Hello again… two instalments in muppet life… 2, May 2008

The trip to Mum and Dad in-law was a great success. I think they were struggling and our arrival may have pepped them up. We stayed three days until Mum in-law came out of hospital at which point we saw her settled in, made her an omelette for lunch and then we came home. The fact abroad brother thanked us for going down there – as well as Mum in-law, herself, made me feel we had really done some good so although it was a schlep, I’m really glad we went.

Meanwhile we are attending anti-natal classes. I’m doing two sets. But Mr BC is only doing one. We’re only doing two because our first choice ones were on consecutive Thursdays and working, as he does, for the dark lords of the Sith, Mr BC would never be allowed out for something so trivial on two valuable school days.

This is the company which sends memos round about how you must wear a jacket and tie in the corporate meeting rooms (Mr BC has a green and white pin-striped effort especially for this) and how you mustn’t have internal meetings on important work time. Yes they have all their partners meetings at 8.30 in the morning or at the weekends or on Friday nights at 6 o’clock because they really are that boring there is nothing but work in their lives. Really useful for people like Mr BC who work mostly from home, live 110 miles from the office and only go in there a couple of times a week, too.

But I digress.

I am getting to the point where I’m quite excited about meeting my son but also very aware that there is something quite large, inside me, which has to get out through a very small hole. Hoping to have a water birth if I can but I will have to have an antibiotic drip for at least 4 hours before the baby is born which might make that a tad tricky.

Ah we will see…

Mr BC is very quiet at the moment, not sure if it’s because of his Mum, the fact he is about to become a father and has decidedly cold feet about the whole thing or just volume of work – there seems to be a lot and coupled with the fact being a dad means he will have to work for longer before he retires it might account for the quietness. It must be like looking at a life sentence. I wish I could help, I wish I could be the next JK Rowling or Quentin Blake or Dr Seuss and make so much money we could buy his parents a house where ever they wanted and he would never have to work again except when he wanted to.

There have been no jokes and no play.

I think I will try to do some hoovering this afternoon. He knows I loathe and detest hoovering and that I do it because I love him rather than because I want a tidy house (I do want a tidy house but it’s not as high on my list of priorities as it is on his). Anyway, it’s a way of showing him I care and god knows it needs it after all the effort Mr Cat has put into single handedly – or should that be pawedly – attempting to re-carpet the stairs in tabby and white.

The guys flooring the loft chipped the paint on the wall, too so I can touch that up while I’m at it. A small statement of reassurance which, if it is cold feet, or down to me, may help.

I know many men are not that bothered about having kids before it happens, even if they enjoy it once it does but I’m keenly aware that if he doesn’t enjoy being a dad this will actually be the end of our marriage. He did this for me because he knew things had changed after the miscarriage. It may be asking too much and stupidly by the time I realised the extent of his private reluctance I was already pregnant. There is nothing I can do except hope. I’m not sure talking will help because until the Muffin arrives there will be no concrete answer and to voice the uncertainty may only make it harder for both of us especially if I’m right and we do both know what’s wrong.

There’s no way out of this now and the reality of what could happen is pretty stark.

…

Oh well. No good sitting here.

———–

Later on: stop press:

House hoovered, dents in walls touched up the wrong colour, to the huge amusement of Mr BC who returned home with his sense of humour restored and was able to produce the touch up pot with the correct colour paint in it immediately… from a completely different place to the one I’d been looking in, too, naturally.

He took ages to come home because all the roads were knackered and of course, being a woman and a pregnant one at that, I’d convinced myself he’d never return at all by that time. A little leaking while I hoovered then.

He arrives.

I give him a hug.

He squints at me.

“You’ve been crying…”

Already from his obvious concern I can tell that everything is ok and that we are fine. So I react with humour.

I tell him I have but that’s just the hormones messing with my ass… I can do this confident that he will give me an opening to tell him what’s wrong.

“I hope you’ve not changed your mind, we can’t put this baby back you know.” He tells me cheerfully. Letting me know what he thinks it might be that’s bothering me.

I tell him that no I am delighted about the baby and want it dearly but I’m worried I might have knackered my smashing marriage by having one.

“Ah!” He says, beaming cheerfully. “So you are having a marriage-saving clean. Well, it’s not going to work, I’ve been home nearly five minutes already and even though it should be clear to you that I am desperate for a cup of tea, the kettle isn’t on.”

Equilibrium restored. He may well be nervous and it’s possible he may have opted for fatherhood out of love for his missus rather than desire to be a dad but he’s clearly quite at peace with his decision. He’s taken the afternoon off and gone to have a look at loft ladders in our local DIY stores.

Every day he tells me he loves me, in a thousand different ways, even though he seldom actually says the words. I’m probably hyper sensitive, which means it IS the hormones… I guess it’s not so long before I pop and they are probably all over the shop!

Phew.

I take the pot of the wrong coloured paint back to our shed. There’s been a heavy shower but right now the sky is blue, the sun is out and everything is glistening with raindrops and light. Mr Cat is lying on his back on the lawn with his legs in the air sunning his tummy. He rolls over to greet me and then rolls back, anxious to catch some more sun. The grass is soaked and so is the fur on his back.

Hmm… all’s right with the world.