects Madonna, Rihanna, Beyoncé?

"Close... come on," he said, "Guess."

So then he starts singing to the tune, Let's Call the Whole Thing Off. Only he has changed the words, "You say goo-goo and I say..."

"Gaga? Lady Gaga! Oh my god... really?"

"Yeah," The Glam Rocker continued, "An amazing opportunity, eh?"

"Wow, for sure it's brilliant," I blathered, before adding a circumspect, "I guess."


"Well, how long is the tour for?"

"Five months."

"And when does it start?"

"August," he replied.

"August?" I repeated.

"Yeah... "

"You mean the August that begins a couple of weeks after the birth of our baby?"

Later that same evening...

The Glam Rocker arrived at my apartment beaming with excitement. It radiated off him like a nuclear dawn. His expression was one I could not mirror. Since learning about the tour, a colossal sadness mushroomed within.

He wondered what was up, what was wrong.


From my (and the baby's) perspective all I could think about was how a mere two weeks was too little to bond with a baby. To then be whisked off for five months on a round the world trip didn't bode well for the Interloper or myself. The impact of the Glam Rocker not being present rippled within, compounded by the fact the Teenager would be setting off for boarding school. I would be on my own with the Interloper.

The Glam Rocker handed me a bottle in which if not pregnant, I would have drowned my sorrows. We were meant to be celebrating his good news.

'Aren't you happy?' He asked.


I wanted to be happy, tried to be happy but see I was already grieving 'us'. From where I was standing or sitting, Single Motherhood beckoned.

"Cooeee, here we go again!"

To my mind, the Glam Rocker was leaving. He had left. He physically would not be here. He was going to miss the first five months of the baby's life. He tried to reassure me, "I know it's not ideal but there'll be time off, maybe you can travel with me and there's always Skype."

"I hate Skype - it makes me self conscious."

He promised he would come back for snatched days here and there.

"I'll really need your support on this," he said to me.

"You'll need my support?"

"Come on, this is a great opportunity for us."

For US... ?

I met the Glam Rocker less than a year ago, five months later by some fluke of nature and despite protection I, a woman in my early forties discovered I was pregnant. The Glam Rocker and I were only getting to know each other. I wasn't sure what 'us' meant.

I sat silently fast-forwarding into the future. Even if he did come back occasionally, on each fleeting visit he would need to re-attune. It would not be a case of, "Honey I'm home let me take over." For one thing, he wouldn't know where to start, what to do. Suddenly the prospect of being anchored to my apartment night after night faced with a colicky Interloper, interrupted sleep, sore nipples, etc, etc - ie the realities of motherhood - struck hard and filled me with terror...

Then again, maybe I was over reacting...


Even the Interloper found that news hard to swallow

Twenty-one weeks into your pregnancy the inner 'I' is becoming more active and may be able to swallow.