Page 32 of How We Loved

15th December

Twenty days until Christmas, and it feels like Christmas is cancelled. I haven’t written in days because of one thing and one thing only: Hope. Johnson totally jinxed us when we said she hadn’t found her lungs yet. She’s found them now, alright. So much so, the neighbours downstairs complained. Obviously, I yelled back that Tristan was a total arse.

She cries, and then she cries some more. Ben and I take turns dancing her around the room, and I’ve now realized I’ve developed a bit of a weird sway that I do when standing, even if I’m not holding her. Meredith mentioned it last night. Tristan and Mer ordered a takeaway for all of us, and we’d taken Hope down there in her bouncy chair that vibrates. Sometimes, and I do mean sometimes, she can be lulled into quietness by a good swaddle, a dummy, and a vibrating chair. Ben has to do the swaddling because I’m still too scared I’ll drop her on the floor. I don’t think I would, but the chance is still too high to take. She’s so cute, and small, and perfect. I’d hate for me to be the one to first drop her.

Anyway, so we were downstairs, Ben and I like zombies. And this isn’t an exaggeration. Meredith had Hope in her arms, adopting the sway I’ve perfected, Ben was sat at their dining room table, just staring into space, a half-drunk bottle of beer going warm between his hands. I was in the kitchen with Mer and Hope, swaying even though I wasn’t holding her.

“So how you feeling?” Mer was asking. “You know, physically?”

“You mean have my bits all reconnected.”

“Well, yeah.” She was kissing Hope’s soft baby head, and I didn’t think it fair to recount exactly the damage a baby head does to your vagina when it exists at a rate of ten miles an hour. My recollections are getting hazier now; Hope is washing them all away with her super cuteness and the sheer exhaustion she is creating with her constant crying.

“It’s okay. I think. I’m still doing that weird bleeding thing.”

Mer’s eyes popped open wide. “The say what now?”

“Yeah, total gross.” I sipped my low-alcohol wine that tasted utter shite. “Pregnancy is not kind at all. It’s not what they make it out to be.”

“Who makes it out to be?”

“You know,” I explained. “Those women, the ones that float around looking all fabulous in floaty dresses and then just pop their babies out and instantly look glamorous again. I mean, look at this.” I lifted my breastfeeding double-layered top and then pushed down my sweat pants - hadn’t tried jeans post-stitching. Still a bit scared of that. “Look, Mer. Look. Not one pregnancy book tells you about this; I’ve double-checked Google too.” I was referring and exhibiting my post-baby tummy. It doesn’t bounce back, which I guess somewhat naively I thought it would.

“Jaysus.” Mer breathed out her exclamation. Then she pulled herself together. “I mean, it’s not that bad.”

“Oh my God, you’re such a terrible liar. It’s horrific. Look at it.” To prove my point, I squeezed a thick wedge of loose excess flab. “It’s awful. How on earth do you get it to go away?”

“I think you might have to exercise.” Her nose wrinkled. So did mine. The thought of exercising was way down my to-do list, after sleeping, eating chocolate, and binging Netflix. I covered myself back up and then took a now, thankfully sleeping Hope from her arms.

“How’s uni going? Is it hard?”

“Hard? Hardly, I’ve only got three lectures a week.”

“Three. Are you sure you just haven’t forgotten some?”

“Nope. Three. After Christmas, it will be even less because the main focus is on the dissertation.”

“Oh, yeah. What’s your title?”

Mer was very quick to turn around and grab some plates out of the cupboard, clanging them loudly on the work surface. I squished Hope against my chest trying to cover her ears. “If she wakes before the Chinese arrives, I’ll literally kill you.”

“Sorry...” Too late though. Hope woke, and I spent dinner standing by the extractor fan trying to get her to stop crying. Who knew extractor fans were the best white noise around - I might have to put one in the bedroom. Just a minor adjustment to the decor and well worth it if you ask me.

18th December

Just realized we haven’t bought a single Christmas present. Ben is still lounging around the house and actively not working... singing... songwriting... however, it works what he does. I’ve decided I’m going to leave it until after Christmas, then I’ll have it out with him. He can’t be on ‘paternity’ leave for months. He’ll drive me crazy. As much as I’m loving being with him all the time, I know I need to get used to being with Hope by myself. Plus, and this sounds awful, truly awful, and I’m not even really meaning it as a negative, but everywhere we go as a family, Ben causes such a stir that Hope kind of gets overlooked. The health visitor last week suggested I start going to some baby groups so I can meet other mums. This was after I caught a woman snapping a picture of Ben on her phone while he was trying to get Hope back into her babygrow while she screamed blue murder. I can say, right now, hand on heart: Nothing makes you sweat like your baby crying in public. It’s like she’s painting a neon sign on our backs saying, ‘My parents are shite, please get me new ones.’

Mum and Dad are hosting for Christmas. This is painful for obvious reasons. Made slightly worse by the fact on Christmas Day they are also hosting Ben’s mum and sisters. On Boxing Day, Meredith’s parents are invited. I didn’t see them that much at the wedding reception, so I’m not sure how it’s going to go. The success of Boxing Day basically revolves around how much Meredith’s parents like to drink. For some reason, I’ve got it in my head they are abstainers. Should be interesting. Anyway, Ben and I will be saved. Boxing Day afternoon we are heading down to stay with his mum for a few days. She hasn’t seen Hope that much, and I think I’m kind of hoping that the sea air will give me a bit of a kick up the arse and also wake Ben up from this slumber he is in. You can’t be a famous singer/songwriter/rock star if you don’t actually sing or write.

Okay. We are going shopping now. Going to take the car. One of the weird things about having a baby in London is that we haven’t actually put her in the car yet. She’s about to go for her first ride.

Ten minutes later.

Can’t get the car seat in the car. It doesn’t make any sense. She screamed blue murder while Ben and I tried to work out how to get the seatbelt around the car seat. I was actively sweating, and it’s only 10 degrees out there. Now Ben has stormed off to Mothercare to buy an Isofix - don’t know what that is, but I’m hoping it stops me having full-on panic attempts trying to get my daughter in the car.

Why is everything such hard work.

An hour later