Chapter Six

ZARA

 

I know Renee was confused because I was focused on Melissa. It wasn’t sudden. I had started changing my perspective on things the moment we began foster care training – before we even had our kids; before Melissa was the birth mother in question. It wasn’t about Melissa at all, it was about these poor parents who somehow lost their way, and eventually their children. It was the most heartbreaking thing I could imagine, especially now I was a parent myself.

Reading about privilege hadn’t come out of the blue. During our training, I realised that there were so many stories resulting in kids in care. Most of the people in training tsked and teared up for the children. “The poor children,” they would mutter, shaking their heads at one another and the person next to them would nod their head up and down. “It’s heartbreaking,” they’d often add. I felt moved, too, but the question I asked, often, was “why?” Why did it have to be this way? Surely, no one ever had a baby with the intention to not meet their every need. How did they lose their way? What happened to get to this point, and what could we do to stop it? Although I had never particularly desired having children, I understood that many women had, and I couldn’t understand women choosing to mistreat their children. There had to be something underlying it, something that we could work toward fixing. Also, I automatically empathised with the mother, rather than the children, because I wasn’t a naturally maternal person. There was something we needed to understand, and I assumed it would take someone like me, who wasn’t automatically child-centric, to get to the bottom of it. Child-centric people, on the other hand, could only take the child’s perspective and so it was difficult for them to share any empathy with the birth parents who had, by all accounts, mistreated the child in some ways. But this was a puzzle to solve and seeing both sides of the dilemma was what kept me up at night.

The undertone I was hearing in the training was that there were differences in socio-economic status. But money alone isn’t the solution, clearly, because Governments can give out handouts, but that doesn’t fix the problem. Some of the case studies we got in training were about children turning up to school in unwashed clothing, smelling of urine, and that kind of thing, sure warning signs of neglect, apparently. It was ridiculous.

I spent a lot of time talking to people about this, and because of our different focuses, I quickly learnt that the best way to do this was to do it from the position of the children, rather than trying to get people into the position of the birth parents. “I just don’t understand how someone could mistreat their children,” I’d say over a cup of tea in a training break. I wasn’t judging the parents; I was just trying to understand.

For the others, though, it seemed like a judgment. “I know, I feel so sad for the children, some parents are so horrible,” they’d say, disapproval evident. But my questions were never answered.

Once we had three children, it was no longer a hypothetical for me. I pictured their life before they’d moved in with us, but all I could use was imagination, speculation, and the little pieces of information we’d received. I marveled at how close the three children were. With little experience to draw on of children, I wondered if all siblings were so close. Growing up, and even today, I had certainly been very close to my sisters and brother; these children, though, seemed even closer. Perhaps it was a twin thing, for the girls. Perhaps it was a foster care thing; they were their family connection, after all, and even though the kids were young, there must have be an understanding between them, they’d been removed together and had to start a new future together. I guess it was a combination of all of that. Although they seemed very close to us, and their past didn’t seem to matter to them, maybe deep down they understood what had occurred and protected one another. Perhaps it was subconscious, I wasn’t sure.

Regardless, I knew that I would never completely understand. The agency told us bits and pieces, but they had pieced it all together themselves. No one knew the full truth, except perhaps Melissa. The children would have their memories, but would they ever really recall? Their memories would be pieced together, themselves, coupled with their imagination. I was really interested in attachment, and I wondered whether the children would feel like they truly belonged to our family, or whether they would feel like they were simply long-term guests. That broke my heart, to think that this home might not feel completely like their home. Maybe I was wrong, and they were young enough to not recognise that, but if I was right, I wondered if that would change with time. I’d had no real experience with foster care or adoption and although one of my ex-girlfriends had been a foster child herself, her experience was so different from that of my kids. She’d been placed as a teenager, so she didn’t ever feel completely like part of the family and instead more like a guest. She also moved from carer to carer. I know, too, that many kids feel a little like the black sheep in their families, even when they’re not, so asking the kids as they got older wasn’t necessarily the answer. Renee thought I was being too academic about it all, and perhaps I was. I was certainly analysing the situation and trying to get to the true reality. We must acknowledge that perception is everyone’s reality, and so we cannot ignore what people believe. All I knew was that I wanted my children to believe they belonged, that we were their mums, and that we loved them one hundred percent, but I also wanted them to acknowledge their stories, and their birth parents and their place in their lives. I wanted to be their people. I wanted to empower them to become strong adults, and the only way to do this was through a loving, supportive childhood. I wanted to equip them with the skills to adapt to a changing society. I wanted them to be happy, resilient and confident, and trust in their mums.

