It’s the 31st August 1971 & the genetic future of one family is about to be changed forever.
Today is the day of my parent’s wedding, you see.
They had a lovely day, by all accounts; a simple ceremony at the church my grandparents attended, with my grandpa looking very proud as he gave my mum away & my dad looking like the cat that got the cream as he received her (is that the right terminology – sounds a bit seedy?!) & then they moved on to a local hotel for the wedding breakfast. I’ve seen the photos of the cake, the flowers, the bridesmaids & the guests & it all looked beautiful.
Bianca & Mick looking almost as stylish as my mum & dad
As was customary is those days, mum & dad left their wedding reception early to go on honeymoon. Mum had made herself a new trouser suit as her going away outfit, as per the current trend, started a few months earlier by Bianca Jagger (my mum was very high fashion at this time, darling) & dad had gone a bit ‘out there’ with his flared safari suit. They were waved off in grandpa’s car (the story being that he didn’t trust the mechanics of the one dad was doing up & thought this would be safer) after the guests had made an arch with the linked hands & clapped & cheered. This is where is all went wrong.
Before I was pregnant, someone raised the idea of ‘mummy guilt’ in a kind of ‘you just wait’ type way. I have to admit, I was blissfully ignorant of the concept.
Now, I wish I still was, but in fact I seem to spend my whole, entire life feeling guilty about something or another.
My mummy guilt actually started before I was a mummy. I found out we were expecting (I am never sure if its incredibly irritating to say ‘we were pregnant’ or if it shows unity? Mr Teapot certainly got off lightly if we shared responsibility. From now on I’ll go with ‘I’). I found out I was pregnant on a Thursday. We had returned from our belated honeymoon the week before, been at a wedding on the Friday & went to a 30th birthday party on the Saturday. Both of these occasions involved an awful lot of alcohol (at the latter, we were drinking home made cocktails at 4 in the morning).
When I wee’d on the stick & two lines came up, my thoughts were as follows:
1) Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow! Shit; this changes everything.
2) I’ve pickled the child.
Now, I didn’t go on to have the best of pregnancies & in the far reaches of my brain, I couldn’t help but wonder if the two were in some way