A great day was had by some and when Peter and Shelley came to collect Ronan, they asked, ‘Was he good for you?’
‘Good?’ Garv said. ‘He was brilliant! We don’t want to give him back.’
‘You’ll have to get working on a little cousin for him, so,’ Shelley said.
Quick as a flash, I indicated the raw walls and said, ‘How could we bring a baby into this building site?’ They laughed and I laughed and Garv laughed – but his laugh wasn’t as loud as ours. Even then, I knew that it had been one excuse too many and not long afterwards the rabbits showed up.
Time passed and I still didn’t feel ‘ready’. Some of my fears had lessened, specifically the one about the pain of childbirth; I knew enough women who’d had children to know that it was definitely survivable. But whenever I heard stories about people having their first baby at thirty-nine, it brightened my day. Then there was something in the paper about a woman of sixty having a baby using some artificial process and that, too, was good news. But, a lot sooner than I expected, my thirty-first birthday arrived and tipped me into panic: I’d said I’d have a baby when I was thirty and I was now a year older than that. When would my full-blown maternal instinct arrive? I was running out of time. If it didn’t get a move on, it would show up just in time for my menopause.
Like I say, Garv is no fool. And finally, he sat me down gently – but firmly, mind. He can be firm when he wants to be – and made me talk about it. Really talk about it, instead of fobbing him off as I had been doing for the previous twelve months.
‘I’m just not ready,’ I admitted. ‘And it’s not really the pain any more, I’m a bit better about that.’
‘Good woman, we’ll get you the finest epidural that money can buy. So what is it, then?’
‘Well, my job.’
Once I said it out loud, I realized what a problem this was. For over five years, both in Chicago and Ireland, I’d been working very, very hard, pushing against the current, and I was still waiting for my job to plateau, to get to a position where I felt ‘safe’. Where I was established enough to be able to take maternity leave, sure that I’d be re-employed, and free from the worry of my colleagues undermining me in my absence and poaching my work. But I was on my third temporary contract.
‘You’ll get maternity leave and…’
‘But how easy will it be to get back in? And what will it do to my promotion prospects? If I take four months off, how will I ever get to be Frances?’
‘So you can sleep under one of the desks and wash in the staff toilets like a bag lady? Anyway, they can’t discriminate against you, it’s against the law.’
Easy for him to say. He hadn’t heard a partner at my firm (a man, of course) complain about someone on maternity leave, ‘If I took four months off to sail around the Med, and expected to be paid for it, they’d laugh in my face!’
This was what I was up against. Compared to his, mine wasn’t much of a career, but it was important to me. Even though it drained and stressed me, to a certain extent I defined myself by it.
‘OK. Anything else?’
‘Yes. What if it turns out to be like one of my sisters? Like Rachel and the drugs, say? Or Anna and the insanity. Or Claire and the rebelliousness. I’d never be able to control them, they’d have my heart scalded.’ I stopped. ‘Listen to me, I’m already sounding like my mother. Anyway, I’m too irresponsible to have a child.’
That made him laugh. ‘You’re not irresponsible!’
‘I am! You and me,’ I urged, ‘we have a lovely time. We can go away for weekends at the drop of a hat. Think of Hunter and Cindy!’ Friends of ours in Chicago, who’d had a baby and, overnight, had their life up-ended. Once upon a time the four of us had gone on trips together, but post-baba they’d seemed perpetually ensnared by their screaming child, while Garv and I had swanned off to the lakes for the weekend, feeling guilty and relieved. ‘We couldn’t leave a baby with Dermot, the way we can with Hoppy and Rider. And parenthood never stops,’ I pointed out. ‘Not until the babies are grown up. And maybe not even then.’
‘OK, a baby will cause you agony, have your heart scalded, finish your career and destroy your social life for the next twenty years. Other than that, have you any objections?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It sounds stupid.’
‘Tell me anyway.’
I made myself voice it. ‘What if…like… anything happened to it? What if it got bullied at school? Or if it died? What if it got meningitis? Or was knocked down? We’d love it so much, how could we bear it? Sorry for being so mad,’ I added quickly. I’d never met anyone else who felt like this. Friends who’d got pregnant had admitted to mild regrets, but they’d all been along the lines of’Well, that’s our last romantic weekend away for the next three years,’ or ‘I’m reading as much as I can now, because you can’t concentrate on a book for the first two years. Your brain just goes.’ No one had expressed the kind of morbid misgivings that I had. The closest anyone had got was when they said, ‘I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, so long as it’s healthy’
But Garv said, ‘I do understand how you feel.’ And I knew he did. ‘But if we thought that way all the time, we’d never love anyone.’
For a moment, I was afraid he might suggest that I had therapy. But of course he didn’t – he was an Irish man.
Unlike most of my friends, I’d never had therapy. Emily said it was because I was too afraid of what I’d find out. I agreed –I said I was afraid of finding out that I’d paid forty pounds a week every week for two years to entertain a stranger with the story of my life.
‘Can you see anything positive at all about getting pregnant?’ Garv asked.
I thought long and hard. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’ The hope in his voice shamed me.
‘Chocolate.’
‘Chocolate?’
‘Food generally. I could eat as much as I liked and never feel guilty.’
‘Well,’ he said, with a heavy sigh. ‘It’s a start, I suppose.’
Another year passed, I turned thirty-two and I still didn’t feel ‘ready’. More than I had, admittedly, but not quite enough. Until one day, feeling like I was giving up after years on the run, I just crumbled. I knew I had to. The silent struggle was exhausting and I suspected that things with Garv and me had gone a bit weird since Hoppy and Rider had arrived. I loved Garv and I didn’t want things getting any worse.
