Birth in Suburbia, Carol Falaki [electronic reader .TXT] 📗

the forceps. All that and no real sleep, I think having Emily took its toll and I felt very low for a while afterwards. I didn’t know it at the time, but apparently it is very common to feel like that after the birth. You have to make sure you rest and
look after yourself,” Marie continued.
“Maggie is right. Don’t try to be super-mum, or super-wife. I had to learn that I couldn’t do everything perfectly, I just do my best and then every now and again I allow myself to not even try to do that.
“Was your labour awful?” Debbie asked.
“A lot of things happened that I didn’t expect to happen, so I was disappointed, but we are here and we are okay. I remember thinking, afterwards how happy, how sad.” Marie kissed Emily’s sleeping head.
“One of the worst things I remember was afterwards. I was so tired, and sore. The midwives on the post-natal ward had so many other things to do, I just felt like a nuisance. I didn’t get much help at all, and ended up crying all the time. It was better at home. Dave’s mum was a great help.
“Debbie,” Marie continued. “You need to get it through to Sean, when your new baby comes in through the front door, routine and order escape out the back, and the more you try to keep it the more tired you get, and it all feels worse. I have decided that for me, in the end letting go may be the easier solution.” “Letting go?”
“Yes, I try not to dwell on things, and just accept the massive changes to our way of life. This is a new part of my life and there are many wonderful things in it that I wouldn’t swap for the world. Although there are a few things that I really miss,” Marie added, “Like nipping out to the shops, or having a glass of lager in a pub, or a night’s sleep.”
Debbie felt tired. She had taken in enough information for one day, and offered Marie a cup of tea, returning to the kitchen, where she took the opportunity to suggest the active birth workshop to Sean. Sean attempted a protest but Nigel came to her rescue.
“It will help prepare you mate,” he said. “It made me feel better. I think I have a better idea what to expect, and what I can do to help Helen. Go if you can,” he urged. To Debbie’s delight Sean agreed, she planned to telephone and arrange it first thing Monday.
“I hope they have a space for us,” she said to Helen when she joined her on the sofa.


