Uncle Gregory and the other husbands declared they were going to the pub to wet the baby’s head, departing the house in the loud, collective noise that is exclusive only to men. Meanwhile, the women talked happily and endlessly about their children, and I thought, I bet our male counterparts don’t utter a word about breastmilk or nipple cream.
Two hours into the party and I’d learned a lot about mothers.
1. You cannot mention you are tired in front of them because their retort will always be the same. ‘You’re not tired. You won’t know “tired” until you have a baby.’
2. They complain endlessly about never getting a moment to themselves. ‘Oh, I haven’t been able to pee alone since the children.’
3. Every negative comment they make about their offspring, ‘Isabel had colic for the first few months, she drove us crazy,’ is followed by darty eyes and a knee-jerk positive to fend off the judgement from other parents that they are a subpar mother. ‘But she’s really advanced for her age. Everyone says so.’
4. They bitch about their post-baby bodies. ‘My nipples haven’t been the same since breastfeeding, but breast is best! Yes, I’m struggling to shift the baby weight but who doesn’t pick off the kids’ plates? It’s just mum life, you know?’
5. Without you ever asking, they will bestow unto you their terrible birthing experience. ‘I was in labour for thirty-six torturous hours. I tore and had to be stitched back together. And yeah, you will shit yourself. But it’s all worth it.’
And after all this, they will turn to you and ask when you’re having children, and if you’re silly enough to hesitate or suggest maybe you don’t want a brood of your own, they will first look shocked, then appalled, then tell you, ‘Oh, but being a mother is the best job in the world. I didn’t know real love until I had a baby.’
That is what Pushy Mum （her twins have more hobbies than I have fingers） said when the woman with gorgeous coral lipstick, Jennifer, explained that no, she doesn’t have children and no, she wasn’t planning on any in the future. My head snapped up, surprised by her honesty.
What I’ve also learned is mothers can multitask better than the rest of us mere mortals because they will take in your bag-free eyes and your milk-less breasts and your tight, pre-baby body whilst simultaneously envying and pitying you, and they’ll do it with a special brand of mother-only superiority which tells them their way of life is the right way of life and your way of life isn’t.
So when the focus was turned on me and I was asked about the pending status of my uterus, I just smiled and said excitedly, ‘We’ll see.’
Super Mum （she has three sprogs and only feeds them homemade, organic produce and makes sure everyone knows about it） chimed in with, ‘God, I don’t know what I’d do without my babies.’
‘You’ll be next, Adaline,’ said Helicopter Mum. （She hovers constantly around her child, not letting him do anything until she’s mentally run through a risk-assessment.） Then, gently, she added, ‘How are you doing, anyway?’
I felt everyone’s eyes on me because the way she said it, slowly and laden with sympathy, meant she was asking about you. I felt panicked. If I lied and said I was fine, I’d be a heartless bitch. If I was honest and said I was tired and anxious all the time, I’d pollute the mood.
‘Shall we do presents?’ asked Ruby quickly.
I mouthed, ‘Thank you’ as the guests descended on her. No one even glanced at me as Ruby unwrapped breast pumps and babygrows and more dummies than you could shake a stick at.
‘Let me help,’ said Jennifer, collecting the last couple of empty glasses and following me into the kitchen. ‘You’re Ruby’s cousin, Adaline?’
‘Ada,’ I said, popping the glasses into the sink, ‘and yes I am.’
‘She talks about you a lot.’
‘How do you know Ruby?’
‘I did the flowers for her and Tom’s wedding.’
‘Lovely. Peonies and wild daisies?’
She looked impressed. ‘That’s right, excellent memory. Thank you.’
I glanced at her left hand. No diamond. It surprised me. All my friends are married or engaged or have children, and Jennifer was a few years older than me. ‘How about you? Are you married?’
‘Divorced.’
‘Oh.’ I thought of you. You’d reach out and touch her hand or do that thing you do with your face which makes people instantly trust you and open up. ‘I’m sorry.’