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.