It transpires this morning that Health Visitors don’t make an appointment; they just show up at your house whenever they want, to check on the baby. It feels a bit sneaky… like speed cameras without the warning signs. At least Daddy had pants on under his dressing gown, which was better than when the Ocado man came yesterday.
The first thing Mrs Health Visitor wants to do is check Mummy’s stitches. Obviously word has reached her of the beauty that is now Mummy’s lady area, and Mummy thinks she might have to start charging for viewings if it carries on like this – she could probably fund The Baby’s Oxbridge education that way.
“Do you have any concerns about baby?” asks Mrs Health Visitor. Mummy reels off a gazillion concerns, each one completely justified and very serious, possibly fatal, and mainly to do with The Baby’s excessive eating habit. “Good good,” smiles Mrs Health Visitor, “that all seems normal.” Mummy decides Mrs Health Visitor is being a total waste of sofa space and scowls at her until she leaves so Mummy can lie down again.
Everybody in the world wants to come and see the baby.
Mummy is very much in favour of everyone admiring The Baby and telling her how beautiful The Baby is, but cruelly Mummy has also happened upon a mirror and was so disturbed by the horrors it contained that she does not want to make contact with the outside world for at least a month.
Mummy falls asleep briefly and wakes up to find photos of Great Auntie holding the baby. She apparently snuck in while Mummy was napping, like a baby-visiting ninja.
The lovely next-door-neighbour comes round to see the baby and cunningly brings a Trojan Horse of spaghetti bolognese and more unadvisable wine, so Daddy lets her in.
The Baby is hungry ALL THE TIME. Mummy briefly considers offering it the spaghetti bolognese, but thinks better of it.