short story in reply
might have slightly broken the 500 word thing, sorry!!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 15:45, 14 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Mother-to-Pee

One Minute

Three minutes, it says on the packet. Three minutes before I find out whether the rest of my life is about to be turned upside down and inside out.

The small white stick gleams wetly, mocking me with its blankness. Ever since I walked in on the cliché of my boyfriend in bed with his secretary three weeks ago, it has felt as if everything is mocking me. Although one thing I will say for Richard, he did at least have the courtesy to give the tired old classic a modern twist. There were at least three of them in there, possibly more if I had stopped to count all the flailing limbs and heaving flanks.

And after that, Richard moved his harem in, and I moved out. Now I am living on my friend Susie’s floor. She says I shouldn’t have given up the flat, but I could never sleep in that bed again. A wet patch is one thing; five wet patches is quite another. And even if I boiled the sheets and then burned them, frankly it still wouldn’t be enough.

I haul my clothes back up. My zip is already a little tight. How am I supposed to know if that is the first sign of baby weight or just a little too much of my own threesome action, rolling around the floor with Ben & Jerry or their more exotic cousins Messrs Haagen & Dazs? Shouldn’t a mother know these things instinctively? I don’t feel any different, apart from a little more bloated and irritable. Not exactly earth mothering.

I breathe in slowly, and force myself to think calmly about Richard’s undeniably balding head, and the way his back gets hairier as his head gets balder, as if his entire head of hair were slipping slowly down his neck towards his equally hairy bum. If I am being completely honest with myself - and let’s face it, if you won’t tell yourself that yes, your own thankfully unhairy bum does look big in that (and that, and that), then who will? - Richard was not exactly perfect.

Two Minutes

In actual fact, Richard was nowhere near perfect, the fat, cheating bastard. This is pure honesty, not bitterness, because Richard was fat, he did cheat on me and he did behave like a total bastard. So why does he get away with all this? Why am I the one crammed into a toilet, expending eighteen pounds bloody fifty and all my dignity trying to wee on a stick?

Perhaps I am ranting to keep from wondering what I will do if the test is positive. I was meant to be happily married and living in a beautiful country home with dogs and a Volvo by now, having lovely babies who were all born within half an hour and who could all change their own nappies and read. At no point in the script of my life does it say anything about giving birth to a baby that is half human, half menage-a-trois fetishist on Susie’s kitchen floor.

But then again, at 33, with the pickings of single men in London not so much slim as downright anorexic, this might be the only opportunity I get. And Richard is at least fearfully bright. There is a good chance that a baby of Richard’s might be able to change its own nappies, surely, even if it does have its father’s fetish for orgies with boobs and bimbos.

Then again, let’s face it, if I have a boy, he’ll have that anyway.

If I have a boy. For the first time I think about the bunch of rogue cells as a baby. More specifically, a baby that I will have to have. What is the average birthweight these days, thanks to medical science, 8 or 9lbs? The only thing I can think of is a Christmas turkey. I picture the frozen turkeys and chickens in the supermarket. They might not be amoral secretary shagging cheaters, but they are also big fat bastards those frozen turkeys, believe me. And knowing my luck, I’ll have both. A chicken and a turkey. Twins.

Three Minutes

On the other hand, at least if I have a baby, I won’t ever be alone again. And furthermore it will be proof that someone, once, wanted to have sex with me. I press my hands against my stomach. I can’t feel anything other than slight nausea, but that is probably down to the sheer volume of Guerlain seahorses I have consumed this morning.

Now I come to think of it, the need to eat Guerlain seahorse chocolates was more than a desire, it was a positive urge. A craving, even. I lean back against the wall and smile. I always knew that if I got pregnant, I would have serious cravings. None of this pistacchio ice cream at three in the morning rubbish. No, my cravings will be for a shiny Lamborghini, a sparkly diamond, a Caribbean holiday to tan my swollen stomach a lovely shade of café au lait.

A real live boy or a proper little girl. I lace my fingers over my stomach, picturing the tiny baby, no bigger than a peanut, cartwheeling happily through the galaxy of my uterus. I wonder if the baby can hear my thoughts and begin to panic about all the negative rages I have sworn against its father. ‘I was only joking,’ I tell the baby, slipping a hand inside the waistband of my skirt.

Even so, I hope the baby will take after its mother. I would much rather the baby inherited my face than his toadlike features. Certainly my hair and flat stomach. It can have Richard’s singing voice and salary. The rest isn’t really worth having, to be honest with you.

Suddenly, my mobile beeps. The three minutes is up. There is the little white stick, my future written clean across it in one or two dark blue lines. With butterflies the size of blackbirds flapping their way through my stomach, I pick it up. My own voice rings out before I can stop myself.

“For fuck’s sake!”

The stick is blank. In my nervous state, I have missed it altogether…
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 15:45, Reply)

ahhh
that bittersweet mixture of sheer relief and suppressed disappointment. Nice one.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 15:56, Reply)

^^
I really like this.

You have a really idiosyncratic and individual style with some lovely turns of phrase.
You had me hooked from the first sentence.

*much clickage*

*edit* Good afternoon CHCB
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 15:57, Reply)

This is funny.
In fact I'll read it again.
( girlinthehole, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 16:06, Reply)

I like that
some classic 'swipe phrases in there.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 16:35, Reply)

Clicks
I've done exactly that. Put it down to shaking hands though than bad aim. Or the one I got so scared of what the result would be I dropped it in the bowl.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 17:11, Reply)

That was fantastic!
*enclickens*

Motherly tip: It's hellish hard to pee on the tip of a little white stick, but easy to pee in a cup. Then you dip the stick in the cup. Job done!

In case you ever need to know ...
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Sun 6 Jul 2008, 17:40, Reply)

I would have done that TWW
only the instruction book thing said it had to be a stream of fresh piss *dont cross the streams, sorry* so I didn't think it would be allowed. Then again, thinking about it we do animal urine tests from a kidney dish as you can't really hold a 16 tab urine test strip under an Akita without getting munched.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 19:01, Reply)

That was indeed lovely
I especially like the surprise third ending.

After careful consideration I'd like to return the sentiment that you'd be the b3tan I'd choose to marry. I just have to start saving up enough to buy a ring that could go well with your handbag ;)
( djtrialprice, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 23:49, Reply)

500 words?
Pah! Who cares..?

Nicely told.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 7 Jul 2008, 0:58, Reply)

thanks
i'm glad i didn't bore you all to sleep!!

yay, dj, i accept, can we do it on a beach somewhere like barbados and never come back to this rain infested hellhole?? i will even overlook the fact that you needed "careful consideration" before proposing .................... x
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 7 Jul 2008, 9:23, Reply)

aye, alright then
That kind of distance would be handy for me in avoiding castration at the hands of the current mrs djtrialprice.
( djtrialprice, Mon 7 Jul 2008, 9:28, Reply)

hmmm
i'm not sure a castrated husband would be much good to me.

tell you what, let's take her with us. then you two can have our honeymoon suite on the condition that you both find me a hot barman or dance instructor first...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 7 Jul 2008, 10:10, Reply)

Hey - nice story
Lovely little story - well-paced, thoughtful, well-written. I loved it!

Having had to wait outside on few occasions while Mrs G did the necessary, I can tell you that the thoughts in my brain were the synapse equivalent of tumbleweed.

I always wondered what went on inside!
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Tue 8 Jul 2008, 12:01, Reply)