Page 36 of How We Loved

The six-week dry zone is up... it’s time to see if what’s left of my ‘downstairs’ still works.

By the time we got home Ben was awake, hardly surprising. I’d been gone for hours. He pounced on Hope, greedily snagging her as I tried to get her out of her fluffy onesie. “You’ve had her too long. It’s my turn.”

Whatever. I was knackered and fell face down on the bed.

I woke up half an hour ago to Christmas tunes, the fire burning and Ben holding a glass of sherry for me.

We’ve decided to make today just about the three of us, because tomorrow... well let’s be honest it’s going to be hell.

He’s rocking Hope now and I’m on my third glass of sherry.

Never know. Maybe a bit of sherry in my breast milk might make her sleep some more.

25th December

Today was hell. Total hell. I think the thing that I’m learning about parents and grandparents is that they are all obsessed with the baby. Obsessed. Hope is cute, adorable, and yeah, she’s ours, but bloody hell. Give us a chance. Ben and I are still getting to grips with everything, and no one really listens to me. Like Ben’s mum. Bev. She’s lovely. I love her, and she’s fantastic with Hope, but bloody hell, she talks and talks and talks and doesn’t listen.

“Does she have colic?”

“No, Bev, she doesn’t. She’s fine.”

“Do you think you should swaddle her more? I always swaddled Ben more.”

“Bev, Hope is fine.”

“Are you breastfeeding?”

“Yes, Bev, I’m breastfeeding.”

“Are you pumping?”

“Yes, Bev, I am.”

“Are you winding her enough?”

“Yes, Bev. Hope is fine.”

“She looks hungry. Are you expressing enough?”

“Ben!” I finally screamed. He was sat on the sofa watching football and not getting involved. Mum then came in and just plucked Hope out of my arms and told me I had to make the gravy. What the actual fuck? I’ve never successfully made gravy in my life. I poked Ben and made him come to the kitchen with me, where I turned on him as soon as we were through the door. “I’m actually going to murder someone.”

Ben laughed, but it quickly dropped when he realized I wasn’t smiling. “They just want to be involved.”

“Involved, or take over?”

“No one is trying to take over.”

I glared at him. “Mum took Hope earlier and told me I wasn’t burping her right. I like to do it on my knee. Just because I’m not doing it the old-fashioned way doesn’t mean it’s wrong…”

“No,” he agreed, “And Hope did puke all down her back, so I’d say you got revenge.”

“Ha. I’d forgotten that.”

“In all honesty, though, Lil, just relax. Let them fuss and dote; it means you and I can relax a little.”

“I’m not relaxing; I’m making gravy,” I wailed. “I don’t even know how to make gravy.”

“Need my help?”