The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1859 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I slept very deeply after my discussion with Si and his proposing to find me a womb transplant–if he did, at least I could do hysterical and be justified in it–it derives from the Greek for a womb (hustera). Mind you, I don’t think that would be grounds for such a project.

It was so kind of him to make the offer, even though I doubt it will ever be feasible for me, and the thought of immuno-suppressants and a pregnancy made my blood run cold, although I suppose they sometimes have to do things like it for problem pregnancies. The idea of having anything but a healthy baby is a non starter, and just so I could experience pregnancy while risking the health of the thing I’m supposed to loving, would seem to make me as selfish as any other total egoist. Women who have babies just to feel fulfilled don’t sound to me as if they’re putting the health of the baby first. Oh maybe I’m just hormonal–I think I’ve described before that I get randy a couple of days a month and at other times I’m homicidal and I don’t take pills with a supposed cycle effect. I take the same dosage all the time, so any cyclic effect is being made by my body or my imagination. I’ve got too many real issues to think about than to play with hormones. My GP monitored them for a while in the beginning, but since surgery I’ve stuck with a dosage which seems to suit me, so I leave well alone.

The next day, Si and Sammi were gone before I could get down to breakfast, and at lunchtime a bouquet arrived from my lord and master, the card inside declaring his love for the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world. Corny but nice and the flowers, a mixture of carnations, chrysanthemums and lilies were beautiful. It reminded me of the verse in the Bible about the beauty of the lilies of the fields, although I’m not sure I accept the reasoning beyond the observation that they naturally beautiful whereas some of us have to work at it.

Julie did say very quietly that Phoebe had got the message, so lay off the responsibility bit. I wasn’t sure if I felt pleased or embarrassed by it, but she also said she was going out with Phoebe on a double date with Bodie’s and his mate, who Bodie said was a good looking chap. I did quickly advise Julie that although she couldn’t get pregnant she could get sick from infections so to be careful.

“Mummy, I’m going on a date, not to an orgy.”

“Where are you going on the date?”

“To the cinema, to see the new Bond movie.”

“Oh, well I hope you enjoy it.”

“I will, Mummy, there’s lots of gratuitous sex and violence.” I chose to ignore the comment, took the girls to school and Phoebe to the college.

The flowers were a source of comment when everyone came home, and the source of a kiss and hug from the grateful recipient to the donor. I think he was hoping my gratitude would hold until bedtime. I had to agree that his chances were better tonight than last night.

Trish was miffed that I’d dared to arrange them myself rather than wait for her to come home and do it for me. I pointed out that they were my flowers and therefore I could do what I liked with them, and if she wanted to arrange something she could pick up the books from her bedroom floor. It seemed to stop her argument in mid moan.

Dinner was a leftovers meal from yesterday’s turkey, we had sort of turkey supreme, that is chopped turkey in a white sauce with rice and Macedonian vegetables–least that’s what Mr Birdseye called them. It was very tasty and probably better than my variation on it, but then David is a trained cook. I’m not, just a housewife megastar–oh I think that might have been done already, possums.

After dinner, Tom handed me an envelope from the university, I would be required for interview on Monday December the third. I knew the date was familiar, it was my birthday–what a way to celebrate it–I don’t think. When I grumbled to him about the timing, his comment was–if they grant it–and he thought they would–what better birthday present could the university offer? He had a point I suppose.

I’d already decided I was going to use the title doctor with my maiden name or it would get a bit silly, and that I’d use that too for my professional work as well, academic and film making. All I had to do now was convince a panel of three academics I was worth it–my tummy flipped over as a bit of doubt crept in.

By bed time, I was a mass of doubts and instead of getting his leg over, Simon spent time cuddling me and trying to rationalise my fears away. It was strange that I’d lived with this hanging over me for the past three years and paid it no heed, I’d get through it as and when and now as we approached the run in, I was totally and utterly uncertain.

“What does Tom say?” he asked me.

“He thinks I should get it.”

“Well as it’s what he does for a living, I should think his opinion is correct.”

“But, Si, he’s got a vested interest in it, he’s my adopted father.”

“Which is why he’s not on the panel.”

“I know–I’ve got the dean, prof of bio-chem and Wilkinson, the reader in zoology.”

“The dean?”

“Yeah, because I’m married to some local nob, I’m apparently a high profile candidate.”

“I thought we agreed no nob jokes,” he said and we both chuckled, it did release a bit of tension.

We chatted for a while longer and I felt myself growing very sleepy. Next thing I’d dropped off while he was still talking–usually it’s the other way round and I’m complaining because he’d got satisfaction and I didn’t. Tonight, he certainly didn’t get it despite his flowers.

About three o’clock I woke needing a wee and Simon was lying flat on his back doing impressions of lap testing at Monza. All it needed was Murray Walker to give a commentary. My elbow strategically placed as I re-entered the bed caused him to grunt and roll over onto his side and peace returned; I then cwtched into his back with my arm round his waist. When I woke the next time he was in the shower, rushing because he was late.

I did get up and suggested showering with him but he declined saying he had a big meeting mid morning and he had some preparation to complete with his PA.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much fun last night.”

“That’s okay, at least we talk about things.”

“Yeah, but it always seems to be my things,” I confessed.

“Isn’t that what women do?” he said nonchalantly and emerged from the shower to accept the towel I handed him.

“I’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Haven’t got time–I’ll grab a bacon sarnie on the train. See if Sam is up will you, I haven’t heard her about.”

She was but only just–I waved them off, then returned to shower and try to wake up my exhausted body before extracting the kids from their beds, and another lovely day began.