The Mummy Lessons

by Helen Wallen

Genres: Family Life; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

THE RULES 1) Try to sleep when the baby sleeps. (SO NEVER. EVER. UNTIL YOU ARE AN EMPTY WINE-SOAKED HUSK AND FALL DOWN DEAD IN THE BABY AISLE AT TESCO) 2) Try to eat when the baby sleeps. (SEE POINT ABOVE) 3) Try to get basic household chores done when the baby sleeps. (ABOVE!!) 4) Batch cook food and freeze in individual portions for easy re-heating. (OR DELIVEROO . . . WITH WINE. AND CRYING) 5) Try hiring a cleaner to take the pressure off. (OR JUST USE BABY WIPES) 6) Take time to shower or bathe in the evenings when you can leave the baby with your partner. (OR JUST USE BABY WIPES) 7) Make tea or coffee in the Thermos so it stays hot. (WHAT IS THIS 'HOT' OF WHICH YOU SPEAK?!) 8) Don't be afraid to ask for help, or ask people to leave. (COMMUNICATION VIA WHATSAPP ONLY) 9) Remember to look after and take time for yourself. (AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA) After a tough pregnancy, Emily is determined to tackle motherhood like a pro. But she quickly learns that Insta-Perfect-Parenting (and sleep) is hard to come by, no matter how much money you spend in Mothercare. Irritatingly, her friend Molly seems to be breezing it. But with a business venture as well as a baby, is she taking on too much? Liz looks as though she might have it all worked out. But when a tragedy derails her new relationship, she has some serious decisions to make. Celebrating female friendship, the highs and lows of motherhood, and the lifesaving power of a jumperoo, THE MUMMY LESSONS follows a year of highs and lows for Emily, Molly and Liz as they learn the hardest lesson of all: life doesn't always follow the rules . . . *********** What readers are saying about Helen Wallen's BABY BOOM! 'Funny, sweet, real and relatable. Couldn't put it down.' 'Hilarious, witty and so easy to get lost in! This book shows the real life before and after your baby has been born!' 'Loved it! Great read for mums and dads who want to keep it real!' 'If you've had kids, you'll laugh out loud!' 'Fantastic!!! I couldn't put this book down'

Release date: March 21, 2019

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 297

Sample

‘Where the fuckety-fuck is it?’ Liz said out loud to herself as she rummaged clumsily in her over-sized designer handbag for the pregnancy test she’d just bought.

She’d scurried home quickly via the pharmacy after meeting her two best friends – Emily and Molly – and their newborn sons in a cafe in High Wycombe. Luckily they were both too distracted by breastfeeding and bone-shattering exhaustion to notice Liz’s slightly rushed exit. The last thing she needed right now was awkward questions. Ones she didn’t know the answers to herself yet …

It was a stuffy, hot, mid-August Saturday and the bathroom in Liz’s neat, modern apartment suddenly seemed very small. And very sticky. And very impractical. Going for the minimal look was all well and good, except when you needed to find places to perch things. Even small things – such as plastic sticks you wee on that can potentially mess up your entire life quite massively, in a not small way at all.

She was aware she was huffing. A lot. She was keen to get on with this, just to know one way or the other. She couldn’t think further than that right now – she wouldn’t allow herself to. She was ignoring the overwhelming feelings of anger, disappointment and stupidity as she located the test, scanned the instructions and quickly ripped the foil-lined wrapping away.

Thank fuck her boyfriend, Gerald, wasn’t staying at hers this weekend, she thought, releasing a long sigh as she squatted down awkwardly on to the toilet, trying her best to wee in a straight line. Which, she now realised, was not quite as easy as the smug diagram on the box, and all the films and TV shows she’d ever watched where women did pregnancy tests, had suggested …

She was done.

She replaced the cap, pulled her knickers and shorts back up. And placed the test in front of her on the sink as she washed her hands, looking directly ahead at her reflection in the spotlit mirror above the basin.

She huffed at herself again.

Fuck.

Why the fuck was this happening?

This was not supposed to happen. Not to her …

She was the sensible one, the one with the soaring career, the one with her shit finally together. The one with the excellent fringe.

This sort of thing was supposed to happen to other people. This was the sort of thing that happened to Molly. In fact it HAD happened to Molly; one of her best friends, one of the most haphazard human beings she’d ever known, and the girl that believed contraception was a ‘bit of a faff really’. And had quite frankly deserved to fall pregnant with that attitude … Which of course she had. But that wasn’t Liz. She was careful, and considered, and in control. HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED TO HER?

