My bodyguard is a tad perforated

I came back from the Grand Summoning Of the H Clan in quite a sunny mood. Apart from a couple of WTF moments (but see below) no one Said The Wrong Thing, and everyone seemed in a reasonably good mood, and the weather was lovely.

And anyway, I kept my head down and made canapés. Nobody bothers you when you’re up to your knuckles in lumpfish caviar.

H had a completely different weekend. He was taking his responsibility of Keeping The Crazy-Making Away From May very seriously, and found it unexpectedly stressful.

Firstly, he was the one who kept wandering into earshot while his parents got all stressed about their hosting responsibilities (I was tucked away in the kitchen, surrounded by miniature blinis and tomato knives, remember?).

Secondly, there was an outbreak of Weeping Adolescent we none of us ever got to the bottom of, but H was on the Coaxing Into Dinner relay team, because he’s good at that sort of thing (at this point, I was standing by the dining table holding the spare salads, which is much more soothing).

And Chiefly, and WTFishly, somehow the rumour got around that I was pregnant.

I’ll leave you to absorb the sheer farce of that for a moment.

All I can think of that explains it is:

  1. I was wearing an empire-line top, which has a sash that goes just under the breasts and a loosish rest-of-it. It is a very pretty top. I have worn it before. Such tops were very fashionable not so long ago and every single woman in Britain owned at least three. Nevertheless, it could be thought of as being made to cover a tummy. In my case, it was covering a deal of end-of-cycle bloat, and leaving room for Dinner avec Canapés and Three Sorts of Pudding. Nevertheless, before the guests turned up, I made H tie the sash rather tighter, so as to streamline the look a tad. Clearly, this did not work even a tiny bit. Also, sheesh, but I clearly need to lose some more weight. Arsing fuckitty etc.
  2. I refused wine the evening before, and coffee that morning. I have no proof at all of this, but my MIL, who notices that sort of thing, may have mentioned it to my FIL, who never notices anything but has no filter between brain and mouth (there is a reason why I don’t really like H telling them exactly where I am in my menstrual cycle etc. It is this reason).
  3. Umm, that’s it.

Anyway, Old Friends Of The Family greeted me with more than usual delight, told me I was blooming, positively blooming, I looked so healthy and marvellous. Radiant! And blooming! (I didn’t. I looked every scrap of my nearly 36 years plus a few and my hair had seen this and emulated). I caught H’s eye across the crowd and probably gave him my best startled-rabbit-about-to-be-confit-beneath-your-wheels look.

The grand-parents-in-law arrived about half-an-hour after that, and again, with lavish enthusiasm, my GMIL fell on my neck, crying out that I was gorgeous, so gorgeous, did I feel gorgeous? Did I feel wonderful? Did I feel good? How was I? Was I strong and gorgeous? And everyone else in the crowd was chopped liver, as far as she was concerned. She is a very affectionate woman, but this really rather freaked me out. I could feel a large pink neon sign made out of 24-carat Awkward floating above my head, flashing ‘WTF?’ on and off in waltz-time.

At this point H threw himself before me to take the arrows of social distress in his own tender flesh. He cornered his grandmother and actually told her right out that we don’t have any news right now, and that it’s actually frustrating and difficult, having, as he put it, ‘lots of not quites and nearlys’. This, for H, was about as characteristic as his waxing his tummy-fur into a heart, dying it pink, and stripping off in the local bingo hall. I love him and worship him madly.

A subdued but affectionate GMIL hugged me again later and wished me lots of luck and told me she was thinking of me.

Meanwhile, I found a half-glass of red wine and carried it about with me wherever I went. And when coffee was served, I did the same with half-a-cup of coffee. Which deflected the Old Friends Of The Family, who had not a word more to say to me on the subject.

And I ate quite a lot of chocolate cake. It was that or drink not only my decoy-wine but all the red wine left in the building.

Later, H also cornered his Dad, and gave him a not-too-many-gory-details update on where we’d got to in terms of treatment (i.e., fuck off and fuck (not that anyone except me ever puts it quite like that) also, miscarriages galore, remember?), while I was either talking about T.S. Eliot with GFIL or knitting with OFoTF, so I didn’t have to have anything to do with it.

And then, on Sunday night, we went home again, and H was completely and utterly exhausted and almost too frazzled to sleep.

