Lesbian Husbandry: Sometimes

Sometimes, usually while contemplating the contents of a tiny tub or lamenting bitterly over another period, our thoughts turn darkly to straight couples, selfishly wading about in as much semen as they want, splashing happily, laughing! At us! The bastards! Those lucky, oblivious, wasteful, sodding, grrrr… But enough of that. This sort of jealousy and overuse of adverbs will get us absolutely nowhere, so instead of railing against our failures, let’s look at practical stuff. Let’s look at how much the baby will cost when it turns up.

Oh no! Babies are expensive, very expensive. We knew this, but looking at the prices is dismaying. Just a sling to carry an infant costs upwards of forty pounds, hovering on average at around the eighty pound mark. What? What?! It’s a rectangle of cloth! What?! So I’m going to make my own. I’ll need a rectangle of soft cotton, preferably lovely stretchy jersey. Good. Will be easy. What else?

The pram. Really? Could we not just carry the baby until it can walk? Well, looking at our friend’s child, the answer would seem to be no. The boy was an enormous hulk who clearly needed his own upholstered tank long before he could toddle. Prams cost about five hundred pounds. Funnily enough, I saw a perfectly good pram beside a bin just a few days ago. It’s not there anymore – I rushed out immediately to check, as soon as I found out that prams cost five hundred pounds – but by golly I will be keeping my eyes peeled around the bins of rich people in future.

Thankfully the rest of it seems to be all right. Clothes and cloth nappies can be gotten for free from friends, family, and baby magazine competitions. In fact baby magazine competitions are a great source of free stuff – nappies and creams and all sorts. No need to buy formula, since breast milk is free. No need to buy tiny jars of crap, since we can make puree at home, and later, when the baby is bigger, we can blend our food up. So continuing on from breastfeeding, whatever we eat, the baby eats too.

There is no need to worry, as my already sprogged–up friend says, for when the little bugger (or prince or princess, depending on your point of view) emerges, you will just get on with it. What the baby wears won’t matter at all, so long as they’re wrapped up in you. Bec nods, wisely, earth–motherish. But what about the expense? The wailing? The upholstered tank? The blitz? I yell. It’s all right, she says, and I notice that she’s pink around the eyes, war-tired. You’ll keep calm, and carry on.