Dyan Sheldon - And Baby Makes Two

After a while, the pain was coming sort of regularly. Stab … rest … stab … rest … stab … rest…

I heaved myself off the sofa and shuffled across the room to get my preggers leaflets.

According to the Going Into Labour section, if what I was feeling were contractions, then I should be timing them. Stab … rest … stab … rest…

It would give me something to do besides wince and scream.

I focused on the clock on the video. It was one-thirty in the morning. I couldn’t ring Hilary at one-thirty in the morning. Not if it wasn’t an emergency.

And it didn’t seem to be an emergency. I mean, it hurt , but it didn’t hurt that much now I was getting used to it. Plus, I wasn’t bleeding or anything. Or only internally.

At two o’clock I gave up timing the contractions. I had no idea what I was timing for . Ten minutes apart? Five minutes apart? Three? Then what?

I tried to remember everything I’d ever heard anybody say about having a baby. I knew it was meant to hurt, but hurting was one thing and having your insides pushed out of you was another. I was sure I’d remember that. Mostly what I remembered was what Charlene told me about getting to the hospital and having a needle and not feeling anything more. That I did remember. I could see a woman with a big smile and sweat on her forehead, cradling a newborn infant in her arms. In this image, the newborn infant was not holding on to the woman’s intestines.

I tried to sleep, but it wasn’t any use. It was like trying to fall asleep during a police interrogation.

At two-thirty, I had to go to the loo.

Doubled over, I sort of crept out of the living-room. I was almost afraid to move in case I broke something. Or broke something else .

I was taking large, deep breaths, to ease the pain. I almost wished I’d gone to the birthing classes after all, partner or no partner. Then at least I’d know how far apart the contractions had to be before you should call the doctor.

I don’t know how I made it to the bathroom. But it didn’t matter much, because I didn’t make it very far into the bathroom.

I opened the door, but then I just stood there, holding on to the knob.

It was like someone was testing nuclear bombs underground, only I was the ground.

Wham! Something exploded inside me. I was so shocked that I didn’t respond until I realized there was water dripping down my legs.

And I knew straight away what was going to happen next. I was going to die there, all by myself, that was what was going to happen. I caught my reflection in the mirror. I was pale and sweating and sopping wet. All I could think was, thank God Les isn’t here. I wouldn’t want him to see me like this. It was bad enough that the ambulance men who came to take me to the morgue would see me like this.

I burst into tears.

“Oh, my God!”

Even though I was dying a horrible death, I could see what was happening as if I was watching a film.

Les was standing in the doorway. He’d come back because he missed me. No, he’d come back because he had a feeling that I needed him. He’d left his friends sitting by the pool and got the first flight back to London. He was wearing a Greece T-shirt and a straw hat. He dropped the bag and rushed to take me in his arms. “It’s all right, darling…” he crooned. “I’m here now…”

But it wasn’t Les. It was my mother . She was standing behind me in a blue woolly hat with a face the colour of a dead fire.

“Lana! I had a feeling—”

“Don’t just stand there yammering at me!” I screamed. “ Do something! ”

And then I really started to cry.

I really loved being on the ward. It was painted pale yellow and the curtains had little bears all over them, so it was really cheerful. There were three other new mothers on the ward with me: Ellen, Anne and Sam, so there was lots going on all the time and lots of chat and laughter. It was almost like a party.

I told the others all about not knowing about the contractions and the doctor telling me I wasn’t due and my waters breaking and everything.

Unlike Hilary Spiggs, who’d wanted to know what planet I came from, they all sympathized. And then they told me their own horror stories. It was incredible anybody ever bothered to have a baby really.

Ellen had her second in John Lewis. She called him Lou.

“It was either that or Ladies’ Lingerie,” she said. “I didn’t think Ladies’ Lingerie would go down well when he went to school.” She laughed. “You have to be careful about names.”

I felt like I belonged to a club or something. Except for Anne and me, all the others had had babies before. Ellen had three .

“Really?” It was like doing your GCSEs. I couldn’t imagine going through it more than once. “You’ve already got three kids?”

“Boys,” said Ellen. She grinned. “We wanted a girl.”

“I’ve got two,” said Sam. “One of each.”

“I don’t think I’ll have any more,” I said.

The others all laughed.

“That’s what everybody says,” said Sam.

Sam was twenty-four. Next to me, she was the youngest.

She gave me a wink. “You’re just a beginner. I was about your age when I started. Trust me, you get used to it.”

“Wait till you’ve had as many as me,” said Ellen. “The only thing that scares me is where I’m going to put another one.”

Ellen and her husband had a two-bedroom house.

“My parents gave us the deposit as a wedding present,” said Ellen. “We’ve been there longer than you’ve been alive.”

Anne said, “That sounds like heaven to me. Me and Colin moved in with my mum when we got married, and we’re still there.”

“It’s awful living with your mother, isn’t it?” I said. I was feeling really happy now, lying there chatting with everyone like a real woman. Anne was right, I could hardly remember the pain. “Me and my boyfriend are going to get our own flat as soon as we can.”

“Lucky you,” said Anne. “The only way I’m likely to get away from my mum is if I kill her and they put me in prison.”

“Um… Solitary confinement…” said Ellen. “What wouldn’t I give…”

“We want something modern,” I said. “With a garden for the kids.” I’d only just thought of the garden, but I knew exactly what it looked like. It would have a pink Wendy house, just like the one I’d always wanted.

“We wanted a flat of our own,” said Anne. “But … well…” She made a face and shrugged. “You don’t always get what you want, do you?”

I started to say that you could get what you want as long as you didn’t give up, but they all shouted at once, “You get what you need!”

I didn’t know what they were on about, but I laughed along.

“It’s pretty much the same thing, though, isn’t it?” I asked when they’d finished shrieking.

Ellen winked. “Not always.”

It was like a scene from a movie: me and Hilary Spiggs, shoulder to elbow, staring down at the tiny infant in my arms. Her eyes were closed and she had her fists balled against her mouth. She had this wild punky hair and blotchy skin. There was something sort of froggy about her, but she was still really cute.

“Well, she doesn’t look like you ,” said my mother. “She must take after her dad.”

This was a leading question. She thought that because I was weak and drowning in hormones I’d finally tell her who the father was. But of course I didn’t.

I said, “It’s incredible. She has little nails and everything.”

It really was incredible. I mean, I knew she’d have nails and eyebrows and stuff, but it was still pretty amazing that she did, when you saw them, and how tiny she was.