Being redundant

Was I thought gonna be all feeding the ducks. I didn't take into account the fact that working nearly full time and managing a toddler had resulted in an atrocious backlog of domestic duties. Week one of redundancy was catch up with some of the people I've neglected week. Weeks two, less joyously has been the get a grip on money week. I went out and splurged on a fantastic dress for Ailsa's wedding and have since been focusing on less glamourous compensatory tasks like making a table of all my credit cards, with limits, balances, interest rates and transfere deals. Having shifted most of them to a 15 month 0% deal I'll probably over the course of the year pay for the dress, and one similarly fabulous purchased for little sis's birthday, from the interest savings.

Next week is enticing entitled filing week.

My paperwork has recently been assigned to a variety of out of sight places, that haven't resulted in them being out of mind. Every time I go to retrieve Freddie's toybox from the lounge cuboard, clean bedlinen from under the bed or a pen from a number of various baskets, the weight of two years of administrative sluggishness literally falls at my feet.
I'm realising more and more that what seems like a quick fix can so often lead to hours of wasted endeavour. No more trawling through a million pieces of paper to find one stray solicitors letter I'm being chased to respond to, flung hasily in one of a number of hiding places. No, in future I shall look under the house address in question in the giant solicitor file. Just thinking about it makes me want to rename next week 'catch up on sleep week'.

I'm back in the mayhem of house rennovations, supervising builders, planning budgets and designing kitchens. I'm thinking of trying to buy the house next door as my next project, it's rumoured to be coming on the market at some point, is currently empty and by virtue of having my coalbunker where it's front garden should be, has an improvement potential only I could realise. In the meantime I'm getting mine ready to go on the market in spring.

Nicki has had a baby boy and is flush with the joys of motherhood, which I find deeply admirable in the week following a horrible birth and emergency cesearean. In a sign of how much my life has changed I called my friend from the WI and after a personal consultation over her cotton colours, ordered a hand knitted jumper with a pixie hood.

Lou is due any day and Amy is growing into motherhood with aplomb. Our traditional girlie June holiday will, if it happens anytime soon, feature no less than 6 children to five adults, a ratio that doesn't feel entirely right, even to someone as child centred as I'm growing to be.

You can tell, you're getting older

When the shift doesn't seem important any more. I'm heading towards my 36th birthday, it's not a round one, well, not numerically anyway, and I keep forgetting I should organise something properly, with babysitters and the like, because it just doesn't seem important this year.

I've always been the queen of my own birthday parties, but this year, I wanna see Jo Hook play, and I wanted to go to a lecture on Vita Sackville West, but the former is hoarse and may not make it the latter was fully booked, so I'm thinking a stroll along camber sands with my Mum and Freddie will do me just fine.

It's not that I'm over the dressing up box days, god no, just this week I brought one of those grieving widow at the races hats I've always lusted after, all black netting and cool silouette; but I'm just thinking I'm just as happy to wear it in a moment of full on flounciness in my local, as to have it be centre stage of a birthday bash.

It's been mental lately.
Hence the lack of action here.
The test results came back, and Frazer headed to New Zealand. Now he knows he's Dad, he is making something akin to an effort to keep in touch. It's not mindblowing, but his Mum sent Freddie a Christmas pressie which I thought was kind, and I'm gradually elicting a little folder of emails from Dad for Freddie should Frazer not return, or return and not visit.

I'm officially redundant. Been paid a years salary to leave a job I wanted to leave, and can't believe my luck. I nearly didn't apply as I didn't know they had a voluntary redundancy trawl on, got told on the train on the day before the scheme closed. Result.

I've finished training to be a foster mum. It was mindblowing. Tough. I now start the full on psychological assessment process, which I think will be equally as tough but I'm raring to go.

I'm so peeved about Hillary. I think she's gonna lose. And whilst I'm all for the fresh faced rhetorical brilliance of Obama, under different circumstances, I can't help feeling that it will set back women in American politics for a generation. I also think it's just plain unfair that a guy with three years in the senate gets to be the candidate over the most experienced person ever to stand for a first term, seemingly on the basis he isn't her.

xxx

Who's the daddy?

So, tests got done. Was almost lighthearted in the end. Frazer and I had a cuppa, then realised that isn't allowed for half an hour before testing -so sat around before opening the swabs. Three packets. Pink, blue and yellow. Oh and a green one, presumably for use if there's two Dad candiadates. Like you're what, gonna get them round together? Freddie naturally got the sunshine envelope, the boy and I stuck to gender stereotyping. I nearly offered him the pink in a a moment of Amy Winehouse's 'I need a man and you're my ladyboy' preciousness, but luckily had more of a grip than that.
Had to.
I'd a bit lost it in the preceding week.

