Tummy

Today

Woke up feeling a little bit queasy this morning. We'd been to visit friends the evening before, all of whom over the past couple of weeks, have had a version of a rather enduring tummy bug. Just hope I haven't caught it.

I'm not very often subject to bouts of tummy problems and since we don't have small children or much contact with them, we aren't usually affected by circulating infections.

However, I drank some tea and water and ate some toast and feel rather better now.

"There's usually only one explanation when a piece of toast makes you feel better!" I said to Paul.

In My Day

Working full-time as well as bringing up 2 children was quite a struggle. While, in my fantasies I always imagined having 5 daughters, rather like Mrs Bennett, I knew that would put me under absurd pressure.

So I was determined to stick at 2, so had been fitted with a "copper 7" IUD.

In the autumn of 1978, Beatrice was living with us at Rowan Avenue, following her Canadian adventure. Liz was 6 and Becky about 15 months old.

Paul must have been on earlies that Sunday morning; certainly he wasn't in the house when Beatrice brought in my morning tea. "Ooh!" said I, as I sat up "I feel a bit sick." I drank my tea and nibbled on a Rich Tea biscuit. "I feel better now", I said and clapped my hand to my mouth, unwilling to believe the most likely explanation for this phenomenon.

But it was true. A quick jaunt to the doctor made it clear that baby number 3 was on the way. The doctor, in all serious kindness, said that, as the contraception offered by the NHS had failed me, the NHS would also provide an abortion if I so wished. I considered and decided that, although it would be a struggle, I could manage and find the love for number 3.

The midwife told me many cheery tales of beautiful babies born clutching the IUDs in their fists, the queasiness wore off and we told people the news. I told Chris and lamented the fact that I'd just sold a lot of Becky's baby stuff. Soon a £50 Mothercare voucher (£50 was a fair bit) arrived from my sweet and generous brother.

Christmas was approaching and we went to Portsmouth to pay an Xmas visit to friends of ours. As part of the festivities we were invited to join them at the local college bash where barn-dancing was on offer. Great! I did my fair share of dosey-doing and had a good time.

In the morning. I awoke to a puddle of blood. I stayed where I was while Paul sorted out our stuff and got me into the car and whizzed back home as soon as possible.

But it was too late. I called Chris "Thank you so much for the voucher, but there isn't going to be a baby", I told him. "Go spend it on Xmas pressies for the girls", he kindly said. Which I did with Paul, that very same day, buying a little trike for Becky and a dressing gown and duvet for Lizzie, the busy-ness of the shopping taking my mind off the pain.

Some time afterwards, Paul asked me whether I'd like to have a baby anyway. I said no, not having really changed my mind about 2 children and full-time working being enough, and he went and made the final sacrifice.

Every once in a while I wonder about number 3; son, or daughter? and what changes that would have brought to our life.

Right now, however, I'm fairly certain that it's a few short nights and some Cloudy Bay that are responsible for the twirly tummy.