Dyan Sheldon - And Baby Makes Two

The doorbell rang while I was trying on a heavy black jumper Charley’d left behind. It was so big that I didn’t look pregnant, I looked like I was swimming in treacle. I could leave my flies open and no one would ever know.

“I didn’t realize the ‘builder’ look was in this season,” said Shanee when I answered the door.

She used to wait for me at the post-box on the corner, but now she called at the house. I wasn’t sure if the Wicked Witch had put her up to it – to make sure I went to school – or if it really was because she got tired of waiting so long for me to get ready.

I struck a model-like pose.

“Am I radiant?” I gushed.

Pregnant women were supposed to shine like a radium dial. Everybody said so.

Shanee tilted her head on one side. “Well,” she said, “you do have a few more zits.”

It was all right for the headteacher and Hilary Spiggs to say I should stay at school. They didn’t have to put up with the teasing and taunting.

“What’s that you’ve got under your jumper, Lana?” shouted one of the Year Eights as Shanee and I walked into the building. “You smuggling footballs into school?”

So funny I forgot to laugh.

Sometimes it was footballs. Sometimes it was melons. Other times, they’d just laugh, without saying anything.

I wasn’t going to look over to count them, but there were about three of the pimply little cretins hanging out by the entrance. They were practically wetting themselves, they thought they were so hysterical.

“Ignore them,” said Shanee. “They’re baby dorks.”

It was what Shanee always said.

The baby dorks weren’t the worst, though. The worst were the older dorks. There were a couple of the real hard cases who would kind of slide up to me if I was on my own, smiling and drooling. “I hear pregnant women are always horny…” they’d say. Or, “I hear pregnant women are really desperate…” Or, “How about letting me have a taste of your milk?” Rude stuff like that.

“They’ll get tired of it eventually,” said Shanee.

This was also what she always said.

I didn’t say anything. A hot bubble of something that wasn’t quite air and wasn’t quite water had lodged itself in my throat. “Loo,” I muttered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

We headed for the loo.

There were about a million girls stuffed into the toilet. It sounded like a hut full of chickens. A couple of girls were actually using the cubicles, but most of them were squashed together at the sinks, checking their make-up in the mirrors.

“Jesus,” Shanee groaned. “You couldn’t get a lizard through here.” She glanced at me anxiously. “Can you wait?”

I clapped my hand over my mouth and shook my head.

“Coming through!” shouted Shanee. “Coming through!”

No one so much as looked over. They were all too busy with getting their eyes right and admiring each other’s clothes. Normally, I’d’ve been with them.

I forced my way in. There was a free toilet right at the end, but I couldn’t get to it.

The hot bubble was beginning to burst.

I choked.

“She’s going to be sick!” screamed Shanee. “Get out of the way. She’s going to be sick!”

The girl who was blocking my way made a face, but she flattened herself against the girl in front of her, holding her mascara wand in the air like a flag.

“Jesus,” she muttered. “No wonder everybody warns you about having sex.”

“So, Saturday,” Gerri was saying. “We’ll blitz the lot. Miss Selfridge, Hennes, Gap…” She winked at Shanee. “We can even hit the Notting Hill Housing Trust Charity Shop if you want.”

Amie opened her packet of crisps. Cheese and onion. The smell was enough to make me gag.

“Sounds great to me. I want to get a top like that one we saw in Cosmo . You know, with the V-neck and the stripes?”

I chewed on a plain water biscuit and tried not to yawn.

I was used to school being boring, but not lunch , for God’s sake.

“It’s tempting,” said Shanee. “I got a brilliant denim jacket in the Trust last time we went. But I can’t go on Saturday.” She made the face of someone who has suffered a lot. “I’ve got to mind the brats.”

“Bring ’em with you,” said Gerri. “We can handle three of them between us.”

Shanee groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding! I’d rather take a bear shopping with me. It’d behave better and we’d get on the news.”

Gerri turned to me. “What about you, Lana? You can still squeeze through the aisles, can’t you?”

“Oh, hahaha.” I bit into another biscuit. “Actually, maybe I will come along. I want to check out Mothercare. It’s time I started thinking about his clothes.”

“What makes you think it’s going to be a boy?” asked Gerri.

“I just know.” I shrugged. “You have a feeling about these things.”

Amie choked. “I’d’ve thought you’d’ve had enough of feelings.”

“And I should probably check out the baby books…” I went on. “I still haven’t decided about breast-feeding.”

“Please, no … no more about breast-feeding.”

To my surprise, it was Shanee who was holding up her hand and looking pained.

“Am I being a breast-feeding bore?” I enquired. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Amie and Gerri both looked at Shanee.

“Well, you do bang on about it,” she said defensively.

“Among other things,” mumbled Gerri.

Amie started humming “Rock-a-bye Baby” under her breath.

“But it’s important.” Now I was the one who sounded defensive. “It can mess up a kid for life if you get it wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to talk about it all the time,” said Shanee. “Talk about something else.”

I couldn’t talk about something else. Most of my topics of conversation had dried up. I didn’t even see that many films any more. The cinema seats were too uncomfortable for more than a few minutes. And, in case you’re interested in irony, now that I had a free source of videos I always fell asleep on the couch before they were over.

“Like wha—” I began. But I didn’t get any further. Another bubble was rising in my throat. My mouth felt like a cup of half-finished hot chocolate that had been left under the bed for a couple of weeks.

“God!” I gasped, and jumped to my feet, scattering the rest of my lunch on the ground. “I’m going to be sick again.”

Gerri groaned. “You’d think you’d carry a stack of sick bags with you,” she said.

There was one person I never complained to, and that was Les. Not about all the regular general aches and pains, or the morning sickness, or the indigestion, or the sore tits, or anything like that. I didn’t want him to think I was a whingeing pregnant woman. If I felt like I was going to puke, I didn’t gag and choke and rush off with my hand clamped over my mouth the way I would’ve if I was with Hilary or Shanee. I excused myself with a smile and a vague grunt and just wafted away. I ran once I was out of his sight. And I always turned the tap on in the bath when I had to be sick, so he wouldn’t hear. I never talked about nappies or breast-feeding or anything like that with Les, either. I mean, Shanee complained and she was a girl, it should’ve been interesting to her. I didn’t want to bore Les or make him think I expected him to go shopping for stuff for the baby.

And there was one part of my life that pregnancy actually improved.

My sex life. I hadn’t realized before that certain men found pregnant women a real turn-on, but they did. Les said pregnant women were sort of exotic and exciting. He said none of his friends had ever made it with a pregnant woman. They were all really curious about it. And jealous.