Worry with Mother Read online

  My daughter is taking pole dancing classes, while at university. She says it is ‘empowering’. This wasn’t how I envisaged her time at Cambridge.

  Other Parents

  I have nothing in common with my NCT group, apart from having given birth at the same time. I’m running out of excuses to avoid their four-hour coffee mornings. Why did I pay for friends I don’t want?

  I’ve noticed that when other mothers return to work, they joke about the joy of going to the loo alone. I didn’t realise I was meant to take my baby into the loo with me – I always left him in his Moses basket. Could I have given him a complex by depriving him of loo-time?

  A very earnest single dad keeps chatting to me, in the sandpit. I dread him appearing, but my daughter has taken a shine to his little boy. The dad is now trying to set up a date for our children. Why do I feel like I’m having an affair?

  I thought fairy cakes would be safe for the school bake sale, but everyone else made gluten-free cookies, or cakes with vegetables in. Nobody bought mine, which were iced bright green and decorated with hundreds and thousands. Now I feel six years old again, myself.

  I left my son with my 80-year-old mother-in-law, for the weekend. She told me that she’d let him stay up to watch ‘Gay Rabbit’ on TV, which she assumed was a quaint children’s programme (she wasn’t wearing her glasses). How can I explain that it’s a porn channel?

  For World Book Day, another mum and I made a pact we would both send our daughters as Roald Dahl’s Matilda, since they would only need to wear school uniform. On the day, she sent her daughter as the BFG, with stilts, prosthetic ears and a hand-knitted Snozzcumber. I found this deeply disloyal, but when I broached it she said, ‘But it’s all Dahl!’ I hate her.

  I have become strangely obsessed with a Californian mother at my son’s school, who always looks perfect and wears yoga gear at all times. I keep stalking her on Instagram, and am dying to see her house. Unfortunately, our sons have no interest in each other. How can I get them to be friends, so I can hang out with his mother?

  I grounded my daughter after she and a friend got very drunk on tequila. Her friend’s father approached the issue by taking his daughter to a wine tasting, so she’d learn to ‘treat alcohol with respect.’ Apparently, I have made it the forbidden fruit, which is disastrous with teens. I thought I was meant to be ‘a parent, not a friend.’

  My son is marrying a very nice girl, but her parents are a bit UKIP. They have insisted on Union Jack bunting in the marquee, and I’m dreading the father-of-the-bride speech. Could I sabotage the mic?

  While babysitting for my daughter, I was meant to defrost the stewing steak in the freezer. I accidentally defrosted her placenta, instead. She’d been keeping it to bury at my grandson’s ‘naming ceremony’, and was furious with me. Why can’t modern parents just have christenings?

  Behaviour and Boundaries

  As part of baby-led weaning, I’ve read that infants must ‘explore’ their food. My daughter eats yoghurt with her fingers, and likes to put carrot sticks in her nostrils. My mother-in-law always says: ‘Don’t play with your food, darling.’ How can I explain that she is not playing, but exploring, and that this is to be encouraged?

  My one-year-old son can only get to sleep if I let him tweak my nipples. I know this is not a good habit to encourage, but this is outweighed by my need for sleep.

  My child won’t share. I keep saying: ‘Why don’t you give someone else a turn?’ but she just shouts ‘MINE’. Yesterday, on the bus, she snatched Sophie-The-Giraffe out of a baby’s mouth. Should I have another child, so I can blame her whims on jealousy?

  While I was paying for petrol, my three-year-old stole a pint of milk from the garage. Is this an early indicator of a criminal mind?

  I forgot I’d put my son on ‘time out’ on the naughty step, and left him there for an hour, as I was distracted by an email upstairs. How can I preach about good behaviour, when I’m such a bad mother?

  I would like to practise Free Range Parenting, as it sounds wholesome and outdoorsy. But my children just want to watch Netflix. How can I get them to range, freely? Also – can I fit them with a chip, so I know where they are, and can make sure they’re avoiding roads?

  Most evenings, my son texts from his bedroom, asking what’s for dinner. He only comes down if he likes what I’m cooking. My sister was shocked by this, and said it ‘explained a lot’. What did she mean? I’ve read that you’re supposed to offer children choices.

  I thought teenagers were meant to ‘push boundaries’. But my daughter and her friends show no interest in smoking, drinking or underage sex. They spend the whole time online, instead. What’s wrong with them? This is making me feel like Eddy, in Ab Fab.

  My son kept stealing teaspoons, and I became convinced he was a heroin addict. But when we confronted him, it turned out to be part of a sculpture for his AS-level Art, titled ‘Generation Spoon-Fed.’ I feel faintly implicated in the title, and irritated, as they were a wedding present.

  How long can I blame all bad behaviour on teething, growth spurts or hormones?

  Relationship-Building

  I’m confused by attachment theory. My one-year-old daughter seems indifferent to my return from the office. Does this mean her attachment is ‘secure’, or that she has no attachment to me whatsoever?

