The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1294 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

The next morning, a Sunday, I woke before everyone else and decided I’d have a workout. I wore some trackie bottoms, a tee shirt and a sweat top over it, then went out to the garage and spent an energetic half an hour kicking myself stupid at Stella’s hanging bag. I hadn’t done any of this for ages and half an hour was as much as I could stand, using muscles I didn’t normally.

Having got myself all hot and bothered, I went up and showered after drinking a glass of water. Tom was just coming back with Kiki as I went up the stairs. Si woke as I came out of the bathroom and asked what I’d been doing. I told him.

“Other women I know do Pilates or aerobics–my wife?–she does kick boxing.”

“You’d prefer I wasn’t able to defend myself?”

“No, but you’re just so different to everyone else.”

“I think I know that, Si, I remember coming round after surgery.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So how did you mean it?”

“Why can’t you join the WI or some other women’s organisation–though I suppose if you did, they’d be radical feminists within a couple of months.”

“I don’t want to join the WI or other women’s group.”

“No you’d rather be fixing bikes or riding them...”

“Or keeping house; or making meals; taking the kids to school; or doing the mammal survey.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.”

“No I haven’t. Yes I’d like to be tinkering with bikes or riding them because I actually enjoy it, but believe it or not, I don’t have time.”

“It was your idea to have all the children.”

“It might have been my idea but you agreed to it and besides I don’t regret a moment of it–the best thing I ever did.”

“No, the best thing you ever did was sorting yourself out.”

“In a selfish sense–yes, I suppose you’re right–but giving our children a home is the best thing I ever did. Making them feel valued and loved. I may not be the best mother in town but I try to make up for my inadequacies.”

“Isn’t that for others to judge–such as the children?”

“I suppose so, as far as I know they’re happy enough aren’t they?”

“As much as they can be, I’m sorry I suggested you were different–I should have said you are different–and I’m really glad you are.”

“No you’re not or you wouldn’t have made the comment.”

“I didn’t think it through, the kids are the most important thing, but if you hadn’t sorted yourself first I think you might have struggled a bit with your role as alpha female and earth mother.”

“Alpha female? I never thought about it in those terms, but I suppose I do tend to lead things a bit amongst the women.”

“Amongst the women–ha–you bully or cajole all of us to do your bidding–and d’you know what?”

“I’ve a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.”

“I am–because of your leadership, we’re all better than we would be without it. So I’m happy to sign up for another tour cap’n.”

At this point, baby C woke up. “I suspect she needs more than leadership.” I picked her out of her cot, “Come along, darling, let’s get some brekkies while Daddy contemplates alpha females in the shower.

I collected Puddin’ en route and the rest of my feminist corrupted slaves followed us down to the kitchen. Whilst I served breakfast with Danny’s help I did wonder about Simon’s thought processes at times. He knows full well that I’m not really a girly-girl–oh I can do the makeup and frillies as well as the next one and can act the damsel in distress when I need to–that’s just one part of me in the same way as the tomboy cycling fiend is.

None of them define me completely, I am the sum of all of my parts as we all are. One day Simon will understand that we all have complex identities and having a vaginoplasty didn’t meld them all into one.

Mima helped Puddin’ to eat her breakfast, buttering her toast and cutting it into quarters. Trish tried to help baby C eat her cereal, but when the baby got bored and spat a mouthful of porridge over her, she made a tactical withdrawal, controlling her temper very well.

“Stupid ingrate,” she muttered as she walked away, while the rest of us held our breaths in case we burst into laughter and really sent her off on one.

I gave the baby some breast milk and she nodded off while feeding, not an uncommon occurrence. Livvie and Billie cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, and Danny provided me with a fresh cuppa and some toast. Despite being up early, I hadn’t managed to eat breakfast.

Simon went out to wash the cars and Livvie and Mima went to help, Trish watched them from the window. “Don’t you want to go and help?” I asked her.

“Not really, cars don’t turn me on at all,” she turned on her heel and went off to play with her computer. I was left standing speechless.

I got on with doing a roast dinner–a leg of pork, which I treated to produce crackling and popped it in the oven. Trish eventually came back and offered to help with the vegetables.

“I don’t think I like babies very much, Mummy.”

“Why’s that, darling?”

“They’re just stupid, pooing everywhere and spitting out food.”

“That’s a bit of a generalisation, sweetheart, they only poo where you let them, in Catherine’s case, that’s in her nappy.”

“Why can’t they do it down the toilet like everyone else?”

“She will, she’s too young to sit up properly and her body isn’t developed enough for her to control her wee or poo.”

“That’s silly.”

“It might be but that’s how humans are, you were once like her.”

“I wasn’t, was I?”

“All babies are. Because we have such complex brains and relatively feeble bodies compared to the other apes, we need time to grow and especially time for our brains to grow. It takes many years.”

“Well, me an’ Livvie are okay.”

“You may well be, but your body and your brain are still growing and will be for at least another ten years.”

“Is that when I’ll need another operation?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, that’s for the doctors to decide–anyway, we have an appointment to see Dr Rose sometime soon to check your hormone levels.”

“Does that mean I get hormones?–yay.”

“I don’t know what it means other than we’ll see an expert and he’ll decide what’s needed and what isn’t. Now, what’s the real reason you don’t like babies?”

She looked me in the eye and her bottom lip quivered. “There’s no point is there? I mean, I can’t have any, so why bother?”

At this point she threw herself at me and burst into tears. I hugged her and stroked her neck gently. “Lots of girls can’t have babies for all sorts of reasons. I was one of them, like you, I didn’t think I had a chance of ever being a mother but I think you of all people appreciate that I was very wrong, and now I realise that there are loads of children who need new mothers for whatever reason.”

“I don’t think I can do what you do, Mummy.”

“What is it that I do?”

“Breast feed babies.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“I’ve tried an’ it didn’t work.” She howled burying her face in my chest.

“Of course it didn’t work, you haven’t got the correct equipment yet–you have to have breasts first and then they can give you certain hormones which help them produce milk.”

“When can I start those, Mummy? Can we speak to Dr Rose about it?”

“You can speak to him about it but he won’t consider it...”

“Because I’m too young, I’m always too young.” She ran off out of the kitchen. I let her go for a moment before my conscience got the better of me and I went to find her and calm her down. She was playing with the baby and talking to her, then suddenly her hand moved and the baby screamed.

“Trish–what are you doing?”

She spun round and red faced she ran off past me, leaving me to deal with the baby who was quite upset. When I examined her she had a nasty red spot which was either a pinch or bite. I felt like crying too, after all that comforting and explaining to her she came in and hurt her baby sister. Now what do I do?