Besides, she still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure if she even wanted children … and if she did, now was possibly the worst timing in the history of all timings in the world ever. How was it that she could end up in this situation? Surely, she and Gerald had been careful – hadn’t they? Clearly not careful enough.

Liz blew her fringe up out of her eyeline with a huff of hot breath, as she racked her brain. She began to come to the unsettling realisation that during the weekend she and Gerald had spent at her sister’s house a few weeks ago, there might have been an unsanctioned moment of passion … thanks to an unsanctioned amount of red wine …

Liz frowned and rubbed her face in anguish, annoyed at herself for being so uncharacteristically reckless. She and Gerald had only been seeing each other for a few months, and it was clear that Gerald was a little more into the relationship than Liz was. Liz felt that familiar lump of guilt in her throat that appeared regularly when she questioned whether their relationship was still ‘too much, too soon’ for her. She couldn’t help it. A past laden with shitty men and even shittier times had done that to her. People who didn’t know might well view her as being cold, closed and a little career-obsessed, but she simply saw those things as necessary for self-preservation.

This was not a happy magical moment. This was one filled with utter dread and sickly anticipation, as she became aware that two minutes had more than passed and the result would be ready.

So she should look at the test.

It would be ready.

God, she didn’t want to do this.

But she had to.

She filled her lungs with air and swiped the test up quickly from the sink, letting her eyes fall down on to the results window …

SHIT.

William was almost two weeks old. Emily had thought that by now, after a fortnight of being a real-life parent, she’d have motherhood ‘down’. But the truth was, she didn’t. She wasn’t even close.

She’d barely moved out of the house. Other than meeting her friends Liz and Molly yesterday, one short-lived venture to the park, and a hospital appointment – to which she’d been forty-five minutes late because her baby had created a little bath of runny yellow poo in the car seat – she’d barely moved from her sofa, if she was honest with herself.

Everything still hurt a lot, and she just felt more comfortable being at home. Where she wouldn’t be judged for not having washed her hair, or for wearing the same slightly funky-smelling T-shirt for the third day in a row. Or for awkwardly attempting to breastfeed a screaming newborn baby on a grotty park bench frequented by tramps while wayward sections of wobbly-boob got exposed and thrown around everywhere. Yes. Being at home just felt … easier. Even if it was a million miles from the formerly well-groomed, immaculately styled and always high-heeled girl known as Emily. Emily the PR whizz, queen of being organised, life of every party and owner of more shoes than most of the known world – she was sure that girl was still lurking there under the surface. At least she certainly hoped so.

Right now, William was asleep in the bouncer at her feet, and as she curled up in the corner of the sofa, she began to feel quite suddenly and irrationally emotional. Disappointed in herself perhaps. She just wasn’t quite the ‘supermum’ she’d thought she was going to be.
She had somehow thought that she’d simply bounce into action after a couple of weeks, that everything would feel so easy and natural, and the sleep would be returning by now. But it didn’t. It wasn’t. And to make matters worse she was still enormous – in fact, she still looked six months pregnant. Underneath her post-natal girdle, her midriff resembled a giant wobbly scrotum. With a belly button. And stretch marks.

She so wanted to be ‘that mum’ – the one she’d seen in magazines and on adverts … fresh-faced, with full make-up, brushed hair, looking slim and smiling as she breastfed her tiny tot in cafes whilst reading Grazia in normal-sized pants and debating which recipe to cook from scratch tonight … but she was beginning to realise that was complete bollocks, as she unpeeled another processed-cheese slice and stuffed it into her mouth.

Emily felt angry with herself for being sucked in. That perfect image of motherhood simply didn’t exist. How could it? How could anyone find the energy to be ‘perfect’ when they’d been in the same underwear for at least forty-eight hours straight, and their nursing bra smelt like cheese. Cheese she’d made in her own armpits from her own son’s infant-regurgitated breast milk.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t utterly in love with her baby boy, or that she regretted becoming a parent in any way. She loved William more than she ever thought she could love another living thing. She just wished she’d prepared herself a little better – paid less attention to the bullshit media version of being a mummy. And been slightly more realistic about how often she’d actually wear mascara now, and have actual infant faeces on her face, her hair and/or in her mouth.

