Babyville Page 0,99
It's okay. Mummy's here. Mummy's here. Ssshhh. I promise I won't leave you again. Ssssh.” She didn't dare admit it, but she'd bought the book and was seriously considering starting again on the weekend.
“Red lentil and cheesy vegetable casserole,” she mutters to herself, as she flicks through the children's recipe book, stuffs a pacifier into George's mouth, and starts unpacking the shopping at the same time.
George drops the pacifier and starts to whimper as Sam tears open a packet of organic unsalted rice cakes and hands him one. He gums down on it and she breathes a sigh of relief as she busies herself in the kitchen, preparing to cook up yet another batch of food. Holding the cookbook open with her elbows, Sam leans down to pick up the rice cake George has just dropped. Five-second rule. It was on the floor less than five seconds, so she shoves it back in his mouth and just sighs when he drops it again.
“Are you not hungry, darling? Georgy? Rice cake? Mmmm. Yum yum yum. Look. Mummy loves rice cakes.” Sam nibbles on it, then takes a bite. “No?” George is now looking past her shoulder at the lights of the digital clock on the microwave. “Oh well. Mummy will just have to have it,” and Sam shrugs as the rice cake disappears in a single mouthful.
“Mummy's making red lentil casserole with cheese. How delicious. Can you think of anything more delicious? Red's a color, isn't it?” Sam babbles as she opens the larder and pulls out ingredients. “Red's the color of the post-box. It's a hot color, isn't it?”
George could not be less interested. Even Sam isn't particularly interested, but she read somewhere that the most intelligent children were ones whose parents had spoken to them constantly, even from birth, whose parents had explained everything to them.
Sam is determined to be the best mother of anyone she knows. She's never been competitive before, has never really known the cut and thrust of the design world, having always had the creativity and ability to shine naturally, but now, as a new mother, she is determined to do everything right.
Already she believes that George is super-baby. My son the genius, she jokingly refers to him, although listen closely to her laughter and you'll hear it's false. Georgenius, she coos, as she rocks him back and forth at night, reading him Where's Spot? (Against her better judgment. She really wanted to start him off on Rudyard Kipling, but Where's Spot? and Charlie the Chicken appealed to George in a way that Kim just didn't.)
“I think he might be quite advanced,” she says, trying to blush with false modesty but failing miserably. “He's definitely going to be walking any second. Look.” And all eyes turn to George, sprawling on his stomach, lifting his head, and looking around happily, but certainly nowhere near the point of standing, let alone walking.
“Did I walk young too?” she asked her mother on one of the rare occasions when she popped in to see her first grandchild.
“Darling, I don't remember.” Her mother looked at Sam as if she were mad. “It was years ago. I do remember you looking ever so sweet with your little pigtails, though,” and she smiled at the memory as she reached for a baby wipe and dabbed a small smear of vomit from her silk shirt with a frown.
“How can you not remember?” Sam tried to hide the disappointment, knowing that she'll never forget these years, never forget George's daily progression, but her mother's tone became irritated as she explained, again, how she had to work in the family business, had no choice, was merely following orders. Sam dropped the subject.
“It's not that I mind about me,” she said to Julia that night, ignoring the fact that these late-night long-distance phone calls were going to send Chris up the wall. “But I mind for George. I'm used to her being a crap mother, but she's supposed to fall in love with her grandson, isn't she?”
Julia sighed. “I do think it's bloody odd that she's not around and not helping, and I completely feel for you. But, Sam. This is your mother. Your mother who is far more concerned with her charity lunches and bloody bridge. You're the one who always says how selfish she is. Maybe you were wrong in expecting her to finally change.”
“But he's so gorgeous.” Sam blinked the tears away from her eyes as she leaned back on the sofa and