Globes & Maps

The thing is that I wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much. The birth, that is. I mean obviously I knew it would hurt because essentially what you’re doing is shitting out a person. But people like my mother and my aunts always told me that I had ‘child-bearing hips’ and ‘nice big feet’ and therefore my birth canal would be wider and the baby would just tumble right on out of there. The people who tell you these sorts of things are liars and should never be trusted.

I love my son but I was in labour for thirty-seven hours with the little fucker and he tore me up a treat. The midwife said she’d never seen so much blood. Which was reassuring. I don’t know if it was love or just simply all the morphine I was on, but when they finally let me hold my baby it all seemed worth it. The violent sickness. The constant need to go to the bathroom. The back pain. The huge wound that was now my vagina. None of that mattered because I had a beautiful, healthy little boy in my arms, and he was so small and perfect.

But then he wouldn’t breastfeed. And I really tried, honestly I did, but he just refused to attach himself to me. The nurse told me this was quite normal and that he’d probably get the hang of it eventually, but I felt kind of rejected and despondent. As if my baby didn’t want my milk. He was happy with the formula they gave him instead. I wasn’t good enough for him. I didn’t deserve him. I was a horrible mother.

They told me I had post-parental depression. No shit. For the four days I was in the hospital recovering, I cried constantly. My husband thought I was insane but he would have never said it to my face. He just sort of blinked at me in bewilderment and carried on rocking the baby. I hardly ever hold him for those first few days. Every time I saw his face I wanted to slit my wrists. There is no easy way to explain post-parental depression, I guess. And there is no easy way to cure it. You just have to ride it out and hope for the best.

When we finally made it out of the hospital, I enlisted help from my mother to take care of the baby’s essential needs. I was so depressed that I could barely even refer to him by name. ‘Mom, can you feed the baby?’ I would say, or, ‘Mom, the baby’s formula is ready’. I never called him Flynn. I hardly even liked that name anymore. When I could bring myself to look at him, he didn’t look like a Flynn. He didn’t even look like a person. He just looked so helpless and dumb.

You probably think I’m heartless and a terrible mother. Back then I would probably have agreed with you. But it was hard on me, seeing myself like this. When I was pregnant I’d had such wistful dreams about what life would be like with my little boy. Not once did I imagine I could come to resent him like I did. But it happens to a lot of women, or so I was told. It made me feel a little better to know I wasn’t the only one.

Some days I would watch my mom playing with him and feel really pathetic. I felt so small and stupid because that she could interact with Flynn and yet his own mother could barely even bring herself to look at him. But I would never do anything about it. I’d just feel even worse about myself. And I would carry on as if nothing was wrong. My mom never said anything to me about it but I think she understood. Every evening when Jake came home and Mom was leaving, she would hug me and tell me she loved me and that one day I would love Flynn just as much. It was hard to believe her. All I could do was hope that she was right.

Everything changed when Flynn was about six weeks old. He woke us up at 4am screaming as usual, and Jake reluctantly crawled out of bed to tend to him. To be honest with you I wasn’t even asleep. I just didn’t want to go check on him. I never did. It was always Jake’s job. He was pretty amazing at looking after us both. He never complained or yelled at me for being a terrible mother. He just waited for it to blow over, like I did.

But this time something was different. Jake came straight back into our room, holding Flynn in one arm as he shook me with the other. “Tess, something’s wrong with Flynn,” he said with urgency. “He has a temperature.” I could hear the baby coughing over Flynn’s shoulder and it made me feel sick and useless and awful. I jumped out of bed and got dressed on the way out of the door, in whatever clothes I could find. I drove us to the hospital while Jake held Flynn. He was crying a lot. They both were, actually.

While the doctors and nurses were fawning over his tiny little body, Jake and I sat in silence in the waiting room. He was holding my hand really tight. I knew he was worried. I was getting worried myself. Worried that my baby would die without ever knowing his mother loved him. And how would I live with myself knowing that I had let that happen? I chewed my fingernails right down to the skin and gripped onto my husband’s hands and we waited.

That was five years ago now. It’s amazing how quickly that time passed. I have watched my son grow into this awesome little kid and I've loved him with all my heart every single day ever since.

