The Baby Diaries

Thom: What face?

Me: The ‘Didn’t we say’ face.

Thom: Didn’t they say what?

Me: Have you really not noticed that when we’ve told people? The second you’re married, everyone starts waiting for the womb on legs in the relationship to get knocked up.

Thom: [laughing] I can’t say I have noticed that, I’m afraid.

Me: No! I know you haven’t! And do you know why? Because –

Thom: I’m a man. I know. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that fact right at this moment.

Me: [laughing] Thom, I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying it’s another one of the countless things which exposes the idea of pregnancy being some kind of partnership as completely and utterly false. We are not pregnant. I am pregnant. I am the one everyone is watching. If something happens to this baby, whose fault do you think people will think that is?

Thom: [stopping the car] Kiki. If anything – heaven forbid, times a million – if anything happens to this baby, I couldn’t give the slightest shit what anyone else says. My only concern is loving it, and loving you, and making sure that even if it’s a tiny contribution, I do whatever I can to make your lives better.

Me: [crying] I’m just so hormonal. You don’t know what it’s like.

Thom: [pulling me into a hug] I know, Keeks. I know.

TO DO:

Investigate how long these crazy hormones are supposed to last

On second thoughts, maybe don’t

Do something nice for Thom

November 30th

Pamela came in for one of her infrequent visits to the office today, so I thought it was a good idea to tell her about the pregnancy: I owe my promotion purely to her and won’t ever give her an excuse to be disappointed in me. But she was as nice as Carol, checking I felt well and wasn’t exhausting myself, asking how the check-ups had been and whether my parents were excited. ‘I hear grandchildren are one of the greatest gifts one can receive,’ she explained, ‘but I’ve long since abandoned any hope of Tony giving me such a blessing.’ She shook my hand and congratulated me again, and I reassured her that she wouldn’t be able to keep me out of this office for long.

Drinks with Jacki tonight. I was so excited, since I missed our last drinks in October and I haven’t told her about this pregnancy yet. I have so much to thank her for – my promotion (it was the success of her book that sealed it), my wedding (she offered to bankroll it), and the fact I had a husband at all (she reminded me what really mattered when her marriage to a gold-digger broke her heart) – but even if I didn’t, seeing her always makes my day. We met at one of our favourite snug bars in Soho, underneath an erotic bookshop, and clacked downstairs to a booth. We were talking over one another before we’d even ordered our drinks.

Me: Jacki! I can’t believe I haven’t seen you for so long. It’s been the craziest few months.

Jacki: I know, me too, darling. I’ve been filming two videos back-to-back for singles from the bloody Love Songs album, and I don’t think I’ve slept for a month.

Me: Well, you look well, Jacks.

Jacki: Do I? I’ll give you some advice that you won’t ever need: Don’t get divorced. [seeing my face] Sorry, love, I don’t mean you. Don’t let anyone you know get divorced either. It’s not the money – I always knew I’d be worse off after marrying Leon one way or another – it’s everything else …

Me: Jacks, I’m so sorry. Come and sit next to me. [putting my arm around her]

Jacki: I’m sorry, I’m not a complainer, you know that. But this is … knackering me. It really is. Leon, his girlfriends, the rumours, the public judging us both, and waking up on my own every day … Ugh. [shaking herself] Tell me about your life, Kiki. [swallowing hard] Is married life good for you? You look amazing on it, anyway. Glowing!

And with that, I lost my nerve. I told her all about my new role, about how her book was still selling, about Thom’s new job and Mum’s increasing anxiety over Dad, and Susie’s battles with the icing bag for yet another school event. As ever, Jacki listened so attentively, asking all the right questions and remembering everything I’d ever told her about these people. She asked about guests from our wedding too, Eve and Mike, and lovely Jim and Poppy.

Jacki: And wasn’t your best man’s girlfriend due any day? What did she have?

Me: They had a little girl, Megan. She’s … wow, almost three months now.

Jacki: And are they happy?

Me: I think so. Heidi doesn’t get much sleep, though.

Jacki: And Ped told me all about Zoe, too.

Me: [not looking at her] Yeah! It’s amazing, isn’t it? I hear he’s treating her really well. First class all the way, these days. Maybe I will work for Pedro, after all.

Jacki: That only works if you’re pregnant, though.

Me: Ha! Hahaha! Haha! Yes! Haha!

Jacki: But at least Zoe and your friend Heidi have someone to care for, and to care for them, Kiki. They’re very lucky, and they should remember that.

Me: Would you like another drink?

Jacki: Ooooh, yes please. Isn’t it my round?

But I had to go and order the drinks so she wouldn’t realise that I was having Virgin Mules and Shirley Temples. Poor Jacki. As if she needs to hear from me how I’m happily breeding with my loving husband when she’s so lonely and hurt from that conniving horror Leon. I made a useless resolution that if anyone else I know ever seems to be marrying someone who appears to be a feckless greedy gobshite, I will definitely tell them. For now, I will continue to support Jacki in any way I can (or until I start showing).

December’s Classic Baby

‘You may, perhaps, be prepared to hear that Mrs Micawber is in a state of health which renders it not wholly improbable that an addition may be ultimately made to those pledges of affection which – in short, to the infantine group. Mrs Micawber’s family have been so good as to express their dissatisfaction at this state of things. I have merely to observe, that I am not aware that it is any business of theirs, and that I repel that exhibition of feeling with scorn, and with defiance!’

Mr Micawber then shook hands with me again, and left me.

David Copperfield

Charles Dickens

December 1st

Oh, advent calendar joy! When we were very little, Susie and I had a fabric advent calendar each which Mum had made, and which she and Dad would then fill with all sorts of gifts. When Dad had to travel with work, the calendar would include little German Christmas decorations, American sweets or even just miniature hotel jars of jam, while Mum would provide pound coins, lip glosses, single chocolates and hair clips. Despite the fact that we are far too old to indulge in such things, Mum still delivers the bags of twenty-five gifts each November 30th, with each tiny parcel numbered, so Susie and I don’t spoil one another’s surprises, although now the calendars are obviously filled with gifts for Thom, Pete, the Twins and Frida too.

Thom and I had spent last night diligently filling each pocket with the numbered parcels, and I was allowed to string the fairy lights around the bookshelves (but not turn them on). This morning, I leapt out of bed to open the first one.

Me: A hair clip!

Thom: [grumpily] Yours.

Me: Ahh, is someone feeling left out of the widdel advent caw-endar?

Thom: I hope you’re not going to talk to my child like that.

I always hug myself when he says something like that. If all goes well – a phrase I think to myself a hundred times a day – we’ll be celebrating next Christmas with three of us here. Three! Our baby! Wait. I got too excited too quickly. Won’t it just pull down the tree? Eat all the presents? Mmmm. Still not ready for this.