It now seemed utterly ridiculous that she’d imagined she’d be out of her maternity clothes by now, floating around in summer tops and short-shorts like the celebrities do … that was not something that existed in the real world; it mostly just happened on Instagram. Instead it seemed that just as she’d spent her entire third trimester eating Toblerones (whole, whilst crying), she was now spending the majority of new motherhood eating Toblerones whole, whilst crying and trying very hard to resist the urge to look at the area-formerly-known-as-her-vagina.

Emily had listened really hard in her NCT classes, she really had. It was her way. She’d made notes. She had a special folder. She’d colour-coded the sections and used special dividers. She’d even organised the end-of-course party with a themed buffet and personalised goody bags … Her NCT teacher, Tracey, had been open and frank about the emotional side of new parenthood – she’d been pretty spot-on in fact. But Emily hadn’t been ready to hear it. Not really. She was too busy fantasising about what her own image of motherhood would be like.

Nothing had prepared her for being this exhausted and guilt-ridden all the time. She just hadn’t realised she’d be this emotional … Yesterday she’d had a complete meltdown because after a particularly yellow shit-storm from William whilst he was wearing a white babygro, Emily had given up on using cotton-wool balls and sterile water to clean him and moved to the dark side … Yes, she’d given in and switched to baby wipes. Which made her feel like an utter failure, and had her in tears for about an hour afterwards.

Her husband, Paul, had been there and had tried his best to make her feel better – hugging her and telling her she was being ridiculous and that it didn’t matter, but it seemed to just make things worse.

She felt like she’d completely failed William because she hadn’t stuck to her promise of using only natural products for the first three months. But she was already coming to the realisation that the promises you make yourself before you’ve become a parent are rarely realistic. What you think parenthood will be like, and what it actually feels like – are poles apart. Paul’s reassurances were slowly sinking in and as much as she hated to admit it – perhaps he was right. It didn’t matter.

She was doing her best.

That’s what mattered.

She needed to give up on all the bullshit expectations she’d put on herself, and Paul, and even William, otherwise she was going to end up a sobbing wreck of a human in a matter of weeks. Making her own armpit cheese and dependent almost entirely on nougat-based confectionery. And processed-cheese slices.

It was entirely possible that Marley was the perfect baby.

Molly actually felt like she had found her calling in life. Yes – she was tired. Very tired. And if she was honest, that slightly yeasty mushroom-y smell was probably coming from her, but she was loving being a mum so much she didn’t care. It was like she’d never really loved doing anything before. She felt truly happy for the first time in as long as she could remember. It felt so liberating.

She honestly wasn’t finding it that much of a change, she just wasn’t finding it that ‘hard’.

Life had changed but perhaps just not as much for her as it had for some other first-time parents – she’d spent her life to date completely winging everything anyway. She’d never really washed that much, she’d always survived living in a complete tip, and she’d always had pretty low expectations of herself. Some might find that a little sad, but actually it meant that she was rarely disappointed. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt stressed or put herself under pressure to conform to someone else’s ideal. Those words simply weren’t in her vocabulary.

So motherhood hadn’t been the same ‘shock to the system’ for her that it had been for her best friend Emily. Their sons had been born only a week apart, but already their experiences and expectations of having newborn babies were so different. But then they were such different people. Emily was one of life’s ‘planners’ – a career spent working in PR and events, and slightly obsessive-compulsive tendencies that led her to organise her shoes into colour order and alphabetise her spices meant she had tried to plan and organise herself into motherhood in the same way. But Molly was almost the polar opposite. She hadn’t put any expectations on herself, she was going with the flow, doing what felt natural in the moment, and only owned about four pairs of shoes anyway … and apart from craving a good night’s sleep and hoping things ‘down there’ healed up quickly so she and her highly attractive boyfriend Tom could get back to their overly active sex life as soon as possible, so far life had been pretty amazing. It had certainly been infinitely better than the pointless days spent with sweaty teenagers at the temp agency attempting to delay becoming a proper grown-up. Not that she had that much to complain about, temping had suited her – no ties, no commitment, every day different, full of new people and ever-changing scenery. She’d simply turn up in the morning and see what joyous adventures Blue Diamond Catering and Office Staff, and the unrelenting wrath of Busty Amanda’s resting bitch face, had in store for her. Which was mainly photocopying in a mouldy Portacabin on an industrial estate, but still. A joyous adventure none the less …

Molly glanced down at her son sleeping on the sofa beside her. Watching his tiny chest rise up and down with each tiny breath. She’d never been so happy that ‘this’ was what she was doing right now.

