Eliza had a little boy on Monday........7 pounds and 3 ounces (or whatever the equivalent is) and he's called Jack. And is gorgeous! It was a fairly easy birth compared to Ashley's - just the 8 hours agonising labour before an emergency ceasarean. Much joy abounds around their little family and she's got enough flowers to open up a florist.
At the other end of the scale there's Susan at Number 30 who has recently found out that she is pregnant. And is being fairly discreet about it in the circumstances. The first person she told was Alice, the street gossip. So therefore, everyone now knows the fact that it's her first child, she's "15 weeks gone" and that Mike is the father. You know, Mike Robinson, Lydia's husband.
At the other end of the scale there's Susan at Number 30 who has recently found out that she is pregnant. And is being fairly discreet about it in the circumstances. The first person she told was Alice, the street gossip. So therefore, everyone now knows the fact that it's her first child, she's "15 weeks gone" and that Mike is the father. You know, Mike Robinson, Lydia's husband.
I found out from Lydia herself who deposited herself on my doorstep this morning and wailed through the letter box. "She's effing pregnant!" she bellowed as she fell onto the sofa. Lydia's initial politeness and well manners have long since disappeared - she's now comfortable enough in my company to eff and blind and put her feet up on the sofa. "Omigod!" I said, hiding the Mr Sheen under the nearest cushion. "And of course, according to Mary, they haven't even been trying for long which is another slap in the face for me cos obviously he can have children so it must be my problem that for the past 8 years of our marriage we haven't been able to conceive!" Lydia lit up a cigarette with a shaky hand. "And, of course, his effing mother has already visited the new little love nest and given it her blessing."
It was then that Eliza rang to give me yet more riveting updates about the newborn (I do love my friends but they do ring at inopportune moments) "He's filled his nappy!" she cooed as Lydia sucked on her cigarette and squinted at Jeremy Kyle who was giving it his all on the TV in the corner. The show was entitled "I've just had your baby - how can you leave me?" and was populated by lots of people from council estates with Croydon facelifts and trainers the size of tanks on their feet. One delightful young lady had so many piercings on her face that it actually hurt to look at her. "Aw, and he's smiling!" Eliza was still wittering on and Lydia was glued to the television. "Effing hell" she muttered (Lydia, not Eliza) and stubbed out her cigarette in my newly polished (usually ornamental) ashtray and looked as if she wanted to throw it at the screen. "I'm on my way round!" Eliza bubbled "see you in ten minutes" and rung off before I could stop her. Lydia looked as if she had no intention of leaving just yet.
David arrived home two minutes before Eliza was due and while Lydia was dunking her fifth custard cream into her tea - I gave him a quick run down of the morning's events and he picked up his son and disappeared off to the park leaving me with it all. Men!
3 comments:
Darling sister, please reasure me that Mac was not in the house when the nicotine sticks were on fire.......
Dear one, he was in his room sorting his stuffed animals into different pens (he's still obsessed with all things farming and I've had to be extra inventive with some spare trellissing to create pens for his menagerie)and then out the door once David arrived home faster than you could say "Benson and Hedges". The minute Lydia left I opened every window in the house, burnt incense sticks (sandalwood) and hoped for the best.
He came back from the park covered in mud after he fell over Junior Dog into a muddy area by the trees by the swing park - according to David "he swallowed...some". I fear he may have caught something unpleasant so am keeping my eye on him but he seems okay. Rather than encourage him to vomit I gave him loads of milk to neutralise any bugs (am not sure if that works, I may ring you for advice later)and the Calpol is on standby in case he develops a fever.
Darling sister, I am afraid that I am too protective of my little brood. I left motherhood much too late, and I am in foreign territory here in Alleyn Road. I really have not been able to let my hair down and be myself for years. We must phone Silvana and break out the Bacardi breezers once this Lent business is over!
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