The Baby Diaries. Sam Binnie

Kiki, but now I’m this vessel being pummelled and slugged and lectured.

      Thom: Who’s lecturing you?

      Me: [mumbling]

      Thom: Christ. Have you been looking at forums again?

      Me: I was just curious!

      Thom: What, bloody UninformedMumsSpeculate dot com? Kiki, if those places upset you, why would you look at them?

      Me: It’s just … one of the people mentioned that if you don’t bond with your baby while it’s … you know … in there, it can really affect how you get on with it when it’s born.

      Thom: [putting his arms around me] Kiki, that sounds reasonable. I’m sorry.

      We just lay in bed for a while, not talking, and I hoped that something would change, to stop swinging wildly between finding a positive and being suddenly petrified by it. I didn’t want to be quite as certain as Lucie Martel, but I wouldn’t mind just a little piece of that.

      Optimism, I suppose I was after.

      December 16th

      Before Christmas swept us up in Publishing’s usual month-long shutdown, I thought I’d better get in touch with my other new authors. Jennifer Luck, rather bafflingly, wrote back to say how far she’d got with Tony’s notes (Tony writes notes?) and would resubmit in January, as they’d agreed. Matthew Holt, meanwhile, seemed delighted to have a new editor, as he hadn’t quite ‘clicked’ with Tony. I’ve no way of knowing whether that means Matthew saw straight through him, or whether Tony pointed out that most parts of Sweden don’t have three months of continuous daylight each summer. Can’t wait to read his updated manuscript too, next year. Still no clue to the contact details for Stuart ‘Tara Towne’ Winton, though. I’ll look into this properly in January.

      Back at home, I’ve no idea how she’s done it, but she’s done it again.

      Me: Has Susie been round here while I’ve been out?

      Thom: No. Why?

      Me: [holding up a tampon]

      Thom: This is a bit too abstract even for me. What’s the connection?

      Me: It was today’s calendar gift.

      Thom: Oooooh. Ooh, that’s good. No, she hasn’t been round here for ages. You haven’t done something foolish like give her a key, have you?

      Me: [thinking] Oh, I bloody did, as well. For emergencies.

      Thom: We need to raise our game.

      TO DO:

      Come up with a full blueprint for Susie Revenge

      December 17th

      We went to Susie’s last night, before heading out with them for drinks for Pete’s birthday. Mum and Dad stayed in to babysit the kids, and I managed some quick advent calendar manoeuvres before we left. ‘What are you grinning about?’ asked Susie as we wrapped up for the walk to the pub, and Thom just mouthed exaggeratedly, ‘DID YOU DO IT?’ over her shoulder. I nodded to him but just smiled at Susie, saying, ‘Gosh, nothing! Aren’t we suspicious?’ She narrowed her eyes at me, but we went off nonetheless. I had a great time tonight, and Susie’s so much happier when Pete’s around. I’m sure she didn’t mean all that stuff she was saying the other day. I can’t imagine how exhausted she must feel all the time, or how much she misses him. I’m sure they know what they’re doing, though.

      December 21st

      Susie rang tonight.

      Susie: Have you been meddling with my advent calendar?

      Me: [sniggering] No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

      Susie: You little bastard. Those calendars are sacrosanct.

      Me: You started it!

      Susie: What do you mean, I started it?

      Me: You put the pencil in mine!

      Susie: What?

      Me: What?

      Susie: What pencil?

      Me: Don’t try that game with me. The pencil … in my … advent calendar … Didn’t you?

      Susie: I did no such thing, you horrible brat. How dare you.

      Me: Well, who did then?

      Susie: [silence] Dad?

      Me: I got a tampon last week.

      Susie: [longer silence] Mum?

      Me: [even longer silence] She has been really stressed, Suse. I think Dad’s heart attack shook her more than we realised. And you know she always goes crazy at Christmas.

      Susie: So you’re blaming your mother, are you? That does not seem like the actions of a grateful child. Your poor, aged mother.

      Me: Don’t, Suse.

      Susie: Alright, alright. Poor Mum. Don’t mention it to her, OK?

      Me: OK. And Suse?

      Susie: What?

      Me: Don’t let the kids open tomorrow’s calendar parcel.

      Poor Mum. She does seem pretty stressed at the moment.

      December 22nd

      Final day in the office before Christmas. Contracts all taken care of until January, publicity all wrapped up – Alice, Carol and I will be on the phone should there be any emergencies – Secret Santa gifts exchanged (gave: a woolly hat to Norman; received: a pack of fake moustaches, obviously), plans gone over and seasonal farewells said. There’s such a holiday mood over all of us, even though we’re a small office: I wonder how much of that is Christmas, and how much is how well we’ve done these last few months in Tony’s absence. Anyway, it’s nice to have these almost-two-weeks stretching ahead of us.

      TO DO:

      Check I’ve actually done everything?

      December 23rd

      Drinks with everyone tonight, bliss. Eve and Mike, who brought fresh boxes of stollen for everyone, Alice, Designer Dan, old pal Jim and Poppy, Zoe and Zac, Greta (my bridesmaid-buddy), Thom’s new teaching colleagues Liz, George and Robin, and even Susie and Pete (Mum and Dad had the kids). It was great, the first time I’d seen everyone together since our wedding, and reminded me and Thom both that we didn’t want to give any of this up when the baby arrived. It was always a pleasure to see these people, and for every friend we’d lost touch with over the years, there were new ones: Zoe, Greta, the teachers. This was a nice life, and we’re grateful for it. Eve’s stopped being a frenemy and is just my friend again, Mike brings us baked goods, Zac’s really handsome and Greta and Alice are hilarious – what more could one want from life?

      TO DO:

      See if this baby can be postponed a couple of years

      December 24th

      Christmas Eve. I have all my presents bought, wrapped and ready to go, I have my mocktail ingredients in Mum’s fridge (I’ve got everything for several jugs of mock-itos, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to just end up on the dusty Buck’s Fizz as usual) and our flat looks like a grotto explosion, every available surface covered with fairy lights, paper chains, snowflakes, Christmas cards, flocked reindeer, tissue paper snowmen (from the Twins’ school), weathered metal stars and little festive wooden decorations. Our tree was festooned with gold bows and red baubles, and with tiny decorations made by Dad. It was beautiful.

      I made us both some mulled wine (so thoroughly mulled I’d