Chapter Eleven


The School Run


It was late when they arrived home after the barbecue. Debbie collected a glass of water from the kitchen and by the time she got into bed Sean was sleeping.
He was up early Sunday morning and after a shower and a cooked breakfast he decided he needed a round of golf. At around one o’clock he rang her from the office.
“I’ve just come in to sort a few things for a meeting tomorrow,” he explained. “I’ll be back about five. I hope you don’t mind, love,” he said, adding, “I’ve got a lot on.” He hung up, hardly giving her a moment to reply.
Debbie took Scooter to the beach. She watched him recapture a brief playful mood.
“Good old Scooter,” she whispered. The beach was deserted, which was how he liked it best. It was obvious that the cooler weather suited him too.
Debbie had decided to do her very best not to let her emotions run away with her. Despite, or
perhaps because of, Sean’s absence she felt more calm and reflective. Nigel’s words had helped somehow. She no longer felt that it was all her imagination, or her ‘hormones'.
There was something bothering Sean, and not necessarily another woman, although she could not rule that out. She would talk to him and find out.
When Sean arrived home on Sunday evening she had prepared roast lamb, his favourite. The table was laid and she lit a candle. She could see he looked troubled, but she smiled, gave him a welcome kiss and he made an effort to return it.
“Something smells good,” he said. “How long will it be? I just need to take a shower, wash the day off.”
“Is everything okay?” Debbie asked.
“Fine,” he cut her off. “I’ll only be a few minutes.” He went upstairs, to return ten minutes later showered and changed.
They were eating when Debbie tried again. “What’s the meeting tomorrow?”
“Meeting?”
“The one you went to the office to sort out,” Debbie reminded him.
“Oh, yes that meeting, do you mind if we don’t talk about it? I just want to relax this evening, clear my thoughts.”
Cut off again, Debbie fought away tears, disappointed in both Sean’s reluctance to talk and her
own failure to prevent the feeling of dread that was once again welling inside her. She couldn’t help wondering if it was work that was troubling him and not something, or someone, else.
Trust was a vital element in their relationship and she had never doubted him before now. She whispered a mock toast, touching her stomach with one hand, her glass in the other. “To staying calm,” this was an imperceptible whisper to herself and to her baby; all the while she was feeling like a helpless vessel on a swollen ocean. She was almost afraid to appear upset in case it would result in Sean distancing himself even more.
They finished their dinner in silence, apart from the occasional inconsequential comment, and later, with the television on, Sean fell asleep on the sofa.
Debbie had an early night. Every night was an early night these days.
On Monday morning he left for work as usual, 7.30AM, and Debbie lay in bed wondering what to do for the day. The first thing was to ring to arrange the active birth session. She would have to wait until the following week, the person on the other end of the telephone told her, and by then it would be just three days before her baby was due, there were no spaces before then.
It was a dull day and, thankfully the weather remained cool. The swelling in her ankles had
improved, and she put this down to having spent most of Sunday resting with her feet up.
She rang Helen. “How are you? Any more bleeding?” she asked. “Any contractions?”
“No,” Helen replied, “nothing at all. This baby is too happy in there. What are you doing? Fancy coming round for coffee?”
“That sounds great. How did your mum get on with the Major?”
“Okay, by all accounts,” Helen said, “Nigel went round yesterday to do the planting. She came home and wouldn't stop talking ten to the dozen about the great time she'd had. Are you okay, Debbie? Nigel was saying that Sean seems a bit strung out, are you two alright?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
Debbie finished her chores and went to see Helen late morning. She told Helen bits, but not all, and they spent a while speculating about what could be at the root of Sean’s behaviour, but Helen couldn’t come up with anything Debbie hadn’t already thought about.
“I miss my mum,” Debbie said, and her eyes filled with tears. They stood in Helen’s kitchen, holding each other in an awkward fashion, their pregnant bellies obstacles, preventing them from being close and comfortable. Spontaneously tears became laughter.
Helen showed Debbie the nursery, she and Nigel had finished decorating the week before, and they chatted about Chrissy plotting ways in which they
might help her get together with Michael.
Nigel knew him through a colleague, Helen revealed.
“He is a journalist; works for a national tabloid and writes a regular column, some sort of political slot. Apparently he works from home mostly, but commutes into London a couple of days a week. I’ve told Chrissy all I know, and I think she’s smitten.”
“What happened to his wife?” Debbie asked, “Does Nigel know?”
“Well, he’s not sure. What he heard was that it was some kind of accident, a car accident I think. When Jonathan was a baby.”
Debbie felt unable to confide in Helen about the way Michael looked at her, and the effect this had of unnerving her. She speculated that it was because she knew that Chrissy was attracted to him and she didn’t want to spoil anything for her, but she was unsettled about her own feelings and didn’t trust them, she felt confused.
During the course of the following week Debbie made a number of failed attempts to engage Sean in open conversation, while managing to keep the swelling magma of her worries to herself, but he remained distant and preoccupied. She remembered how, in times past, he would always offer her comfort if she became upset, but recently he seemed unable able to handle her tears, so she resolved to keep them to herself, and she had succeeded. Her determination
crumbled to nothing when she was alone, however.
She was not sleeping well, and when she did her dreams were filled with strange and vivid images. In one, she dreamt that she had been called into a room to someone who had just given birth. The woman held up the baby to show her, and the baby had hair that reached down its back. Then she saw the baby had no mouth, and she was the woman.
Debbie woke with a shout, obviously distressed. Sean held her close and stroked her hair. It was the first time he had shown her any real affection for weeks.
There was still no sign of Helen going into labour. On Friday night she had eaten a hot curry followed by a whole fresh pineapple and rang Debbie from the toilet, laughing. She was now a week overdue and told Debbie that she had