Screenplay for a day in the life of a TV mother
Enter right hand stage a perfectly kempt woman in her
mid-30s, with twins upon her size 10 hips, unchanged since her sickness free
40week pregnancy and 4hr caesarean birth.
She sweeps across the room approaching her handsome shaven
and suited husband who has laid the table with toast and tea and is reading the
morning paper, she kisses him on the cheek and puts both of the golden haired,
smiling children in their pristine highchairs.
As they all quietly tuck into their breakfast of scrambled
eggs, croissants and freshly squeezed orange juice the babies coo and giggle as
their Father plays peek-a-boo around the broadsheet.
Lights dim.
Switch to stage two
Screenplay for a day in the life of a real mother
Enter from right hand stage a 20-something mother of two,
wrestling a 6 month old who is gnawing at the oversized polyester maternity
jumper that is still the only thing that fits after having spent the past three
years pregnant or in labour, a toddler with a nose crust resembling a map of
Italy follows along behind clutching a Winnie the Poo toy which appears to have
survived an apocalypse.
As she trudges across the kitchen, kicking a washing basket
full of lasts nights laundry, her husband dressed in clothes that a tramp
appeared to have thrown away last decade, lounges against the kitchen counter
drinking coffee and eating the crust from a four day old loaf of bread. Their
eyes lock for one moment, he nods and the toddler head butts him in the groin
and runs away gleefully shouting, ‘catch me daddy’. The wife asks him to take the dustbins out
and they stop for a split second to look at each other, leaning closer as if to
kiss, however with a brief peck on the ear from her husband, the mother lunges
to retrieve a dog chew toy from the baby whilst he wriggles around on the
kitchen floor and the husband dashes out the back door.
Fin
As a teen I had never intended to have children, they
appeared to me, to make women look older than their years and caused them to
speak in shrill, panicky voices. Their husbands looked lost and on occasion
desperate in the same way my dog looks when we come downstairs to let him out
in the morning after 8 hours of not having a wee to find a large puddle and a
shredded basket. I realise now that I was very perceptive, children could be
used to herd cattle or to rehabilitate petty criminals, four nights with a
teething baby would be enough to rival a weekend at a high security prison.
However something changes you when you have children, grown men join in the
excitement of ‘The wee-wee dance’ after a two year old finally learns to use
the potty in place of the living room carpet to do their business. Women find
themselves discussing cut teeth and first words over coffee, wearing last year’s
fashion, accessorised in baby sick and felt tip pen in place of the new SATC movie,
and Grandparents can now find a new way to tell you how you should be living
your life as a responsible parent/adult…
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