WHY I DON’T LIKE MONDAYS PART 2

Well at least Billie’s no trouble.... Oh, they don’t call them ‘famous last words’ for nothing.

Monday afternoon is our ‘Other Mothers’ meeting. There are about ten mums who’ve been getting together rain or shine since the oldest babies were six weeks old. We’ve expanded so much children-wise that we hire a little hall in the village now and meet every Monday. (More of the Other Mothers later.)

As I said previously Olly is a very lively kid and it has caused me more than a moment of grief socially, as he has had quite a lot of conflict over the years with other boys in the group. Testosterone is a strange and alien chemical to most women and I often look around at the Other Mothers as we stare slack-jawed at our sons as they roll and kick and tug and wrestle each other hour after hour and realise that we haven’t the first idea what is going on in our sons’ heads or bodies.

So, as I’ve said, at least Billie’s no trouble. She is sweet and small and cute and loving. She can play by herself quite happily but also mixes well with other children. Till this Monday that is. Billie loves a baby. She has many, many babies at home. There is Baby Suzy, Baby Lucy, Baby Cherry, Baby Henry, The Red Baby, Babies Phil and Lil and Baby Becca. Woe betide you by the way if you get them mixed up. And Mondays are especially fun for her as she gets to mix with real, live babies. There are two one year olds, and two newborns at the moment so it is very exciting for her. She especially loves baby Mathew as he has not quite mastered walking yet, or certainly not walking quickly enough to get away from her, so she has a captive audience. 

So there she is under the table with Mathew billing and cooing when Mathew begins to cry. His mum dives under the table to get him and emerges looking stricken. There, on his cheek, is a livid bite mark. And there’s no getting away from it, my darling, sweet innocent girl is Hannibal Lecter. 

The moment is awful. I feel the entire room chill. ‘Is he alright?’ the Other Mothers enquire. His mum responds that he has been bitten. And the bite mark like my shame grows stronger by the minute. I haul Bill out from under the table. There is still time to make amends. I know that she is good at being loving and I ask her in a theatrical whisper just what she thinks she was doing. ‘Biting,’ she replies. ‘Why?’ I implore. ‘Because I don’t like Baby Mathew.’

Well it’s all gone wrong now. My son is in the background practising Kung Fu on his ‘pals’ and now my daughter is leaving less than a good impression on babies’ cheeks. And there’s nothing for it but to remain and live out the pain and humiliation. Baby Mathew’s mum is distressed but decent about it, and I fumble in my bag and meekly offer her some arnica. But I feel terrible and wonder if like dogs that worry sheep Billie is going to turn into a serial biter. Then I think about the Chinese years they were born and Olly is a Tiger and Billie is a Rabbit. Is this why he roars and she’s started biting? Or am I a Bad Mother? Have I done something to them recently or in the womb or whenever that’s made them turn out this way? 

And as I write this, late on Monday night, with Billie snuggled up beside me as soft and sweet as a bunny and Olly asleep with tiny snores purring from his mouth like a kitten, I wonder what creatures they are and what they will become. I’ll keep you posted.

Quote of the Week

Olly after hearing that one of the Other Mothers is pregnant and has a baby in her tummy:

‘So where does all the food go?’

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 3) and daughter Billie (aged 2) in Hertfordshire.