At 7 months pregnant I finished off a big bowl of mashed potato and ketchup and pondered the likelihood of ‘fitting in’ with the Alpha Mums in St Johns Wood.
It might seem ridiculous that even before I have experienced giving birth I am worried about school yard dynamics with slender sushi eating super Mums for whom ‘carbs’ is a swearword - but having learnt that my friend’s son, aged 2, is on a 5 year waiting list for Scouts, Daddy David and I realised we couldn’t afford to be too relaxed about our twin boys schooling and social life. Even if they are yet to take up residence in the world.
We Googled local schools and were disheartened to learn that lazy Sunday mornings may end more abruptly than anticipated as local churches have registers and prospective parents for catchment schools are expected to have signed in for 3 out of 4 Sundays a month for, well, as long as possible. Dreams of a Summer time naming party / tree planting ceremony combined with a BBQ in a pub garden dwindle and images of formal christening gowns and starched dog collars appear. For all the Daily Mail-esque ranting that goes on it would appear that the backbone of this country is, at least in terms of prep schools is NW8, C of E.
Back to more imminent concerns… Project Hospital Bag. In a huge departure from previous post Christmas retail indulgences I battled the high streets and bought, with some reluctance, a quantity of paper pants and nipple pads, which I have been advised to pack for the Big Day Of Birth. I resisted the lure of perineal cream as on closer inspection it was not the aromatherapy treat I initially took it to be.
The check out girl that packed up my New Mum Treats was clearly not in a warm fuzzy mood. She launched into a monologue about how unfortunate it was to be female and pregnant - in view of the biological facts that render us ‘stuck’ while the males of the species remain footloose and fancy-free. I think perhaps she needs to revisit her training manual as I’m pretty sure that particular narrative was not included in the ‘what to say to customers guide’ – which, I imagine, sticks to a much safer albeit restricted portfolio of suggestions. Perhaps ‘when are you due?’ or ‘do you know if it is a boy or a girl?’ Not ‘do you feel thoroughly annoyed to have been born female and bearing the majority of the reproductive burden?’
Far more successful was my online shopping hunt for the perfect twin change bag - the BabyMel X2. It has a cunning two-in-one design whereby each twin’s ‘kit’ can be self contained but rather than lugging around two bags they neatly clip together – and attach to the buggy. It was one of the first non-gadget related items that met with Daddy David’s approval, which was surprising given the level of interest usually shown in my new bags! Clearly it passes the ‘man bag’ test as well as being stylish enough for Mum. I don’t particularly want to look like I am embarking on an expedition every time I leave the house with my brood – although now in my third trimester I do, at times, feel as though I need an oxygen tank and crampons to get to the top of a flight of stairs.
As B day is rapidly approaching we decided to go to the Hospital for a tour, an attempt to minimize ‘the unknown’. I am not good with the unknown. I like facts and information. It makes me feel prepared. At least, I thought that was the case. The friendly Midwife showcased the beds in the delivery room, which manoeuvred into an alarming array of positions, and yes, there were stirrups. Admittedly they had been cunningly disguised as padded foot rests but I saw flickers of fear in the other women’s eyes and we all turned a little pale as reality dawned. Even without the stairs I suddenly found it a little harder to breathe. I didn’t see any oxygen tanks but gas and air was on tap. I have some c-section questions that remain un-asked but have decided that in a world of information overload maybe sometimes a little mystery and unknown is a good thing. After all it wouldn’t really be the miracle of life if we know ALL the detail, would it?
Katy Hymas
January 2010 | 
The 'Other' in Mother