‘Good?’ Garv said. ‘He was brilliant! We don’t want to give him back.’
‘You’ll have to get working on a little cousin for him, so,’ Shelley said.
Quick as a flash, I indicated the raw walls and said, ‘How could we bring a baby into this building site?’ They laughed and I laughed and Garv laughed – but his laugh wasn’t as loud as ours. Even then, I knew that it had been one excuse too many and not long afterwards the rabbits showed up.
Time passed and I still didn’t feel ‘ready’. Some of my fears had lessened, specifically the one about the pain of childbirth; I knew enough women who’d had children to know that it was definitely survivable. But whenever I heard stories about people having their first baby at thirty-nine, it brightened my day. Then there was something in the paper about a woman of sixty having a baby using some artificial process and that, too, was good news. But, a lot sooner than I expected, my thirty-first birthday arrived and tipped me into panic: I’d said I’d have a baby when I was thirty and I was now a year older than that. When would my full-blown maternal instinct arrive? I was running out of time. If it didn’t get a move on, it would show up just in time for my menopause.
Like I say, Garv is no fool. And finally, he sat me down gently – but firmly, mind. He can be firm when he wants to be – and made me talk about it. Really talk about it, instead of fobbing him off as I had been doing for the previous twelve months.
‘I’m just not ready,’ I admitted. ‘And it’s not really the pain any more, I’m a bit better about that.’
‘Good woman, we’ll get you the finest epidural that money can buy. So what is it, then?’
‘Well, my job.’
Once I said it out loud, I realized what a problem this was. For over five years, both in Chicago and Ireland, I’d been working very, very hard, pushing against the current, and I was still waiting for my job to plateau, to get to a position where I felt ‘safe’. Where I was established enough to be able to take maternity leave, sure that I’d be re-employed, and free from the worry of my colleagues undermining me in my absence and poaching my work. But I was on my third temporary contract.
‘You’ll get maternity leave and…’
‘But how easy will it be to get back in? And what will it do to my promotion prospects? If I take four months off, how will I ever get to be Frances?’
‘So you can sleep under one of the desks and wash in the staff toilets like a bag lady? Anyway, they can’t discriminate against you, it’s against the law.’
Easy for him to say. He hadn’t heard a partner at my firm (a man, of course) complain about someone on maternity leave, ‘If I took four months off to sail around the Med, and expected to be paid for it, they’d laugh in my face!’
This was what I was up against. Compared to his, mine wasn’t much of a career, but it was important to me. Even though it drained and stressed me, to a certain extent I defined myself by it.
‘OK. Anything else?’
‘Yes. What if it turns out to be like one of my sisters? Like Rachel and the drugs, say? Or Anna and the insanity. Or Claire and the rebelliousness. I’d never be able to control them, they’d have my heart scalded.’ I stopped. ‘Listen to me, I’m already sounding like my mother. Anyway, I’m too irresponsible to have a child.’
That made him laugh. ‘You’re not irresponsible!’
‘I am! You and me,’ I urged, ‘we have a lovely time. We can go away for weekends at the drop of a hat. Think of Hunter and Cindy!’ Friends of ours in Chicago, who’d had a baby and, overnight, had their life up-ended. Once upon a time the four of us had gone on trips together, but post-baba they’d seemed perpetually ensnared by their screaming child, while Garv and I had swanned off to the lakes for the weekend, feeling guilty and relieved. ‘We couldn’t leave a baby with Dermot, the way we can with Hoppy and Rider. And parenthood never stops,’ I pointed out. ‘Not until the babies are grown up. And maybe not even then.’
‘OK, a baby will cause you agony, have your heart scalded, finish your career and destroy your social life for the next twenty years. Other than that, have you any objections?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘It sounds stupid.’
‘Tell me anyway.’
I made myself voice it. ‘What if…like… anything happened to it? What if it got bullied at school? Or if it died? What if it got meningitis? Or was knocked down? We’d love it so much, how could we bear it? Sorry for being so mad,’ I added quickly. I’d never met anyone else who felt like this. Friends who’d got pregnant had admitted to mild regrets, but they’d all been along the lines of’Well, that’s our last romantic weekend away for the next three years,’ or ‘I’m reading as much as I can now, because you can’t concentrate on a book for the first two years. Your brain just goes.’ No one had expressed the kind of morbid misgivings that I had. The closest anyone had got was when they said, ‘I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, so long as it’s healthy’
But Garv said, ‘I do understand how you feel.’ And I knew he did. ‘But if we thought that way all the time, we’d never love anyone.’
For a moment, I was afraid he might suggest that I had therapy. But of course he didn’t – he was an Irish man.
Unlike most of my friends, I’d never had therapy. Emily said it was because I was too afraid of what I’d find out. I agreed –I said I was afraid of finding out that I’d paid forty pounds a week every week for two years to entertain a stranger with the story of my life.
‘Can you see anything positive at all about getting pregnant?’ Garv asked.
I thought long and hard. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’ The hope in his voice shamed me.
‘Chocolate.’
‘Chocolate?’
‘Food generally. I could eat as much as I liked and never feel guilty.’
‘Well,’ he said, with a heavy sigh. ‘It’s a start, I suppose.’
Another year passed, I turned thirty-two and I still didn’t feel ‘ready’. More than I had, admittedly, but not quite enough. Until one day, feeling like I was giving up after years on the run, I just crumbled. I knew I had to. The silent struggle was exhausting and I suspected that things with Garv and me had gone a bit weird since Hoppy and Rider had arrived. I loved Garv and I didn’t want things getting any worse.