I love him.

As for the real score on the insides of May’s uterus, inconclusive. It’s 10dpo, sore bosoms check, high temperatures check, nausea and heartburn at random intervals check, oversensitive sense of smell check, sleepy and irritable check. Positive pee-stick, not so much. Damn. Onwards.

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27 responses to “My bodyguard is a tad perforated

  • a

    Well, no offense to H, and maybe he could publish an essay about it, but isn’t it about time someone on the male side of the equation got to experience all that running about and heading off at the pass work? I’ve spent years doing it, and it is exhausting. My husband would just scowl at people and tell me not to worry about what they’re thinking. Sorry H had to be the one to do it…

    Glad it wasn’t too terrible of a weekend though.

    • May

      I absolutely agree, but now that H is stepping up to the plate, I’m hardly likely to harangue him for Male Failings In This Regard World-And-Century-Wide, General and Personal. Don’t want to demotivate him!

  • Moo's Mum

    You’ve got a good’un there.

  • korechronicles

    H is most definitely a keeper. I heart him too…what a sterling effort of a weekend.

  • Amy P

    *hug* H

    *hug* May

    *thinks*

    **hug* H again*

  • Shannon

    This post made me want to have you both over, surround you with books and booze and laughs, and keep you safe from the world.

    • May

      *Hugs*. Also, be careful, I WILL take you up on that and live permanently under your stairs with the dog, like a mini-troll.

  • Valery

    “waxing his tummy-fur”
    ouch. Have to avoid bingo halls at all costs now.
    I’ll make tea instead, ok?

  • carole

    Kudos to H for squaring up and accepting that, when dealing with family crazy stuff, those blood-related are where the buck stops!

    Also can we roll the eyes a bit re: the in-laws and their gossip spreading? Because if old friends of the family had been informed, they must have been on the phone/tweeting/sending out the carrier pigeons the minute you pushed away the wine bottle on the first evening. And that’s got to be a new world record for conclusion jumping?

    Impressive.

    • May

      Ohh, I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained them. I am still reviewing the incidents and thinking Seriously? Really? Why? For the love of crikey, WHAT IN HELL?

  • wombattwo

    H is definitely a keeper.
    Also joining in with the eye-rolling. In-laws, hey?

  • Johanna

    Hi, I only started reading your blog very recently and I don’t know if you’ve written about it – and I’m SURE you already know and your doctors have told you billion times and you’re already an expert in this; but JUST IN CASE I want to tell you that (*takes deep breaths and hopes I’m not about to offend your or hurt your feelings*) here where I live (in Iceland) if a woman has recurrent miscarriages she is immediately given a drug called Klexane and baby-aspirin when she gets pregnant again. This helps her stay pregnant, I even know several women who have used it with fabulous results (as in: a live baby after a whole pregnancy).
    And another thing – the cancer drug Femar has also been proven very helpful in this – I also know women who have finally been able to carry a full term and deliver a happy and healthy baby. And the Femar drug has also helped them become pregnant. The fertility clinic here started using this last year (maybe earlier but I don’t know) with great results.

    I’ve dealt with infertility for few years and just got my first ever positive pregnancy test after the 7th fertility treatment, that’s why I know so many women who have used those drugs and needed them. 🙂

    I’m so sorry for all your losses and I hope that you and H will soon get your dreams fulfilled. And I’m SORRY if I’m just being a smartarse and telling you stuff you of course already know!

    • May

      Thanks for the caring comment. It’s OK, I have aspirin, and a standing appointment to go and get another blood-test when I next get pregnant to see if I need klexane (we call it heparin in Britain). That base is covered!

      And congratulations and good luck.

  • Womb For Improvement

    Every family gathering I go to I take steps to ensure that, within the first five minutes, I have done something to banish any pregnancy rumours. Usually involving alcohol too. The husband and I got quite adept at the glass swap so that it looked like I was getting refills whilst the husband was getting clattered on two glasses of wine for every one.

    Which has the added bonus of certain relatives dismissing him as a drunk who shouldn’t impregnate me.

  • Solnushka

    Good lord.

    Well done, that H.

  • Hairy farmer wifey

    They thought… that rumour… WHY? WHO?!
    Oh god. Poor you. Poor, perforated H.
    Whatever uncomfortable in-law moment I had pictured, it wasn’t that one.

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