And Baby Makes Two

Chapter Three (part four) - At sea with Gina Ford

Tasha returns from her changing session with another woman carrying a babe-in-arms. I recognise her as one of the women from the yoga class. The one who lived ‘opposite the park’ along with Ms Perfect. I wonder what has become of Ms Perfect and her twin babies....

I imagine her with rollers in her hair, smothered under a headscarf a thousand-mile stare looks out upon a metropolis of concrete as dishes lie scraped but caked in gravy on the draining board next to her awaiting the terminal chore of washing, drying and putting away, only to be smeared with food that evening when the process must be repeated over again and again and....two babies screech in tandem. Their strangled wails stoccatto the bass of the pneumatic drill outside the window as more workmen dig up the path to replace water pipes or gas pipes, who knows...Like white noise, the woman is numb to the incessant cry of her newborn twins, only the clang of the dishes and the tick, tick of the kitchen clock permeate her eardrum in maddening repetition. With an Embassy blue hanging precariously from the corner of her mouth yesterdays make-up smears down her cheek from todays tears. Her fake Coco Chanel T-shirt – a gift from a much travelled brother – clings around her ample buttock and emphasises the loose belly that once served to stifle the cries of her beloveds. Leggings betray her thick thighs and orange peel hind-quarters. Dragging her eyes away from the world outside she idly hangs her tea towel on the plastic handle of the cupboard at her knee and moves, in slow motion, toward the sound of the hungry cries that mingle with the sound of daytime TV. The studio audience gasp as Trisha Goddard announces the love rat who slept with his wife’s mother and sister...

“Zoe, you remember Monica from yoga don’t you!” Tasha’s voice slaps me back to reality. Feeling a little guilty about my Ms Perfect fantasy I look up to see Monica’s hand outstretched awaiting a shake.
“Oh,” I say as I find a place on the table for my coffee cup and offer my hand in return, “Yes, I do remember you, nice to meet you again!” I try not to grimace as she squeezes my hand like a vice.
“I didn’t manage to catch up with you to put you on the list I compiled. I understand Felicity gave it to you though” Monica says with authority.
“Oh yes I say dreamily recalling the security provided me by that list. Full of gratitude to her I say, “It was such a great idea, thank you for doing it for everybody.” Monica blushes slightly and I suspect she values the praise although receives compliments awkwardly.
“Yes, well, here is my card....” she hands me a small business card announcing her name in gold: Monica Florio. Her address and telephone number appear in a victorian style font along the bottom in black reading: ‘The Cottage, 143 Park Road, Stoke Newington, London, N16 9MT.
“....And I need all your details too. Do you have a card?” she enquires of me in a headmistress-like tone. Feeling a bit like I had been ‘pulled-up’ for loitering around the bike sheds, I excuse myself for only having a business card and hand it to her.
“I can write my home address and telephone number on the back” I offer by way of compromise.
Monica handles my card like a dirty tissue, “Yes that will do I suppose” a hint of irritability in her voice as she hands it back to me.

By now Tasha has returned to her seat and is rummaging in the bottom of her pram for a pink muslin whilst chattering away to Davina about her husband Will and how he has been working late and then getting up with her for the night feeds.
“Your husband sounds like a mythical godlike creature” Davina says flatly deadpan. “Are you sure he’s not a figment of your imagination?”
Tasha laughs.
“No, I can assure you he has his downfalls too! It’s taken him 8 weeks to finish the bathroom and my Dad did all the plastering! He’s promised to leave work a bit earlier next week so he can get on with it when he gets in before he cooks us tea. I’d expected him to have the bathroom and the spare room done by now so that’s his next job and I want it all done before he starts his new job in three weeks ‘cos you know what it’s like in a new job they expect you to stay late for the first couple of months to show willing, so he needs to get his arse in gear!”

