Page 50 of So Thrilled For You

I wait another two minutes with Woody’s mouth clamped around my finger, before lowering him into the travel cot like a bomb disposal expert. Miraculously, he survives the transfer and I switch on the baby monitor and get ready to creep out. The king-sized bed calls to me and I fantasise about flopping down and sleeping while Woody sleeps. Being blissfully unconscious while I miss the presents and games, celebrating the horror that awaits poor Nicki.

Or maybe Nicki will find motherhood easy? Easy and fulfilling and life-enhancing.

Maybe I’m the only one who finds it boring, and lonely, and stressful, and hardly survivable?

Cool Mum can’t believe how much love she’s capable of feeling since her baby was born. It’s like being upgraded, she says. Yes, sometimes it’s tough, but just one cuddle and it’s all worth it, isn’t it?

Cope better. Cope better,I remind myself, leaving the sanctuary of the bedroom.

The hubbub greets me as I push through the door. I check the monitor four times but Woody’s still out. Can I relax? Will this nap last more than twenty-seven minutes exactly? Dare I hope? Might I be able to have a good time today rather than merely endure it?

A frenzied Charlotte greets me without blinking when I arrive back.

‘Oh, hi Lauren. Has Woody gone down? Is the travel cot OK? Good. Perfect. It’s all going well, don’t you think? Who won the celebrity baby game? I had to go to the bathroom. Everything’s fine though, isn’t it? Shall we do the presents now, what do you think?’

She gives me no time to answer and swerves back into the guests like a malfunctioning robot. The plates of food have been cleared away and Nicki’s mum is bringing over the mountain of presents and arranging them around her daughter like they’re part of a ritual sacrifice. Nicki’s trying very hard to pretend the big pile isn’t generating behind her and is chatting to the other two mothers here. One of them that terrible Cara again. She waves me over and I join them with tense muscles.

‘Lauren, hi! Did Woody go down OK? Come join us.’ She pats the sofa next to her and asks the mums to move down for me. ‘We’re talking about childbirth,’ she adds when I hesitate. I want to turn and run, but Nicki gives me frantic eyebrows, and I realise she’s hoping I’ll rescue her from the conversation when it really needs to be the other way around. Cara’s baby is asleep on her chest despite the hubbub around. The other mum – Jeanie – who has brought her wayward toddler girl, is in the midst of a full-on monologue, not even acknowledging me as I sit down.

‘Seventy-two hours,’ she’s saying, leaning over to ensure Nicki can’t ignore her. The toddler’s shaking all the presents behind her, delighted to be unmonitored. ‘You’ll want an epidural. I promise you. Just so you can sleep. I was so sure I’d never have one, but you’ll change your mind.’

Nicki glances down at her stomach in horror. I remember that late-stage pregnancy fear I had, when you can’t quite conceivehow huge your baby is and how it somehow has to leave your body in due course. ‘I have to admit,’ Nicki says. ‘I really don’t like the idea of an epi. A needle in your spine and, if they get it the slightest bit wrong, you’re paralysed for life.’ She joke-shudders.

Cara pipes up to the side of me, stroking her baby’s back. ‘Are you doing hypnobirthing?’ she asks.

My blood turns to lead in my veins. The veil drops down and the celebrations around me turn to muted grey. Nicki’s voice sounds underwater.

‘Just started it this week. Did you do it? I love it.’

‘Yes, yes. It’s amazing, isn’t it? I loved it too.’ Cara’s baby is smiling in its sleep. ‘People love to tell you their birth horror stories,’ she looks pointedly at Jeanie ‘. . . But I think it’s so important to tell the positive birth stories too. Like mine. Honestly, I had three hours of labour, and I breathed all the way through it. No stitches. It was the most beautiful experience. I felt so strong. So empowered. I just trusted the hypnobirthing, I trusted my own body. And out she came!’

Nicki’s jaw softens. ‘You had a water birth, didn’t you? I remember the pictures you put up.’

‘Yes. We lit candles. I was sloshing about in the tub. I even bought myself a new bikini as a treat. Everything to keep that oxytocin going. It was so spiritual. Like going to a spa.’

I crane around the room, looking for an ally to anchor myself out of this conversation. But Charlotte’s ferrying presents into a pyramid and Steffi’s sat in the corner, her legs curled up, not even trying to engage anymore.

‘. . . It’s so important not to let the fear win. To keep those happy hormones flowing. Have you made a birthing playlist?’ Cara asks. ‘I’ve got an oil diffuser I can lend you? Make up aspecial birthing blend and have it burning throughout to centre you when you’re playing your favourite song.’

Cool Mum does hypnobirthing. Of course, she fucking does. Birth is such a breeze for Cool Mum. She just blew out that golden thread and got into her pool. Maybe she had a tiny bit of gas and air, but that just made her dizzy. To be honest, her birth was too quick for any painkillers. She sneezed delicately and the baby fell out. No prolapse, no stitches. She was just so full of fucking oxytocin that she accidentally donated £100 to charity while the baby was in the canal.

Cara’s waving a finger at Nicki now. ‘And, whatever you do, don’t let them induce you,’ she warns. ‘It mucks up all the hormones. Trust your body. Trust your baby will arrive in the right time for them.’

Jeanie finally finds agreement with her. ‘Oh, yes, inductions areterrible. They’re pushing women into them deliberately these days, due to maternity cuts. It means they can stagger the amount of women coming into maternity wards so they’re not overwhelmed.’

Nicki nods while her palm still caresses her stomach. ‘Yes, I definitely don’t want to get induced. I’d rather go right to a caesarean. Lauren?’

Her voice calls to me through the fog. The rage is spreading up my arms, making me want to slap these stupid fucking women and their stupid fucking opinions.

‘Yeah?’ I hear my voice say, staring at the pile of presents next to Nicki.

I had a baby shower spa day. I was given presents. I was so excited that day. So happy.

I did hypnobirthing . . .

‘. . . You got induced, didn’t you?’ Nicki asks. ‘I remember you sending me a message just before they did it.’

All their eyes are on me and I don’t have the shield of Woody to use as an excuse to flee. This monster who got induced. No doubt I deserved everything that happened next. I should’ve just done what theBreatheItOut Instagram account told me to do, and let my baby die inside me, and then bleed out on the hospital bed, while refusing all medical intervention.

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