Mum, I just cant do it anymore, do you understand? I pressed my phone between my ear and my shoulder, trying not to wake little Archie as I lowered him into his cot. He hasnt slept for three nights straight.
My head feels so dizzy, Im terrified of dropping him. Please, could you come over, even just for a couple of hours? I just need to sleep.
Libby, dont start, snapped Mum. Youre not the first person to have a baby, and you certainly wont be the last. All children go through bad nights.
We raised you lot without disposable nappies or washing machines, and we survived, didnt we?
Its not about the nappies, Mum. Im just asking for a bit of help. Youre retired, youve got plenty of free time now.
My free time is for me to have a well-deserved rest, love. Your dad and I did our bit. No one ever helped us your grandmothers only popped in on Christmas and birthdays.
You chose to have a baby, so you take care of him. Your responsibility, Libby. Put Archie in his cot and have a lie down yourself, its no big deal.
Anyway, my programme’s starting, well chat tomorrow.
The dial tone hummed in my ear, abrupt and final.
***
Paddy and I were together for two years before we quietly got married, not wanting to waste money on a big wedding. We rented a cosy little one-bed flat at the edge of town. I fell pregnant almost immediately.
Do you think theyll be happy for us? I asked, stroking my still-flat belly. First grandchild on both sides. Im an only child for Mum, youre the same for yours.
Paddy smiled, wrapping his arms round me:
Of course theyll be happy, Lib. Lets have dinner and tell them tomorrow.
The next morning we set off to tell the families. My parents first.
Mum, Dad, weve got news, I beamed. Youre going to be grandparents. We dont know if its a boy or a girl yet.
Mum just shrugged.
Well, thats life, I suppose. Had to happen at some point.
Most important thing is that you get proper maternity pay, Libby. You are planning to work until the last minute?
Probably I stammered, a bit deflated. Arent youarent you pleased?
Of course were pleased, grunted Dad, eyes glued to the telly. But these are tough times.
Have you gotten yourselves sorted? Renting, cars only on hire purchase
Oh well. Where theres a baby, theres a way, as they say.
Paddys parents reacted almost exactly the same. His mum, Mrs Anna Porter, gave me a sharp look up and down.
Pregnancys not an illness, she announced. Dont go spoiling the child or Paddy, he was always stuck to my hip as a boy.
But congratulations, I suppose. Well see how it all goes.
At the time, I blamed it on their generation. Not everyone jumps for joy thats life, isnt it? At least they werent against it.
***
Getting ready for the baby kept us busy. Paddy took whatever extra shifts he could, coming home exhausted, but never empty-handed: sometimes nappies, sometimes a new baby-grow. Even the parents pitched in.
Your dad and I discussed it, Mum said on the phone. Well buy you the cot. Sturdy, wooden, simple.
No need to go mad. Hell outgrow it in two years anyway.
Thanks, Mum! I genuinely was pleased.
A week later, Paddys mum rang.
Libby, I found something for you at the shop. Pop by and pick it up.
When we popped round to Anna Porters, a bright blue plastic potty sat on the hallway table. Cheap, plain.
There you go, she said, proud. Cant get on without one of these. Good and solid.
I blinked at Paddy, who just shrugged.
Thanks, Mrs Porter, but the baby wont need this for seven or eight months, at least. Were still looking for things for the hospital and newborn essentials
Buy your own for the birth, youve got your own way with things, she cut in. But youll need a potty eventually, so whats the bother?
On the way home I couldnt help but ask:
Paddy, is this a joke? A potty for a newborn?!
Thats just how she is, Lib. Practical, keeps everything for the house. Never mind it, at least the cot’s sorted.
***
The day we brought Archie home was brisk and business-like. Our families came, handed over bouquets, did a quick photo by the front door. Archie snuffled in his pram.
Oh, what a sweet nose, Mum glanced over. Off you go and settle in. We need to dash to the allotment. The runner beans cant wait.
Wont you come in for tea? I asked quietly, hugging the baby. Maybe get to know Archie a little?
Well see plenty of him, Libby, Anna Porter chimed in. You two need to get used to him yourselves just now. Best not to get in your way. Rest up.
They left. I stood on the doorstep, watching their cars drive off, feeling like Id just been shipwrecked on a deserted island.
The first fortnight blurred by. Archie mixed up days and nights. Paddy was out the door at seven, back at nine.
I whirled through the house: laundry, ironing, feeding, trying to scrape dinner together.
My back ached constantly. The mirror showed a pale, hollow-eyed ghost.
Mum called twice a week.
Hows everything? Hows Archie? Mrs Porter would ask.