She located the twelve yards of blue material that was her sling, and got to her feet to begin wrapping it around herself.

‘Hey,’ came Tom’s relaxed voice as he strolled into the living room and immediately planted a deep, loving kiss on her lips.

Molly kissed him back until a smile grew across her face, stopping her lips from connecting with his. It felt like he actually loved her even more now that they had Marley. He could be a little overprotective, it was slightly irritating that he couldn’t let her get up from a chair without racing to help her to her feet, and was still insisting she only drank milk from fucking nuts, but he was a brilliant dad and partner. And that’s all that really mattered …

‘You sure you don’t want me to come with you? Do you want some help down the stairs?’ he said, sitting down carefully on the sofa next to his infant son and gently lifting his sleeping body up into his lap to get a better view of him.

‘No. We’ll be fine …’ Molly said, trying to concentrate on tying her sling the right way – it was a lot to concentrate on, especially when your highly attractive boyfriend was sitting in front of you, cradling a newborn baby, looking like a walking, talking Athena poster. If it wasn’t for the fact that her vagina muscles simply wouldn’t allow her to right now – and that he’d placed a book down next to him entitled Going Vegan Saved My Life – she’d have pounced on him.

Molly eventually got the sling tied and gently took Marley from Tom, securing him in the little cradle she’d created on the front of her body. He barely stirred as she wrapped him in place, moved the material away from his face and took in his tiny, contented face.

‘I’m just going to take him for a stroll and text Emily. I think she’s finding it all a bit tough still … I just want to make sure she’s okay. And not in some sort of Toblerone-induced coma,’ Molly continued, as she located her keys and phone on the sofa arm.

‘Okay. No worries,’ Tom responded. ‘I’m gonna get cleaned up here then. Get all the sheets changed and take out some green veg and tofu for dinner. It’s important we keep your iron levels up,’ he said with a little wink.

‘Indeed,’ Molly said, wrinkling her nose slightly at the thought of another broccoli-and-tofu-based dinner. ‘And also important that we don’t sleep in a bed that may contain several baby vom stains and skid marks.’

Tom smiled as he rolled his eyes a little, and gave her a nod before reaching for the vegan book and heading into the kitchen. Probably to begin massaging kale with moon water using the end of his penis or something.

On that note, Molly swiftly let herself out of the flat. She stepped carefully down the stairs, out of the main door, and set off slowly strolling along the pavement with Marley snugly secured to her front.

She soon reached a bench that she often sat on. It was set back from the road on a little patch of grass with a few trees and shrubs lining the border. Nowhere special, not even much to look at, but it was peaceful and fairly well kept so it made a nice stop on the way into town. She perched herself down gently, checking Marley was still asleep as she reached for her phone and opened up a chat window to her friend.

Molly

Hey sweetie – how are you?

How’s William?

Any sleep yet?

Any chance of getting your tits back?

Emily

Hey you!

We’re all good xx

And no.

There actually appears to be less sleep …

I didn’t realise that was possible but he now has reflux too (yay).

So I spend most of the night frantically searching for muslins that have camouflaged themselves in my fucking sheets.

It’s great fun.

Really.

Trying to find one in time just before my newborn explodes and fires all the breast milk he’s just sucked out of me for an hour straight back on to my chest.

I love that.

LOVE IT.

(Sorry. I’m tired.)

How’s you? How’s Marley?

Molly

Oh poor you!

Can you give him anything for that??

Hope he gives you a break soon xx

We’re both fine.

Emily

Just that Infacol stuff.

So far it’s pretty much just made the sick smell a bit orangey … but seems to help sometimes.

So I’ll take it!

Sometimes I do a shot of it myself.

Just to feel alive …

Molly

Pahahaha

Hey. He’ll start sleeping for a bit longer soon.

He’s only two weeks old.

He’s still freaked out about not being in your womb!

Emily

Well.

I’m pretty fucking glad he’s not still in there I can tell you.

Not that my nipples or episiotomy scar agree but hey ;)

BEAUTIFUL TIMES.

Seriously need him to go longer than 45 minutes without waking soon though

Molly

He will.

This isn’t for ever.

You’re doing an amazing job.

Keep telling yourself that.

Plus, Marley does, so it can happen!

Emily

Marley does what?

Sleep?

Molly

Yes.

Not through the night or anything but I only have to do two dream feeds at midnight and around 4 a.m. then he’s through until about 8 most mornings.