“Well, at least Walter cooks I suppose” Davina grudgingly concedes, “He’s French so it’s all tiny portions with cream and garlic. Some days I just dream of tinned spaghetti and sausages on toast.”
I laugh to myself – Davina just doesn’t look like she eats tinned spaghetti!
“Yeh well I’m really lucky I suppose, Will is a really good cook which is just as well ‘cos I am rubbish. I can burn boiled eggs!”

Meanwhile, Monica has enlisted a member of staff to fetch her a chair which she has placed next to Tasha and myself. I catch a glimpse of her baby whom I assume is a boy, given the sailor suit he is wearing, complete with sailor hat! As she sits him upright in his pram the hat falls off, tumbling to the floor. With a tutt, Monica snatches the hat from the floor, bats off the imaginary dust and places it square on the baby’s head. Her baby seems very serene and stares straight ahead, expressionless. As Tasha and Davina continue their husband comparison Monica butts in and abruptly cuts their conversation dead.
“I wont be able to stay very long as Noah’s sleep is due in 27 minutes and I’ve got to get him back and feed him first.”
Davina looks back at her sideways and a bit cross, I feel. Tasha’s attention though has been redirected and she enthusiastically asks if Monica is following the Gina Ford method.
“Yes I am” says Monica smugly.
“Umm, what’s Gina Ford?” I ask feeling a bit out of the loop.
“She wrote The Contented Baby Book” Tasha explains, “It’s about gettting your baby into a routine. That’s right isn’t it Monica?” Monica gives a stern nod. “It seems to really work for some people” Tasha asserts “I might start trying it this week, I was just waiting for the black-out curtains to arrive.”
I sit looking from one woman to another completely perplexed, “I don’t understand, black-out curtains?”
Davina pitches in with a bored monotone explanation, “The vile woman insists you keep your baby in a pitch black room for exactly 27 minutes whether it wants to sleep or not, and then on the dot of 27 minutes you must fling the curtains open, blind your baby with daylight to ensure it is fully awake before wiping, creaming and wrapping the baby up like a sandwich ready for its 4.5 minutes of ‘play stimulus’” Davina places a full stop at the end of her monolgue with a sip of coffee while I snort mine out of my nose in complete astonishment. I try to suppress my laugh and Monica moves to defend,
“Well it’s not everyone’s preferred method I’m sure, but it suits Noah.”
Davina looks at me expressionless except for one eyebrow that she raises out of Monica’s eyeshot. Acknowledging Davina’s secret look in a nano-second I flick my eyes back to Monica and smile at her warmly with reassurance as she looks a bit crest-fallen, busying herself with her baby and replacing his hat for the fourth time.

“So, do you not have a pram Flea?” Tasha asks.
No not yet.” Flea replies in smile-sigh speak. “I’m following something called the XXXXXXXX technique. It means the baby must be in constant contact with a human body for the first six months of it’s life. It’s very similar to ancient times when a baby was strapped to the woman’s body all day through necessity and everyone slept together anyway”.
“So, Margery sleeps with you does she?” Tasha clarifies.
“Yes, and when I am having a shower or doing my yoga then Tom or my mother will hold her.” Flea smiles as she ends her explanantion.
“Wow!” Tasha exclaims as I try and process the information and decide if there is method in such madness.
“Oh gosh, that reminds me, I have to get back for my mother. She’s been to a jumble sale today and I need to sort through all the clothes she has got for Margery before she heads back home again. It’s been so nice to sit with you all today though and listen to all your stories! I hope we bump into each other again soon.” Flea looks around and at us in earnest.
“Well, I plan to live here now I know they have baby-changing facilities and a decent café” Tasha spouts. Flea smiles at her in agreement and gets up to go.
“Bye Flea,” I say, “See you soon hopefully.”
“Yes, bye.” She repeats to us all then disappears out of the door.

“I’m not being funny,” Monica pipes up, “But I do think my baby is much more attractive than Margery, don’t you think Tasha?”
For the first time since we all sat down there is a complete silence as we all stare at Monica, dumbfounded.

posted by Rebecca Valentine at 10:52 am