Sent a thoughtless email, over the testing, in which I chatted about how I'd taken Freddie round the bars in Hastings with my mate Jo and his lovely girlfriend Keeley. Also divulged my test wobble. In a 'I guess I'd always imagined if I had kids it'd be in a loving partnership without the need for cheek swabs and the like.' Not sure what I was thinking - think I was trying to show a softer than rock side - open up a bit in the hope of finding some connection. Needless to say he didn't respond so then I fretted massively that here I was, one night stand mother of his kid, creating the impression that, hey I'm a. Into dragging his baby round bars and b. looking for a loving partnership. He could presume, with him.

Then I sent a text, as requested saying 'test's here, when do you wanna do it?' and he didn't reply. For a whole night and the next morning. So I got into a 'he's vanishing and it's all my fault' state, and sent a very long, explanatory email. basically saying - 'look, I'm not after your money, body, love'. 'I'm no baby in one arm gin bottle in the other kinda mum' rant rant rant.
'And if you don't wanna do the test cos you're scared to know he's yours, fine. But you could have said before I paid for it. And if you don't wanna be in Freddie's life, again fine. It's not what I would have wanted for him but I'm through trying'. bit more rant.

Then he called.

I say 'did you get my email?'
he says ' no, sorry, I only check them once a week at my Mum's, going there tonight though. I'm at work now, sorry I didn't get back to you, have been flu ridden and it's my last day in the job today, but how does Thursday suit you for the test?'
I say
'um, fine, shit. I've sent you a bit of a mental email. I thought you were vanishing'

So he came. and actually I think knows I'm not nuts.
Despite the evidence to the contrary.

So, post tea, we get Freddie up from his nap, and start the swabbing. Frazer and I were pretty straight forward. Freddie was teething, badly, and wanted a cotton bud, two cotton buds, rubbed round the inside of his mouth in the same way I'd want to say, digest the content of his nappies.

Frazer sits awkwardly on the sofa whilst I, with a swab in one hand and Fred's thrashing arms in the other, attempt to persuade him it's not so bad. I'm fooling no-one. The swab is in big danger of being contaminated from angry baby fists. Frazer volunteers to help. I ask him to pin Fred's arms back. He gets all 'that's mean' at this point.

I'm like, 'look sunshine, we gotta do this, and the quicker we do the sooner he'll get over it'. End up pinning his arm back myself whilst Frazer gingerly runs the swab round a dribble filled gob. So dribble filled in fact, I'm still wondering if they'll be any DNA amongst the molar juice.

We'll find out next week.

Whilst the swabs dry we take Freddie to the sealife centre. An inspired move. Freddie loves fish. Frazer loves fish. Frazer loves that Freddie loves fish. Frazer reckons Freddie must get his love of fish from Frazer. I didn't ask, tempted as I was, whether Frazer also loved the flashing buttons that give kids a bit of aquatic knowledge. And if that's where Freddie got his love of flashing buttons from. No siree. Best to just encourage all comparisons I figure. Let that bond grow.

Freddie had been teething so badly in the days before, two big buggers pushing through his fragile gums simultaneously, that screaming had been his preferred and pretty constant method of comunication. Bar the small thrashing during swabbing incident - it could have been a different kid.

It was like he's read a book on 'how to catch a Daddy' and was all smiles, arms out for a hug and fish-wonder. Frazer waves goodbye. Freddie cried. Rubbish pretend crying that amazingly he got over the moment the door shut, but good show I thought. Then, half an hour later, he resumed the screaming.

A week on, he still only stops intermittently.
I've, thus far, managed not to join in, can't promise it'll stay that way.

tested over testing

I volunteered to Frazer for the second time to do a paternity test. I've told him that there is no way anyone else could be the father because I wasn't sleeping with anyone else when I fell pregnant but seeing as how he hardly knows me, am aware that that may not give him much certainty.

He didn't take much persuading.
Said that one of his mates had warned him against getting too attached to Freddie in case he wasn't his kid.

After which I needed no persuading that actually - the test is the right thing to do. Not that, I have to say, his itinerary of quick pop in followed by a spell in Cornwall then a one way ticket to New Zealand, is making 'too attached' seem likely.