Now when I look at my little boy’s face I don’t feel pathetic or small or scared. I feel proud and excited and overwhelmed by love. It’s amazing. It really is.

Most people get married and start having babies when they’re in their mid or late twenties. I was eighteen when I married Jake and twenty when we had Flynn. So I guess in that respect I’m not like most people.

My friends obviously thought I was insane getting married while they were all going away to college but that’s all I wanted. I had found the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with and I didn’t see any point in wasting time. He was tall and handsome and he treated me like I was the most perfect thing in the world. He had a solid career as a regional manager at his dad’s catering company so I didn’t need to go to college and get a degree and a job. I was set up for life. It was all very traditional and old-fashioned but I was happy as a housewife and a full-time mother.

But once Flynn was at school it started to get a little mundane. I didn’t have anything to do while he wasn’t there. I didn’t have my best friend around me anymore. We’ve all seen Desperate Housewives, haven’t we? At just 25 I felt trapped and bored and stuck in this life where every single day was the same as the last. The only time I got out of the house was for yoga or grocery shopping or the school run in my Volvo SUV. It was all so clichéd for me.

Some days I considered taking up drinking during the day and starting an affair with the gardener. Sadly, old Brian was probably past raging affairs judging by his liver spots and arthritic hands. Mores the pity.

For a long time I tried to ignore my sense for adventure. I carried on with my yoga and grocery shopping. Some nights after Flynn was in bed, Jake and I would have sex. But it always felt forced. I don’t think either of us ever really wanted it. We were both too exhausted. We just thought we should be doing it because that’s what married people do, even when their son is sleeping in the next room.

Some days I would have time to reflect on my life. I would wonder what my 16-year-old self would say if she could see her future. I’d never have believed that this would be how it would turn out. I was so ambitious and wild back then. Hard to believe that now when I looked at little miss soccer mom in the mirror.

But still life goes on, even if it isn’t how you thought it would be.

I guess I was always waiting for something to change. I just had no idea what it would be.

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It was really bright. I was squinting and doing that thing you do when you put your hand against your brow to shield out the sun. And I was squinting towards the doors.

I was pretty sure I hadn’t missed him. I’d been standing there for fifteen minutes and most of the kids had ran out of those doors and into their parents’ arms and gone home already. It was just me and the rest of the stragglers who didn’t know where their kids were.

“Excuse me, Mrs Lambert?”

I turned on my heel to face a very round, kindly looking lady. She was giving me a warm smile that I had to reciprocate. I vaguely recognised this woman as Flynn’s teacher but I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name. Miss Lawson? Miss Lawler? Miss Lauper? God damn it.

“Oh, hello,” I smiled, taking my hand away from my face and turning my back to the sun. Miss Law-whatever was very short so my shadow shielded her from the sunlight.

“Flynn is still inside,” she told me. “He had a little trouble with a classmate today so we’d very much like for you and the other child’s parent to come and have a word and sort it all out.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, sure.” She walked back into the school and I followed her dutifully.

To be honest I was really surprised to hear that Flynn was having trouble with another pupil. He never had trouble getting along with anybody. If anything the boy was too goddamn friendly, always tottering over to strangers and showing them his drawings. In the supermarket he was a nightmare because he always wanted to stop and talk to people. Most people didn’t seem to mind but it worried me that he had no sense of stranger danger or public awareness.

Either way, when I walked into the classroom he was crying and he ran straight over to me and buried his sniffly face into my leg, smearing tears and snot all over my jeans. I took his hand and bent down to his level.

“Hey, little man,” I said quietly, rubbing tears away from his eyes. “What’s up sweetie?”

He sniffed and shook his head and moved into my arms for a hug. I kissed the top of his head and shushed him a bit. His teacher looked at me with a small smile and I smiled smally back before standing back up, keeping a hold of my son’s hand.

Over in the corner was another little boy I hadn’t realised was there, and sitting next to him on a tiny weeny blue plastic chair was the most gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes upon. He had milky white skin and midnight black hair and a smile that could cure sick children. He was whispering something to the little kid, who was also crying. I assumed it was his dad.

