“Can you please share stories of people who have died in horrific industrial accidents in front of my children too please. Now that’ll be double.”
Which brings me seamlessly on to ‘Inappropriate rage’.
I have always been a bit gobby, for want of a better word and I’ve always found sarcasm to be the funniest sort of wit. As I cast my mind back I can remember situations when I thought it totally reasonable to tear strips off of someone, because I was angry and more than just a little bit. As each and every day tittered on a knife edge, one small problem, caused by someone else’s supidity or rudeness meant a storm would follow and that it wasn’t going to end well. It was also like I had been implanted with a truth button, much like that film, what was it? Liar, Liar.
My lovely sister-in-law made my children birthday cards, she worked long and hard on them and posted them to arrive the day before the birthday. Both Pinkie and Blue have birthdays in the same month so there isn’t long between deliveries. On Pinkie’s first birthday her card arrived;
“Thank you so much its lovely,” I had said on the phone.
Ten days later Blue’s arrived. Now his was a masterpiece, an absolute stunner of a card, now instead of calling up and just saying “thank you so much its lovely,” like any rational adult, I got the hump. I called and said;
“Thank you so much its lovely,” but was unable to leave it there. I then added, “can I ask that if your preference is for Blue that you try to hide it better.”
Now poor Auntie was floored, she would never ever have been so mean and even as I was saying it I knew I was being a bitch. I couldn’t help it and my baby has C.F so I can do whatever I like and sod the rest of you was how I was feeling. Auntie forgave me and went on to have three children of her own so she knows what post baby hormones are like, and hers thank God are as healthy and fresh as frozen peas. I think I reacted like that because I did think that people would wonder if I loved Pinkie as much as I did Blue, because she was such hard work and worry and he was my sunshine and chocolate.
When the health visitor came to see us one morning when we were first home I was actively hostile to her. I wanted to close the door in her face as we hadn’t slept. Pinkie’s poo bag had leaked so many times that her skin was bleeding from removing the stuck on bits to replace it, and I was in no mood to tolerate a stranger with a ring binder.
“You can unload the car if you want to be helpful,” I had said. When she dutifully finished unloaded my food shopping I asked her if she wanted anything else or if we could have some peace. She left. The following day a different health visitor came and insisted that we had a chat. I rolled my eyes and sat down holding Pinkie like she was trying to take her away.
“You seem very hostile,” was her opening gambit.
“I’m not hostile I’m tired, I’ve got a new baby don’t you know?”
An hour and a half later, after she had decided that I wasn’t a danger to myself or Pinkie she left. I phoned Mr at work all outraged that some nosey cow had come round to judge how good a mum I was.
“They care is all,” he said.
“Well I’m not going to jump off a bridge with Pinkie in my arms so they need not come round again.”
“Try being nice next time and then they will leave you alone. Prove that you are coping and that you love being Pinkie’s mummy and you won’t see them for dust. Carry on like you are and they will tranquilliser dart you and take you away for a wee rest.”
From that day on I made sure I looked respectable every time we went anywhere near the hospital, doctors or health visitor: mascara (water proof obviously, you could never be sure when grief would ambush me), lip gloss and with only a tiny bit of baby sick on my shoulder.
Some days I would overflow with unfairness and my broken heart that was occasionally sticky taped back together would flake wide open again. Nothing in particular would set me off, sometimes the cuteness of Pinkie’s wide eyed innocence would do it, sometimes seeing a pregnant woman smoking would, there was no way of knowing what to avoid to fend off the dark demons. I have a friend, lets call her Georgina. We have been friends since school and she has a touch of the witchy-poos about her, or she is incredibility intuitive. Now on these darker days, Georgina’s Spidiey senses would tingle and she would phone me, every time without fail. It could have been weeks since I last had a sad day, and I may well not have spoken to her during that time, but sure enough she’d call just after the demons did. So Georgina, you know who you are and I thank you.