Jobsworth

Ding dong.

Ding dong the witch is dead. Which old witch? The wicked witch! I sing to myself. Who needs sleep? Sleep is for losers. I initially said that as a joke to my mum friends who also had a sleep depriving monster at home but it’s not funny now. I used to think I was quite smart but now I can’t string a sentence together and opt for singing. I can’t even remember the last time I picked up a book.

Ding dong.

Oh yes, back in the room… It’s my doorbell.

Deep breath. At least this is the last time I will have to put up with her. That is unless I go completely nuts and the Wicked Witch deems me an unfit mother and waltzes me up the high street to The Priory clinic. I was starting to regret those flippant replies….

‘Where is my little man?’

He’s not your little man. He’s mine and where do you think he is? ‘Oh, probably in a cupboard somewhere. Ha, ha, ha, joke!’

Ding dong.

Yes, yes, I’m coming. Typical that George has only just drifted off and now seems to be stirring. A few little ‘shhh shhhh’s’ and George wrinkles his little nose, turns to the side and drifts off again. Result. Goodness, I’m nailing this motherhood thing despite what this woman thinks.

I creep down the rickety stairs in our cottage always ducking due to the low ceilings and open the front door. There she is, in all her glory, all frizzy haired and perky. Looking ready for action. I would say she seems more like an estate agent that a health visitor with that clipboard and eagerness to tick boxes.

‘I’ll just take my wellies off.’

‘Oh, that’s kind of you.’ Did I really say that in a sarcastic tone? ‘Cup of tea Maggie? The way you usually, have it?’ Goodness was that another dig.

‘Lovely, but only if you’re making one.’

‘Of course.’

‘Where is my ‘little man?’

He’s not your little man and please stop calling him little man. It reminds me of many of Kieron’s Irish family get togethers. Little dig at the little one, is it?

‘He’s just having a snooze. We had an interesting night.’

‘Oh really?’ She sounds surprised as if I’m the only mother in the history of the world to have a sleepless night. Bitch.

‘Well, you know, he’s only six weeks old.’

‘No sleep routine yet then?’

‘Nope, he’s six weeks old.’ And while I think of it…absolutely no one..including you has given me a single bit of useful information about sleep. Oh no, you did help by giving me a leaflet which I was too tired to read. Winner!

‘How’s it all going?’

‘it’s really hard isn’t it.’

‘Is it?’

Is it? Who says, ‘is it?’ Of course, it fecking is you twat. Are you deliberately trying to tip me over the edge?

‘Well speaking to my other friends and family, they all say the same: it is hard.’ Trying to control my inner rage.

She slurped her tea and looked at her watch. ‘I will need to wake him in a bit just to do a final weigh in and then you’ll be signed off. Can’t believe I’m sending one of my babies off into the world.’

First, its George and secondly, he’s not your baby. In fact, I’d go as far as to say you’re far too ugly to have produced something so beautiful. Goodness there is a reason sleep deprivation is used as a method of torture.

Maggie is possibly the most useless woman I’ve met since having my child. I have developed a real disdain to letting this woman in my house with all her judgement and lack of expertise on anything. I’d heard horror stories about these specimens mostly from Kieron’s mother saying ‘oh yes, I remember spending a lot of time on all fours, bump in tow scrubbing the floors before she came over. Concerned that she would judge me an unfit parent because my house was not sparking.’

Firstly, I don’t believe that for a second Jeannie. You must have had a personality transplant to care what anyone thought and secondly you wouldn’t get up and get on all fours at any time or your life. It would involve detaching yourself from your chair and your fags. Bit harsh. But I’ll blame a combination of hormones, feeling like a dairy cow, sleep deprivation and being subjected to stupid people.

I shall be glad that this is our last session before I’m officially free of this dim but dangerous woman.

I remember her first visit. She sat down at our kitchen table; I made her a cup of tea and she produced from her bag a handful of leaflets on baby groups and breastfeeding. She then pulled out a blank piece of paper and asked me various questions about how my pregnancy had been and what my support network was like. 

She wrote my name on a blank piece of paper, circled it and then drew two overlapping circles in a Venn style diagram. She asked where Kieron worked and how much time off, he would take when baby arrives. 

I replied ‘it’s a bummer, his work has been very generous and said he could work from home from the end of October when I start my leave. Talk about ruining my maternity leave. Ha’. Stop it Rebs, no personality, just stick to the facts. Humour is not allowed with such people.

‘I see.’ She scribbled something down and then looked at me with sympathy as if my relationship was doomed.

‘So, who is your support network apart from Kieron?’

‘My mum and dad live in Cornwall but I’m sure they’ll come up when bubba arrives.’

‘I see. What about Kieron’s family?’ 

‘His mum and dad are quite old and stuck in their ways. They’ll probably see bubba if we go up to London but other than that they are past the baby stage. This grandchild will be number nine so they’re completely over it.’

‘Oh right.’ Scribbles something down.

‘Does anyone smoke in your family?’

‘No not mine but Kieron’s family love to smoke.’

‘I see. I’d advise being cautious in their company.’

‘Ok.’

‘Right well here are some leaflets. I’d advise you joining groups / baby groups just to meet other mums.’

‘We’ve signed up to an NCT group. I suspect its run by liars.’

Ignoring my quip she said ‘Ok.’ She scribbled something down…probably about my lack of appreciation for any help.

‘I’ll see you again when bubba is born.’

I saw Maggie every week when George was first born and if Kieron was in London, I’d be running round after her, making her cups of tea. She’d always get her weighing scales out which looked like some sort of torture implement to George as he always wailed. I really disliked the scales as I felt it wasn’t just a way of measuring George’s weight. It was a way of measuring my abilities to feed and nurture my child. I really struggled with breastfeeding and despite asking for support from everyone including Maggie, she was very quick to say, ‘I’d just stick him on a bottle.’ But I persevered determined to feed my own child knowing about the benefits for mum and baby. We paid for a lactation consultant to visit a couple of times. She was horrified that I wasn’t getting the support I needed.

In the early days, Maggie would ask questions such as ‘and are you getting out of the house daily?’ 

‘Well, no, George was born a week ago, it’s been snowing all week and I’m still recovering from a tertiary tear so my midwife has advised resting.’

‘I see.’ Scribble …probably something such as ‘lazy cow…won’t go out in the snow.’

I see what she’s doing. It’s like she wants to find an issue. Does she get a bonus for the number of postnatally depressed she can tick off on her visits? 

On parting company with Maggie the muppet, she said ‘oh yes there is a new mum in the village. American. She’d love to meet other mums. Bless her, she can’t feed her child either. She’d found it so hard. You know, just like you. I’ll pass on her number if you’re happy for me to.

‘That sounds great.’ We can compare notes. ‘Is there anything you need me to sign…to officially check out as it were?’ not that you’ve ever checked in.

Looking flustered she said ‘oh well, um, I am meant to pass on this survey. All very pointless’

‘Ooh l love a survey… think it’s my marketing background …you know when I had a brain.’ I felt myself becoming more flippant as I knew her time with me was numbered.

‘Honestly don’t worry if you don’t have time.’

‘Ooh wow there is lots of space for commentary. Ooh I love that…’

‘If you want to complete it now, I can take it?’

‘I really need to get George fed and out the door. Can I post it back? Oh, great if says here to send to Hilary. Who is that?’

‘Our department manager.’

‘Amazing straight to the top.’

Maggie looked a bit flustered. As she left, I said ‘thanks so much for all your help. Tootles.’

and I started to sing ‘Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. Dreams really do some true.