April 9: Thank God It's ....

Friday. No work. Shopping trip to Cribbs Causeway with mum in a bid to build friendly relations. All-inclusive policy with her as well. God, this is exhausting. Guess that's the thing with babies. Not really yours are they. Belong to everyone.
I don't know when it happened but baby shopping has gone from terrifying-jungle-horror-get-me-out-of-her to... oooohh..actually quite fun....
Let her treat Bump to a big warm fleecy thing for the buggy (bright red with stars on... in case it suddenly decides to turn American and change its name to Chad or Brad or Bret or something) and a blanket of the same ilk. Let her treat me to some maternity tops (why are they all so horrid? Because you obviously don't need to try and pull anymore? But that doesn't mean I want to look like a 70's serial killer). And - most importantly - lunch in John Lewis. I take back what I said about the high-tea scones at the Hilton. John Lewis' could rival any day.
Gave her the Father-to-be low down. Told about all about the big C (the counsellor). Told her I don't really know what I'm doing. That I don't know how much to include him. That I am worried I am being a fool, expecting too much from him. That he came last week to go shopping - but that he hasn't rung all week. Not once. Not even a quick five-minute call to check how I am, check how Bump is. Tell her that, despite this clear and obvious lack of support and engagement, he might want to be at the birth. Might want to take paternity leave. Tell her all this, and I'm composed. No tears. No gesticulations. Just a clear, calm debrief as I wolf down my gammon ciabatta. She tells me that she thinks the Big C is being overly optimistic. Then she asks: 'Are you just using Bump to keep him in your life?'
God, what a sad, sad straight-on-the-button question. I can't keep the composure up anymore. Is that it? Is that what I'm doing? Do I actually not really care at all about his and Bump's relationship? Do I just want to keep him? Keep him for me? Keep him forever?
And the answer's too sad and awful to. Because yes, I suppose I do. I can't really stomach the thought of a future on my own with Bump. I can't abide the thought of going on holiday on my own with Bump, of going to Scotland in October to my friend's wedding on my own. I've always been ok at being single in the past. I can do it. I'm not always a chain-reaction girl who has to have a new bloke the week after one buggers off. Or is kicked into touch. But, I don't know, perhaps it's because I'm getting older. Or the Bump factor. Or because every aspect of life seems so uncertain at the moment. I just desperately can't stomach the idea of complete start-from-scratch singledom. Not so much during the day in, day out. Days get filled up. I have friends, work, people to see. It's just the bigger stuff. The holidays. The weekend's away. The Friday nights. The engagements.
If I let FTB out of my life, let him just drift away, it's not just Bump who loses him, is it? It's me too. And then I'll have no choice but to face the big bold ugly truth that I really am back on the shelf. And the top one at that. The one labelled, 'Ohhh, bit complicated this one; best steer clear'.
The thought of actually dating again. Dating someone new. Someone completely removed from this equation is just too incomprehensible. What would I tell him? Where would I start? How would I explain all this to a complete stranger, who had never even met FTB? God alone knows. Perhaps I could refer him to my blog. Hmm, maybe not.

So anyway, Friday night in alone. I'm cleaning, lost in my thoughts, sorting stuff. Making piles on Bump's newly painted shelves. Tiny baby clothes. New baby clothes. Three to six month clothes. Wet wipes. Bibs. Patriotic American blanket-amour. Scary Donnie Darko rabbit.
Tomorrow, I have an ante-natal class (I booked it after all.... thought I better had). It's back over in Wales. FTB is coming. Arriving at mine some time later tonight.
Not sure I can face him. Think I'll sneak off to bed early to cry and fall asleep under my duvet. I'll leave the key under the recycling bin outside. He can let himself in, make himself at home. He knows where the kettle is.