Hard work, Mrs Porter. His tummy hurts, hes always crying, I can barely sleep.
Well, dear, motherhoods no doddle. Soldier on. Keep to your routines. Ive got to go nail appointment.
Mum was no different:
Youre alright, then? Good, good. Were off to the allotment now.
***
Saturday finally arrived. Paddy, for once, didnt go out. He looked after Archie, and I finally managed a bath not just a quick shower.
I lay in the warm water and quietly cried, out of sheer exhaustion. Everyone I knew had family help for months, even years. Why was I so different?
When I got dressed and wandered into the bedroom, Paddy followed.
Lib, maybe we should ask them round tomorrow? Both mums. Have a proper chat. Maybe they dont actually realise how tough things are for us?
I did ask, Paddy. Mum just told me, You had the baby, you raise it.
If we both ask together? Make it clear we dont want gifts or handouts just some help
I thought about it, then agreed. After I changed, I phoned my mum, then Mrs Porter.
Sunday lunch was tense. Id made a pie, though my hands trembled with tiredness.
They arrived together, both carrying apples. Four each, as if coordinated.
My word, its cramped now, Mum remarked, taking her seat. Libby, when did you last dust the top of that cabinet?
Mum, I dont have time to dust, Im surviving on three hours’ sleep.
Poor time management, Mrs Porter observed. Paddy, why arent you helping your wife more?
I work, Mum. Two jobs, remember? To pay the rent and feed Libby and Archie.
We all work, she shrugged. So, whyve you called us?
I took a long breath, laying my hands flat on the table.
Mums, we really need your help. Proper help, not money, not presents. Please, can we set up a little rota?
Just two hours, twice a week. One of you comes and takes Archie for a stroll. I could nap or catch up on chores.
Were not coping.
The grandmothers exchanged glances.
Libby, Mum said first. Weve covered this before. Ive done my duty.
I raised you in the nineties, in far worse times. No one came to lend a hand!
Why should I sacrifice my plans now? Ive got swimming, friends, the allotment
But hes your only grandchild! I burst out. Dont you want to spend time with him? See his first smiles? Watch him grow?
Well see plenty once hes bigger and able to talk, Anna Porter interjected. What is he now? Just eats and cries.
Youre the parents. Your job. We managed with ours and no one helped us.
So if it was hard for you, do I have to suffer the same? I snapped. Is that some family traditionpass on the baton of misery?
Dont be cheeky, Mum said coldly. We bought you the cot, didnt we? We showed up when you brought him home?
What more do you want? Us to move in?
I want you to be grandmothers!
Paddy squeezed my shoulder, trying to calm me.
Mum, Mrs Porter, are you serious? Do you really not care? Were not strangers
Paddy, dont exaggerate, Mrs Porter said, standing. We love you. But we have our own lives.
You decided to be grown-ups, live like grown-ups. If theres an emergency, call. Otherwise just get on with it.
Come on, Val, lets not miss our bus.
They left. I slumped onto a chair, staring at the untouched pie.
Lib Paddy sat beside me. Forget it, alright? Its just us.
Just us, I echoed. The worst part? Someday, theyll be old. Theyll need help bed pans, medicine, someone to talk to. And what will I say?
Ill tell them, I did my bit, raised my child, now Im busy at the swimming pool?
We wont become like them, Paddy said firmly. Never.
***
Months passed. Archie grew, started crawling, then took his first steps. I stopped ringing Mum to moan about exhaustion.
In fact, I stopped ringing her at all. Our conversations were snippets:
Howve you been?
Fine.
Hows Archie?
Growing.
Right then. Bye.
Bye.
Then, when Archie turned eighteen months, Mum rang one Saturday morning.
Libby, your dad and I were thinking Maybe you could bring little Archie down for the weekend? Lovely weather, plenty of fresh air at the allotment
I glanced at Archie, busy building a tower of blocks.
No, Mum. Were not bringing him.
Why not? We miss him.
You miss him? I scoffed. Do you even know his daily routine? What he eats? Which stories he likes at bedtime?
You last saw him three months ago, when we stopped by for half an hour.
So? Were parents, well manage!
No, Mum. You wont. Because children are a responsibility, not toys. Thats what youve been telling me for a year and a half.
We had a child, we look after him. Hes our son. As for you enjoy your well-earned rest. Go on, carry on relaxing.
I ended the call and sat next to Archie. You reap what you sow. Fairs fair.
***
Now, both sets of parents sulk: why wont we let them take care of their grandson? Now that hes older, independent, in school surely thats the perfect time for them to get involved!
But Paddy and I think differently now. Hes our child, our responsibility and were not about to shuffle that onto anyone else.
