Page 13 of The Bad Mother's Diary

Daisy’s fine today.

Nick and I took her to the emergency doctor anyway, just in case. We had to wait with a load of nervous-looking teenage girls, all wanting the morning-after pill.

Poor Nick – he looked so tired. His dark hair was all dishevelled and actually quite sexy looking, but he kept smoothing it down and saying, ‘I look like crap.’ He was also humming ‘Jerusalem’ to himself – a sure sign of stress.

When the doctor said Daisy was fine, Nick said, ‘Oh thank GOD!’ and threw his arms to the heavens.

Actors!

So dramatic.

Monday January 19th

Nick’s birthday today.

It’s so near Christmas that most people forget. So I always try to make it extra special.

Bought him an Abercrombie and Fitch shirt, Jean Paul Gaultier aftershave, plus a coffee table book calledLondon’s Coolest Bars(pretended that last one was from Daisy ;)).

Helen turned up with a whole wardrobe of birthday clothes – designer suits, wool coat, shoes, scarves, etc.

I’ve made Nick’s favourite tea: lamb shank, chunky chips with caramelised onion, and rocket and parmesan salad.

But he’s still out, so I’ve put it in the fridge for breakfast.

Bit annoyed about that, but you can’t shout at someone on their birthday can you?

Tuesday January 20th

Did postnatal depression test online. Just in case.

I have an unhealthy fixation with Coldplay and salted caramel. Which I think could be signs of depression.

But the test came back fine.

Apparently I love Daisy too much to be depressed.

Phoned Althea and she said, ‘Feeling sad? It’s called being a mother.’

Thursday January 22nd

More house hunting.

Viewed three absolutely shit holes in East London.

The last house was so bad that even the estate agent said, ‘It’s a bit oppressive, isn’t it?’

I tried to be open-minded and imagine how things could look with different colour walls. But realistically, a fresh coat of paint won’t fix a cellar full of water.

I think Nick was secretly happy I didn’t like any of the houses. Truth be told, he doesn’t want to get our own place. As far as he’s concerned, the fewer responsibilities we have the better.

But this is getting desperate.

Helen’s apartment is big for London. But having a baby takes up so much space.

Our bedroom, once a posh executive double room with view of the Thames, is now a jumble sale.

Cot, changing table, baby wardrobe, bouncy chair, baby gym.

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