‘I want him to be around more, but I don’t know how we can actually make that happen. In all these years, nothing’s changed. I’m still the girl who waits at home in her pyjamas with a plate of cold spaghetti on the table waiting for the sound of a key turning in the lock. He’s going to miss out on so much. And what if I can’t handle it? When he’s not around to help me?’
Hope puts her drink down. ‘Hey. It’s normal to freak out before you have a baby.’
‘That’s not what I’m…’ I bury my head in my hands and groan. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘Yes. Believe me, I googled it about three hours into labour with Ollie.’
Hope waits a beat for the laugh she knows is coming and then gives me one of her signature grins – a satisfied smile that stretches across her face and makes her eyes look bigger.
‘Is this what hormones do? I’ve turned into Needy Wife, haven’t I?’
‘A bit. As usual, you’re worrying about the way life will be before you’re even there.’
I hold my finger up. ‘Hormones aside for a second. How’s it going to affect Max though?’ I know I’m prodding but I can’t help myself.
Hope stops sipping through her straw. ‘Let me tell you something, Paige. No family is perfect. You’re never going to get it perfect. Now I know you have a hard time believing that since you are Caitlin’s sister, but for a moment let’s pretend you’re not. Max is going to be fine, believe me. And so are you.’
‘Okay,’ I concede, straightening myself in my chair. ‘I’m going to calm down about it all and see how things turn out. Got it.’
‘Good,’ says Hope, clapping her hands together. ‘Because you and Nick love each other and you will find a way to make this family stuff work. It will likely involve sleep-deprivation and fumbling around while convincing yourself every other mother around you knows what they’re doing, but that’s simply not the case. My theory is nobody knows what they’re doing – of this I am unequivocally convinced.’ Hope finishes off the last of my mocktail. ‘Tread carefully with Mother’s Group. That’s where you’re likely to find the worst offenders,’ she says, finishing with a wink. ‘Wait until I tell you what the Perfect Hipster Mothers of Melbourne have to say about baby sunglasses. And did I tell you they banned plastic toys at midweek catch-ups?’ She rolls her eyes. ‘It’s all Nina’s doing. She thinks the reason we all don’t have calm babies like hers is because we didn’t birth ours in a blow-up pool in the middle of our living rooms.’
‘Bet she live-tweeted it too,’ I chortle.
‘Uh-uh,’ says Hope. ‘Instagram.’ She pulls out her phone to show me.
‘Oh my God, who is this woman?’ I say, pushing the phone away.
Hope shrugs in defeat.
‘Well, you know I don’t need to look very far for the world’s most perfect mother, remember? Did I tell you Caitlin recently announced she wants another baby?’ I ask, moving the conversation along. I curl my upper lip. ‘She wants another one before it’s too late. She’ll probably be pregnant by next week.’ It’s so typical of Caitlin to have every element of her life go to plan exactly the way she wants it to.
As expected, Hope bounces right over my comment and goes back to the heart of things. ‘You’re going to be a great mother, Paige. You’ve waited a long time for this, so try to enjoy it.’
Hope catches the barman’s attention and orders another mocktail for herself and a sparkling water for me. ‘So, I’m going back to work in six weeks.’ Hope is a human rights lawyer, and an excellent one at that. She’d had her eye on Melbourne Law School since she was in high school, and that’s exactly where she went. She let nothing stand in her way.
‘Yeah? That’s great. Is Paul on board?’
‘Yes, thank God. Though there is one problem,’ she says. ‘Aside from the inevitable judgement that will be bestowed upon me by the Perfect Hipster Mums.’
‘Tell me.’
‘What do I do with the baby?’ she asks, deadpan. ‘And these?’ she says, pointing to her breasts.
‘We find you a terrific day care centre. Or a nanny. And a quality pump. We work it out.’ Just like Nick and I will work things out, I think to myself. If Hope and Paul can go with the flow and tackle things as they come their way, then so can we.
Seven days later I’m putting the finishing touches on the freshly painted nursery with Mum and Caitlin. Weeks earlier I’d come home from the paint shop with ten swatch cards, in varying shades of blue. Nick was adamant there was no difference between Windmill Blue, Milan Blue and Cool Lilac, which didn’t matter since we ended up going with Dew Kiss.
On the floor lie disassembled pieces of what will eventually become Max’s cot.
‘You need to talk to her,’ I whisper to Mum the moment Caitlin leaves the room.
‘Let it go, honey,’ says Mum as she removes a screw from the frame.
‘She won’t let up.’ Earlier, Caitlin had been educating me on the importance of pelvic floor exercises. ‘It’s never too early to start,’ she’d warned, and followed this by reeling off no fewer than five reasons why I should take this advice seriously.
Mum sighs. ‘She wants to help. You know how enthusiastic she is.’
‘I don’t have the energy for her today.’ I fold the instruction booklet and let it fall to the ground.
‘Why don’t you have a nap, sweetheart? You look tired. You’ve been tired all week. I told you you’ve been overdoing it.’
I lift a framed picture and position it on one of the hooks on the wall. The frame isn’t particularly heavy but I still have to pause to catch my breath from bending down to lift it.
‘I might have a nap actually. Once we manage to get this cot assembled.’
Caitlin returns a few minutes later, brandishing a drill bit. ‘I think this is the size we need.’
‘Hand it over,’ says Mum. She points to two pieces of wood that make up the base of the cot. ‘Let’s get these off and start again.’
‘Paige, I can check the instructions if you like,’ says Caitlin, in a tone that suggests I’m incapable of the job.
‘Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Just watch?’
‘Try out the rocking chair and practise your pelvic floor exercises,’ she says, chuckling.
I manoeuvre myself into the seat and let my eyes drift shut.
‘She’s right, you know,’ agrees Mum. ‘A few sets of power squeezes a day never hurt anybody. You don’t want to live your life feeling too scared to sneeze, honey. The reality is that—’
I stick my fingers in my ears.
Squeeze and release. Squeeze and release.
‘Paige, do you want to answer that?’ says Mum.
‘Huh? What?’
‘Oh, sorry, didn’t realise you’d dozed off. Someone’s at the door.’
‘It must be the delivery from the baby shop. I’ll go.’
I make my way downstairs and sign for a large box from the courier that contains almost everything I imagine I need to welcome a baby into the home: a baby monitor, a breast pump, breast pads and probably more knick-knacks than I know what to do with. I barely make it halfway back up the stairs when I stop to catch my breath.