The teacher led me over to the others (Flynn was not happy about this but kept a firm grip on my fingers) and gestured for us to sit on some of those tiny little chairs facing the other boy and that beautiful man. I couldn’t even contemplate speaking to him, at least not in full sentences. He was far too beautiful for his own good. I could have had the most poignant of arguements prepared but I’d have been at a loss to articulate anything other than nonsensical ramblings, rendered quite dumbstruck by this perfect face.

“Mrs Lambert, it seems Flynn and Jason here aren’t getting along too well.”

I assumed the blond kid was Jason. Nobody told me otherwise.

“What seems to be the problem?” I asked. Flynn was still sniffling a little and buried his head under my arm.

“Well, earlier today Jason informed me that Flynn had taken a toy from him whilst he was playing with it. When I asked Flynn what happened he said that he had been playing with the toy all morning but I’d seen Jason with it earlier.”

Oh God have mercy on us, what sins thou doth surrender to! Of all the problems in this world is this really seriously important? Does it really fucking matter who had the toy? What’s wrong with all those other toys anyway? This Jason kid sounded like a real fucking tattletale. If I was Flynn I’d probably have taken the damn toy and then hit Jason in the face.

But of course I couldn’t say of this because I might be put in jail. So I just had to pretend that I cared.

“Oh dear,” I said, hopefully with sufficient sincerity. I looked over at the gorgeous man and silently challenged him to say something.

He met my gaze evenly, with a hint of a smile that made my knees feel quite weak. Good job I was sitting down, really. “Yeah,” he finally offered. “It’s a shame they had a falling out.”

I nodded, not once breaking eye contact. “It is,” I agreed. Then I looked down towards my son. “Flynn, sweetie, you shouldn’t have taken Jason’s toy from him, okay? And it was naughty to lie to the teachers about it, wasn’t it?” I felt him nod against my waist. “Can you say sorry to Jason please?”

Flynn wriggled out and looked over at Jason, who was picking his nose and really didn’t seem to give a shit what was going on. “Sorry,” Flynn said quietly.

“Good boy,” I smiled, ruffling his hair.

“Jason, what do you say?” asked the sexy man.

“S’okay,” Jason shrugged.

Miss Lawson or whatever her name was gave a wide smile. “Wonderful. I’m so glad we’ve sorted this all out.” She stood up and then the rest of us followed suit and headed outside. “Thank you Mrs Lambert,” she grinned, shaking my hand. “And thank you, Mr Way.” She then shook his hand and went back inside.

Flynn and Jason were quickly back on friendly terms, running around together on the now-empty playground as ‘Mr Way’ and I stood awkwardly beside each other. Every so often he would sneak a glimpse at me and every time he did I blushed and pretended not to notice, watching the boys as the fooled around on the hopscotch.

“Is Flynn your son, then?” he finally asked me.

I turned towards him and the sun caught my eyes so I turned back. “Yeah,” I replied. I felt like an idiot giving a one-word answer but I wasn’t sure what else I could say.

“You just seem a little young to be his mother,” he continued, and I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or flattered. I guess this came across on my face because he quickly added, “I mean, you’re what, like, 21?”

I laughed a little. “I’m 25,” I replied. “But nice try.”

He shuffled on his feet and looked down. I think he may have been blushing. I quite liked it that he was being awkward because it made me feel relatively cool by comparison. And it is not often that I get to feel cool, let me tell you.

“What about Jason?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. It had started to get windy and my cardigan was flapping about around my sides. Plus I was paranoid of wayward nipples through my thin top compromising my coolness. “Is he your son?”

He laughed. “Oh, god no,” he replied. “He’s my nephew. I’m babysitting.”

“Perks of being an uncle,” I grinned.

Flynn ran up to me before he could respond, asking if Jason could come over for dinner. Jason stood grinning at the side of his uncle, tugging on his arm pleadingly. They were both batting their eyelashes.

“If it’s okay with Mr Way then he can,” I replied.

“It’s Gerard,” said Gerard with a small laugh. “And it’s fine by me.”

Oh, yay. Another child for the evening. Goodbye, Grey’s Anatomy and bubble bath. Hello, spaghetti Bolognese stains and bloody knees.

Don’t ever let anybody tell you being a mother isn’t glamorous, kids.