On the upside he'll have to come here to do the test which means he meets Freddie again before he sets off - which can only make forgetting him harder. On the downside - I've been really miserable about it. Cheek swabbing was never part of the picture in my fictional world of what it would be like to have a kid. I kinda pictured a loving partnership instead.

Talking of which Mum asked if I fancy him.

The answer to that in case anyone else is wondering is an emphatic no. He's very pretty and very personable, but in my new 'actions speak louder than words' mode, hardly cuts it. My next relationship is going to be with someone capable of offering me some support from time to time.

For anyone who's planning to sleep with Eddie Murphy or Steve Bing (note to self - give up on feeling like a slapper and remember you're in a boat previously paddled by Lushious Hurley and lovliest Spice) the testing thing is pretty simple. It's 99.9% accurate, costs £139 from DNArus... or something similar sounding and is all doable without so much as a Dr's appointment. They send you a few cotton wool sticks, you swab them round mum, dad and baby's gob (pressing hard - and it's doable without mum - or even, less accurately Dad as long as one of his family don't mind standing in)and then after much palaver stick them in an envelope. The palaver involves ensuring no cross contamination whilst allowing at least an hour to dry - so those of you who, like me, got all your DNA knowledge from couple of episodes of Silent Witness or Murphy's Law - beware, there's no just swabbing then bunging in a bag. Not unless you wanna risk the bugger thinking he's off the hook.

Then you pop said envelopes in post and whizzo - five days later they email you the results.

I did think in the midst of my 'it wasn't supposed to be like this' fit of self pity, that actually I'm bloody lucky. I know I'm telling the truth and for less cash than it costs to keep me in red wine for a year, can prove it. I'm sure there is a world of folk, including, I suspect, the McCanns, who would give anything to be able to do the same.

Though now I've said that I'm wondering - are lie detector tests not admissible in court? Only the court of Jeremy Kyle I'm thinking. And we all know how I got there. (And how the 'it's all glamour, me Liz and Mel' arguments fall down once I have!)

That too would be much worse. testing on National telly. Horrific.
Bit of positive spin and I'm back to feeling lucky.

Comings and goings

Freddie's Dad came today. He brought his Mum. They were both a lot more nervous than I was. Outwardly.
It went as well as I could have hoped. Freddie was totally charming, flung himself on Frazer's lap with total abandon. Frazer responded with the appearance of a man smitten, kept giving Fred little hugs when he thought I wasn't looking.
The downside is that he's off to Cornwall for a month Monday week then flying to New Zealand for a year.

We swapped email addrsses, promised to swap photos (Freddie's naturally, not mine!)and he said he'll stay in touch.

I hope he does.

Keep your fingers crossed

I got a text message from Freddie's Dad today.
that's the first unsolicited one ever.
I say unsolicited.
I did write to him recently to let him know how marvellous his son is, and to tell him our door is always open for him. For the first week after I posted the letter I thought I may hear something. Then didn't, and had resigned myself to the fact we wouldn't. In fact, a couple of months on, I was seriously thinking 'is it time to send a photo?'
Then, whammo
'Can I meet my son please?'
Or, different words, same outcome.
Wow, cool. I said. Course.
He's coming next Thursday.
I'm trying to keep grounded. we got here before, nearly a year ago. A promise to visit then, nada. Until mothers day when I got a 'happy mothers day' text.
That was the last we heard.
I thought oh well, and started to work on the story about how Daddy worked with dolphins in a far away place and the dolphins needed him more than Freddie did.
Not the most convincing tale, especially when it gets drilled down into and turns out the reason we can't visit is that - what, they're quarrantined? Suffering dolphin menigitis and unable to come into contact with humans who don't have the special protective clothing? That they're in a place only reachable by dingy, a million miles from the nearest island?
That was Mum's idea. I'd been discussing how to tell my son that yes, he does have a Daddy, but Daddy just isn't around. In a way that doesn't leave him feeling that somehow he's unlovable when I know, he's the most lovable little man on the planet.

Through the conversations I kept saying 'I'm hoping it won't come to that, I do think he's a decent guy and he hasn't forgotten, won't find it easy to live with being a non-dad'. And the looks came back. the 'hello deluded lady from planet Janet' looks. But I thought, 'hey if I believe it, it may be a self fulfilling prophesy'. So I did. And, well,
Checks feet.
Grounded.
It could yet be.

I'll keep you posted.