Confessions of a Bad Mother Read Online Free PDF

at all
stages.’
    ‘Eighty quid for peace of mind?’ says Peter. ‘A
bargain.’
    At ten weeks we go and see my GP, who says he’s never heard of the
CVS and anyway there’s no point asking him anything because the real
expert is the community midwife. Can we book an ultrasound scan? No. Would he
like to take my blood pressure? No. Shall we – play Scrabble? His lack of
interest is slightly embarrassing, as if this is a car showroom and not a
surgery at all. But we have to be friends with him because we need the
referral.
    At eleven weeks the community midwife waves away questions about such
trivia as the baby to concentrate on something really important: geography.
Apparently we live on a fault line between catchment areas so I have to change
midwife teams after the birth.
    ‘You live in Islington South, but after the birth you’d have
to be cared for by a team from Islington North .’ Clearly this is a
Big Deal. Are Islington North and South at war? I’ve been so preoccupied,
there’s probably a lot I don’t know. We try to drag the
conversation back to the pregnancy.
    ‘I really want to arrange a scan. I am thirty-six, after all, and
well – I really want to see the baby. It could be a hysterical pregnancy
– or wind!’ I’m sending up my own anxiety here: give me a
break! She doesn’t smile.
    ‘OK, what about this CVS?’ says Peter. ‘Should we be
thinking about that?’
    ‘Oh, you’re too late for that.’ (This is not
true .)
    Eventually – with forceps – we extract a leaflet from her
about tests for Down’s syndrome and other conditions.
    ‘Can we at least arrange the scan? We’re going on
holiday at the end of the week.’
    ‘Plenty of time. You’ll get a hospital appointment in
– ooh, two or three weeks.’
    In other words, when it’s too late. We are dealing with parallel
universes. We don’t have strong views about NHS or private; we just want
them to recognize that to us, this banal little event is important .
    ‘It’ll be fine,’ says Peter, deploying the phrase that
over the coming months, will make me want to hit him with a pan.
    In Tobago we watch families playing in the sea together, and crocodiles
of beautifully turned out schoolchildren who say, ‘Good morning!’
to the ladies who sit outside their shops.
    ‘Look! Look!’ I say. ‘Listen!’
    ‘You sound like an Early Reading Book.’
    ‘I like the school uniform.’
    ‘Yeah. Just one thing. We don’t actually live
here.’
    ‘Be nice, though.’
    ‘Yeah … everyone’s so polite.’
    ‘Can we have polite children in blue pinafores?’
    ‘Don’t they still use the cane? Isn’t that why
they’re so well behaved?’
    ‘Well, they look good anyway.’
    On the second night, the hotel has ‘2 for 1’ at the bar.
    ‘I think you can have one ,’ he says.
    ‘Oh, thanks! Is it going to be like this from now on?’
    ‘Like what? You’re pregnant, for God’s
sake.’
    ‘One pina colada, please.’
    The bar lady puts down two foamy white glasses.
    ‘Oh thanks, but I only wanted one .’
    ‘Ah, but it’s 2 for 1, you see?’
    It goes down amazingly fast.
    ‘Actually, they’re not that strong, are they? Mostly
pineapple and coconut.’
    ‘Well, bars always do that, water them down. They’re hardly
going to use double measures of rum in a promotion.’
    We have four each.
    In the night I wake up and remember that just before Christmas, I went
out with two girls from work and had a lot of wine. And of course I was
already pregnant by about three or four weeks. So the damage is done anyway,
but it’s not my fault because I didn’t know. This is a huge relief,
and I go back to sleep.
    At thirteen weeks we’re back. I ring the hospital to check that
the GP has done the referral, and they’ve never heard of me.
    ‘What are we going to do? I’m supposed to be in the
system!’
    Peter says: ‘It’ll be fine.’
    ‘But they said I don’t exist!’
    ‘It’ll