Emily

I hate you.

Do you want to swap babies?

I’m sure they won’t notice.

We’ll just swap them back when they’re about four or something …

Molly

You’re doing great sugar.

Emily

I don’t feel like I am.

I keep having to milk myself after drinking red wine in the evenings because I start feeling guilty and get terrified the baby will get shit-faced on breast-Malbec.

Molly

lol x

That is exactly the kind of mental imagery I want right now …

Please don’t worry. Honestly.

YOU ARE DOING AWESOME.

We’re off for a coffee in town if you fancy it?

Emily

Thank you xx

I think I’m gonna get some rest before the red wine milking starts again tonight but thanks xx

Plus I just managed my first real-time shit without laxatives.

So life is looking up!

Might celebrate with a nap.

Love to the boys from me.

Molly

Well. That was exactly the sentiment I wanted to end this chat on.

Look after yourself sweetie.

Glad you had a nice shit.

Love to your boys too xx

It was Monday morning. It had only been forty-eight hours since Liz had discovered she was pregnant, but it was consuming her every thought. She knew she could easily hide it from her colleagues – she’d spent her entire working life meticulously keeping her personal life out of the office and had earned herself the reputation as quite the ice queen because of it. And right now she was thankful for it. The limited eye contact in the morning coffee room and the reluctance of anyone to approach her to make pointless chitchat about the weather or ‘how her weekend was’ had been a welcome bonus. There was only one person she was interested in speaking to today, and she was keen not to lose focus.

She knew she had to tell Gerald. And soon. It was unfair not to. Plus she’d seen how that scenario had played out for her friend Molly – Tom had completely freaked out after she’d kept it from him for weeks … Everything had worked out fine in the end, but it had been such a horrible, stressful time for everyone – and unnecessarily so. So there was no way she was going to make the same mistake. As much as she wanted to hide away in her office with her head down and pretend none of this was happening, she couldn’t. She was an adult. And it was time to do some proper adulting.

She was going to talk to him tonight. After work. In person. And tell him the truth – that she’d done the test and it said she was pregnant, and that she had absolutely no idea what this meant or what was going to happen from this point on. She would tell him that this was absolutely not the time for him to start asking her to marry him or showing her pictures of executive four-bed townhouses with good school catchment on Rightmove.

If she was honest, she already knew how it would play out. This was the man that confessed his undying love and proposed to her within a few weeks of knowing her … He was hardly one to hold back his feelings. He’d be elated. He’d kiss her. He’d smile and hug her and tell her this was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

And she should be elated by that too – by the fact that the man she loved would be nothing but supportive of their unborn child and do everything he could to make this work … But somehow she wasn’t. Because she still didn’t know if she wanted this. Certainly not now. Not for a while. Maybe not ever. Or maybe she did? Her mind continuously went round in nauseating circles.

Liz jumped and let out a little involuntary yelp as her desk phone rang abruptly, summoning her suddenly from her thoughts.

She placed a hand on her chest as her heart thumped quickly in her ribcage and took a deep breath to steady herself, before looking at the caller ID on the screen … it was external. Probably a client. Liz gently cleared her throat and pulled herself back together.

She needed to get her game face on. Get through today. And try not to obsess about meeting Gerald tonight.

Time for proper adulting. She reminded herself.

Then she lifted the phone to her ear and spoke smoothly, ‘Elizabeth Milligan, Senior Family Law …’

It was 5.59 p.m. Liz knew this because every minute since about five o’clock she’d glanced up at the time, feeling more anxious with each moment that ticked by. Up until then the day had flown by quite neatly – work had been a welcome distraction, and with a big case dominating their time, she and Gerald had barely spoken. There’d been the odd tender glance across the board table, and at one point he’d brought her a coffee as she sat at her desk on a call, able only to mouth a silent thank you at him, but in the final hour of the day the emails and phone calls had dried up, and Liz’s attention had turned to the task ahead.

She knew that any second Gerald’s smiling, unassuming face would pop up at the door and it would be time.

Moments later, the familiar rap of a large set of knuckles made her shift uncomfortably in her seat as Gerald’s broad, athletic, six-foot-three silhouette appeared in the slim crack of her open office door.

‘Ready?’ he asked, pushing it open fully, looking wonderfully handsome and relaxed.

‘Sure,’ Liz said, avoiding making too much eye contact with him, as though he might read her thoughts simply by looking into her eyes.

She quickly . . .