  My three-year-old daughter has an imaginary friend called Neil. I asked her what he was like and she said he was ‘like Father Christmas’. Should I be concerned?

  Interviewing nannies, I have discovered that my sons are very superficial. They only like blonde candidates, particularly one who looked like Gisele. She was brilliant with them, but I don’t know if I can bear having her around the house. Also, how did I breed tiny chauvinists?

  Having had no friends, my son now has one silent friend. The other day I found them beating teddies with the pepper grinder. This isn’t how I’d envisaged his inaugural play date. But is one strange friend better than no friends?

  My seven-year-old daughter calls my husband Chris. I can’t explain why this depresses me. Why won’t she call him Daddy? Is this the start of a lifelong difficulty forming intimate relationships with men?

  How can I police my son’s contact with Internet pornography? Will it give him a warped view of sex? I’ve been growing my armpit hair, so he doesn’t grow up believing women are hairless, but he seems oblivious. It’s a bit sweaty. Can I stop?

  I know my 12-year-old daughter must have the HPV jab. I just don’t want to think of my baby as a sexual being. Couldn’t they call it something else? The jolly jab, perhaps?

  Should I allow my children to see me in bed with my new partner? Even if we’re only reading the papers and wearing glasses, I’m concerned it might cause some long-term Freudian damage.

  I’m convinced my daughter would have got better GCSE results if Oscar, her boyfriend, hadn’t been on the scene. Annoyingly, Oscar got straight A*s. I want to sue his parents.

  An etiquette quandary – my son recently split up with his girlfriend. She left some rather nice pants in his room, which I washed. What is the form here? I would quite like to keep them, as they fit me well.

  Everything Else

  I’ve just had my 30-week scan. The baby seems to have a very bulbous nose. I am terrified that this is all I will be able to think when I first see it, and that we won’t bond. Why am I so shallow? Aren’t I meant to think the scan is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?

  My due date is approaching, and I’ve become obsessed with my hospital bag. I’ve been told to pack an extra pillow, a handheld fan, backless slippers, bendy straws, glucose tablets, a birthing ball, distracting magazines and lip balm (gas-and-air is drying). But I’m stuck on what to wear. Should I pack a bikini for the birthing pool, or would that look prudish? Maybe I should just pack the top half, so the baby can get out easily? I haven’t even started on the baby’s bag.

  Is it irresponsible to take my newborn to a toxic-smelling, windowless nail bar? If I
don’t, my toenails may trigger post-natal depression.

  We have ants. And mice. But all pest control methods seem to be lethal to children, too. The only safe option is a ‘sonic mouse repellent’ – but what if certain children can hear at the same frequency as a mouse, resulting in irrevocable hearing damage?

  My son smells of his au pair. I feel like a jealous wife, sniffing his scalp for whiffs of her.

  I’m worried that I’m breeding an anxious child.

  My teenage son has begun babysitting for local families. I encouraged this, to teach him the value of money. Now I’m afraid he will be groomed, and perhaps abducted, by a terrible Mrs Robinson-type mother. He is unusually beautiful.

  I can’t remember if my daughter works in ‘ethical’ or ‘ethnic’ fashion. It’s too late to ask. She will accuse me of never listening.

  My children have left home, but they still use our house as a storage hangar. I keep accepting more and more stuff, as I’m afraid that if I don’t they will stop visiting. Could I draw the line at housing an enormous trampoline in our dining room?

  Since moving to Hackney, my 24-year-old son has grown a wispy, auburn beard (his head is blond). I fear for his job prospects, but he told me ‘everyone in digital media has a beard’. I can’t argue, as I don’t know what digital media is. Can I stage a facial hair intervention?

  Sometimes I fantasise about taking a very long train journey, alone, or having a general anaesthetic. Is this normal?

  A big thank you to Olivia Guest at Jonathan Clowes, and Katie Cowan, Nicola Newman and Michelle Mac at Pavilion, for making this book possible, and to Denise Dorrance, for her brilliant illustrations and ideas. I’d also like to thank all the mothers who shared their own worries with me, particularly Jane Finlay, Caroline Collett, Nina Rassaby-Lewis, Caireann Conlon, Nina Baruch, Laura Cox-Watson, Anahid Jarvis, Stephanie Morrison, Joanna Mawdsley and Oonagh Blackall. Finally, I am indebted to my mother, Laura, and my son, Finlay.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by

  Portico

  1 Gower Street

  London

  WC1E 6HD

  An imprint of Pavilion Books Company Ltd

  Copyright © Pavilion Books Company Ltd 2016

  Text copyright © Francesca Hornak 2016

  Ilustrations copyright © Dorrance 2016

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, displayed, extracted, reproduced, utilised, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or scanning without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  eISBN 978-1-911042-27-3

  This book can be ordered direct from the publisher at www.pavilionbooks.com