Diary of a Mummy Misfit #1 (19 page)

Max wanted to know if the lady opposite had a rat in her huge handbag (Gucci) and then I realised it was ‘Gestapo Mummy’ from the coffee morning, with a Chihuahua (not rat) in designer diamanté collar (Piers would have loved it!) and a leopard skin T-shirt.

“Oh hello. 
Libby
, isn’t it?” She effused falsely.

Felt like answering, “Yes,
Gestapo
, isn’t it?” I couldn’t actually recall her real name and had no desire to.

She then looked down at Dog with an expression that made we wonder if perhaps we’d trailed some poo in on our shoes.  He’s obviously not in the designer dog league but we love him and I didn’t acquire him because he goes with my handbag.

“What a peculiar looking animal.  I don’t think I know
that
breed.”  She smirked.

“No, you wouldn’t because he’s a very special breed,” Max smiled.  “You wouldn’t even be able to
pernounce
the name so we won’t bother telling you.  What’s your little rat called?”

How
does
he do that?  And with such ease?  I really need to start taking some lessons from him.

Left her looking thoroughly confused as we were called into the surgery and Max added, “Have to go now.  We need to find out how to get a baby in Mummy’s tummy.”

Wonder how
that
one will get filtered back through the Manor House grapevine?

Thursday 28
^th
August  AM

Think Yvette (can you believe a vet could actually
have
a name like that?) dealt very well with Max’s questions yesterday.  She didn’t laugh once, although she was clearly borderline.

She explained that she didn’t really know that much about how doctors did all the baby stuff but she did know that it cost a lot of money - far more than a boy’s pocket money - and she’d heard it could be a bit upsetting for the mummy.

Thank you Yvette, Max is now off the IVF route because, “I won’t have my Mummy upset.”

Think he was especially pleased when she said that Dog was her best patient as some of them growled or bit her.

“Yeah”, he agreed, “I’d be careful with the rat in the waiting room cos I think it’s got really pointy little teeth.”

Is there
no
stopping him?

Anyway, Dog returned safely last night - a bit groggy, minus one side of fur and sporting a ‘lampshade’ to stop him biting his stitches - but the deed is done and the ‘puppies/babies’ issues dealt with.

PM

Max has now remembered that one of the boys at Tiny Terrors was adopted.

“What does that mean?” He enquired innocently.

Ned shot me a ‘not again’ look but didn’t tackle the question.

I told Max it was time for bed and we’d talk about it tomorrow.

Procrastination - a mother’s best weapon.

Friday 29
^th
August

Ned off work today to look after Max and prepare for my party while I go on a shopping trip. Left it a bit late to find the ‘miracle dress’ but I live in hope.

Fenella would have come with me but she’s bogged down preparing the food for tomorrow.  Secretly pleased - not happy for her to see me in my greying knickers and saggy bra.  She’d probably go all ‘Trinny and Susannah’ on me and start going on about my ‘droopy arse’ or ‘out-of-control-hooters’.  I’d rather be ‘Gokked’ any day and at least come out with a modicum of dignity.

Thankfully Mum had sent me a rather welcome cheque for my birthday, with a note saying ‘Use some of this to buy yourself some decent undies.  I was appalled by the contents of your drawers’.  Sure there was no pun intended.

Spent a fruitless morning trailing around the shops in town.  Had pre-conceived idea that I wanted something black, full-length, bias cut, strappy and low cut (accentuating the good bits and covering the bad). 

Stopped off for a coffee and to re-evaluate my requirements.  Realised I needed to widen the net a bit and try other colours and styles.  Maybe black was too heavy for summer anyway, and I’d got a pretty good tan from all the trips to the park, so a softer colour could work.

Fenella rang on the mobile to see how I was faring.

“Now, Sweedie.  Forgot to tell you, I saw a perfect dress for you in either Monsoon or Phase 8 - can’t quite remember which.  Copper embossed silk - gorgeous with your hair - full length, bias cut and
very
low at the front.  Fab with your tits.  Now off you go to try it on and, if you buy it, get a decent bra to show off your rack to its best advantage.  Ciao!”

