Sam Binnie - The Baby Diaries

Susie rang tonight.

Susie: Have you been meddling with my advent calendar?

Me: [sniggering] No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Susie: You little bastard. Those calendars are sacrosanct.

Me: You started it!

Susie: What do you mean, I started it?

Me: You put the pencil in mine!

Susie: What?

Me: What?

Susie: What pencil?

Me: Don’t try that game with me. The pencil … in my … advent calendar … Didn’t you?

Susie: I did no such thing, you horrible brat. How dare you.

Me: Well, who did then?

Susie: [silence] Dad?

Me: I got a tampon last week.

Susie: [longer silence] Mum?

Me: [even longer silence] She has been really stressed, Suse. I think Dad’s heart attack shook her more than we realised. And you know she always goes crazy at Christmas.

Susie: So you’re blaming your mother, are you? That does not seem like the actions of a grateful child. Your poor, aged mother.

Me: Don’t, Suse.

Susie: Alright, alright. Poor Mum. Don’t mention it to her, OK?

Me: OK. And Suse?

Susie: What?

Me: Don’t let the kids open tomorrow’s calendar parcel.

Poor Mum. She does seem pretty stressed at the moment.

Final day in the office before Christmas. Contracts all taken care of until January, publicity all wrapped up – Alice, Carol and I will be on the phone should there be any emergencies – Secret Santa gifts exchanged (gave: a woolly hat to Norman; received: a pack of fake moustaches, obviously), plans gone over and seasonal farewells said. There’s such a holiday mood over all of us, even though we’re a small office: I wonder how much of that is Christmas, and how much is how well we’ve done these last few months in Tony’s absence. Anyway, it’s nice to have these almost-two-weeks stretching ahead of us.

TO DO:

Check I’ve actually done everything?

Drinks with everyone tonight, bliss. Eve and Mike, who brought fresh boxes of stollen for everyone, Alice, Designer Dan, old pal Jim and Poppy, Zoe and Zac, Greta (my bridesmaid-buddy), Thom’s new teaching colleagues Liz, George and Robin, and even Susie and Pete (Mum and Dad had the kids). It was great, the first time I’d seen everyone together since our wedding, and reminded me and Thom both that we didn’t want to give any of this up when the baby arrived. It was always a pleasure to see these people, and for every friend we’d lost touch with over the years, there were new ones: Zoe, Greta, the teachers. This was a nice life, and we’re grateful for it. Eve’s stopped being a frenemy and is just my friend again, Mike brings us baked goods, Zac’s really handsome and Greta and Alice are hilarious – what more could one want from life?

TO DO:

See if this baby can be postponed a couple of years

Christmas Eve. I have all my presents bought, wrapped and ready to go, I have my mocktail ingredients in Mum’s fridge (I’ve got everything for several jugs of mock-itos, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to just end up on the dusty Buck’s Fizz as usual) and our flat looks like a grotto explosion, every available surface covered with fairy lights, paper chains, snowflakes, Christmas cards, flocked reindeer, tissue paper snowmen (from the Twins’ school), weathered metal stars and little festive wooden decorations. Our tree was festooned with gold bows and red baubles, and with tiny decorations made by Dad. It was beautiful.

I made us both some mulled wine (so thoroughly mulled I’d be lucky if there was even a breath of booze left in there) and brought two mugs of it through. Thom was sitting on the floor, staring at the tree.

Me: You OK?

Thom: [slightly surprised] Yeah. I am. Are you?

Me: Yes. I like how much this baby moves. And I like you.

Thom: My God , Christmas makes you emotional.

Me: You say that like it’s not fact number one about me.

Thom: Do you like it today?

Me: I do. More and more.

Thom: You’re going to have a baby here next time we do this.

Both: – All going well.

Me: We will. Are you going to cover it in ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ bibs and babygros? Will you get it tiny baby antlers?

Thom: I don’t think they exist.

Me: Well, now we know what we can pitch to Dragon’s Den , don’t we?

We stayed up late tonight, mostly just resting against the sofa, looking at the tree, until suddenly at 11.59 Thom said, ‘Right, get to bed. Father Christmas won’t come otherwise.’ Quite right, too.

Oh, a lovely day. Thom woke me up with such wonderful treats, gifts from under the tree and a tray of Christmas breakfast in bed: buttery scrambled eggs and toast, fresh orange juice and tea, and a little mince pie. ‘I’m going to look nine months preg by New Year if you keep this up,’ I warned, stuffing the mince pie in my mouth first. ‘Ah, the beauty of Woman in bloom,’ Thom countered. ‘Plus, blooming woman, we need to be at your mum and dad’s in an hour. Shall we open something here first?’ My mouth still full, I grabbed the nearest gift and thrust it at Thom, nodding, wide-eyed.

Here’s what we got one another:

From Thom:

A new MAC Ruby Woo lipstick (mine’s run out)

Four paperbacks, none of which were about babies

Plants for the window-box

To Catch a Thief , my favourite Cary Grant film

From me:

A boxset of Paul Newman films (maybe a little bit for me too)

A tie (of course)

Two poetry books

A jar of homemade chutney (annual ritual)

We thanked one another, then I said with mock casualness, ‘ Oh . What’s that ? Is there something still in the tree?’ Thom looked at me quizzically, then pulled out a gold envelope from within the branches. His face lit up. ‘It’s not what you think it is, I think,’ I warned, ‘but have a look anyway.’ He pulled out a little card, similar to the one he’d given me last Christmas (and yes which we still used, thank you very much ).

Thom: ‘For a night off.’

Me: Ah, but don’t you know how these things work? Turn it over.

Thom: ‘Definitely redeemable more than once.’ Thank you, Keeks, but a night off from what?

Me: From everything. I may regret this once the baby actually arrives, but I don’t want to you to feel that your every waking hour away from work has to be spent here, with your baby. Or with me.

Thom: Where else am I supposed to be?

Me: With your friends! Wherever you want! I know that you want to look after me, but I want you to know that you’re allowed nights off too. To be a pal to someone other than us. I know we don’t need to give one another permission, but if you ever want it, it’s there. OK?

Thom: You’re going to be a nice mother.

Me: I do hope so. I’ve already bought a card with that message for you to give me on Mothers’ Day.

As we wrapped up to go over to Mum and Dad’s, Thom said, ‘By the way, there were other things I wanted to get you but I thought they might be pretty depressing as special gifts, and I didn’t want you to think that you were just a breeder to me now. Maybe you can have them another time.’ He widened his eyes at me mysteriously, as is his wont, and we headed off.

When we got there, the house was strangely quiet, Susie and Pete and the kids not having arrived yet. While Thom went to give Mum a kiss, Dad took me to one side.

Dad: Listen, love, I think your mum’s a bit overworked at the moment, so be gentle on her, alright?

Me: Overworked? She’s been retired two years.

Dad: Katherine, I mean it. I think she’s too worried about all of us – my heart, your pregnancy – and we need to go easy on her. Tell your sister.