Knew she’d find some way of doing a makeover on me - ‘What Not to Wear’ could have some serious competition.

And boy does she know her stuff!  The dress did wonders and seemed to take a few years and kilos off me.  That woman is wasted. (Often!)

Found great bronze sandals and ‘Grecian Goddess’ style jewellery to go with it and headed off to get the knockers sorted out.  Didn’t want to incur Fenella’s wrath tomorrow night for letting the side down. (‘
Slide
down’, more like!)

The contraption I ended up with couldn’t be described as the most attractive of undergarments but, like the magic knickers (which I also bought), it did exactly what it claimed.  Don’t think they’d ever use me as an ambassador though because I’d describe it as ‘rounding ‘em up and herding ‘em in’.  Guess when you hit the big four-oh, it’s all about smoke and mirrors and I’m not too proud to turn down any helping hand (or gusset or under-wire) which might help.

Last stop was for some anti-ageing make up. Normally I’d make do with a bit of the usual slap but, as I still had a reasonable amount of Mum’s money left, decided as a ‘mature woman’ I’d go the whole hog.

Totally bamboozled by ‘penta-peptides’, ‘light deflecting particles’ and ‘aha’s?’  Shit, in my day that was a band, not something I’d slap on my spots.

Settled on the first reasonably priced tube of gunk that looked vaguely the right colour for my skin tone, from an assistant wearing a
full
tube of something which clearly
wasn’t
the right tone for her - unless she was an orange, of course.

Trundled home feeling like a bit of posh totty clutching the carriers containing the goods that would, hopefully, turn back the years.

Shame the experience had left me
feeling
a lot older than my years.  Hoped the ‘Miracle Elixir’ I’d got as a freebie from ‘the orange’ would do the trick.

Saturday 30th August  AM

My 40
^th
birthday & party

Was woken obscenely early this morning by a very excited Max. Could hear Ned clattering around downstairs preparing something.

Turned slowly in my bed, checking my limbs and muscles.  Silly, I know, but I just wanted to see if anything felt different now I was
old. 
Everything seemed in order, so I assumed it would all show in the face when I looked in the mirror later.

Ned appeared with a lovely breakfast tray, complemented with a rose and Bucks Fizz - all very civilised.

Max was eager for me to open his present first because he’d made it himself and was feeling rather proud of himself - a beautiful photo of Dog & Dot, framed with painted pasta shapes.

Gave him huge kisses and hugs and said it was the best present ever.

“Won’t bother giving you mine then,” Ned teased.

Hadn’t really been expecting anything as I know the party was already costing a fair amount, mates rates and all.

Was amazed to unwrap a fake but gorgeous Prada handbag similar to one he’d seen me drooling over in one of Fenella’s glossies.  He’d picked it up on eBay, obviously at a fraction of the price.

Ned looked very pleased with himself, “Every Yummy-Mummy should have one - only sorry it isn’t big enough for Dog to fit in.”

The three of us had a huge laugh about that because Dog is rather on the large side and the idea of him ever being an accessory was just ludicrous.

Had a lovely card from Lou and Cam with a lottery ticket for tonight and a note saying, ‘Remember if you win, half of it’s ours!’ Bloody Scots!

Mrs S had put together a lovely selection of pickles and chutneys in a woven Indian basket - they look amazingly professional and her labels, done in the style of a hennaed hand, really set them off.  Pritesh had also sent some exquisite hand made chocolates which Ned tested and then (over dramatically) spat back in the box. 

After a very leisurely breakfast was told to get dressed as Ned had booked me a hair appointment for 10 - monsieur is really spoiling me!  I could just about get used to this forty business if the treats continue.

Afternoon

Got back from the hairdressers feeling rather sleek and groomed - my usually wayward hair had been tamed into gloriously shiny and bouncy curls, clipped on one side with a little gold clasp.

Mum was doing a fantastic job of putting the finishing touches to the marquee - not a balloon or paper chain in sight.   Ned must have given her strict instructions.