And, day to day, it surprised me that this family thing was much nicer than I’d expected it to be. The children kept me focused on things other than work, which was beneficial, and we were all having a great time. But my life had changed so much, and I needed a friend. A time to focus just on me and adults. My relationship with Renee was, in many ways, closer than ever before. I’d never particularly thought much about ‘forever’ until we had kids. I lived in the here and now, and though I knew Renee got into relationships for ‘forever’, I acknowledged that it was impossible to predict the future. I guess I was a realist about relationships. This is something Renee and I didn’t particularly agree on. I thought we had a good foundation for ‘forever’ but knew that forever was a choice and at some point, we may stop making that choice. I wasn’t intending to end anything, but I had always acknowledged the possibility in a way that Renee had not. Having children, though, made me more committed to her and to the idea of forever. I finally understood her goal for an ongoing family commitment. The traditional mode of relationships had never particularly appealed, but now we were doing the traditional parenting thing, it made more sense to me – stability for the kids, and a lifetime together. However at the same time I was connecting to her more, emotionally, I was sensing that we were losing the friendship connection that had always been the strong basis for our relationship. Renee and I used to spend hours every day talking. We would go for indulgent dinners, and sit, smiling, and laughing and chatting. No topic had ever been too difficult to discuss. But now, we felt stretched. Stretched for time, stretched for focus and stretched for the energy to be bothered with the silly conversations that brought us closer together. We no longer really had time to sit and talk to each other about the important things. We were constantly rushing and constantly being interrupted. I craved friendship more than I had in the past, because my best friend, Renee, was now preoccupied.

In the absence of socialising with my wife, I started hanging out with Jason every so often. Usually, we’d go for a mid-week dinner, but one night we went to a bar. While we were there, we ran into Sam. Renee hadn’t seen her since that party a couple of months earlier.

“Hey, Sam!” Jason called out. Jason and I kissed her ‘hello’.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“What’s it look like? Just chilling.” We smiled. I’d always found Sam a little difficult to talk to, because she didn’t seem to ever have much to say. In response, I generally reverted to jokes and acting tough around her, but that made me feel stupid, so then I’d get awkward and shy, which was unusual for me and continued the cycle of bad conversations. Often it was easier to avoid her.

“And the kids?” Sam asked.

“The kids are underage,” I laughed, cheekily. “No, Renee’s got them. Of course.”

Sam nodded. I felt bad going out and leaving Renee at home with the kids, when her full time job was being home with the kids, but I needed the adult interaction. Renee didn’t seem to need it as much as me, preferring her alone time to be watching TV, playing computer games, or simply relaxing, and we both agreed I was much happier when I had some kind of life outside of the house and my work. “Where’s Debbie?” I asked.

Sam shook her head. “Renee didn’t tell you? Well, I needed a night off.” She rolled her eyes dramatically as she said it. I remembered Renee telling me something about Sam and Debbie, but it hadn’t seemed awfully dramatic. I had thought that she was annoyed with Debbie, I didn’t think that a breakup might be imminent. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Sam was just having some space, but I thought they were the types of girls usually joined at the hip. Lesbians often are. “We’ll show you a good time, Sammy!” Jason winked at her. Suddenly our quiet night became kind of crazy, as the three of us hit the dancefloor. As Sam spun me around, I thought that my partner and her best friend were really so different. I would have to beg Renee to get on the dance floor with me. With Sam, I was begging to get off the dance floor!

We had a fantastic night, the kind of night that left you grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, that was just what I needed!” Sam said, as we left the bar.

“What a great night,” I agreed.

“You’ll always have a great night with me, baby!” Jason said.

“We need to do that more often!” I said. Although I knew I’d pay for it the next day, waking up early, it had done a lot for my spirits.

 

RENEE

 

“Sam is a lot more fun than I realised!” Zara said over breakfast. I shrugged in response. Zara and Sam had never spent a great deal of time together. Of course, they knew each other fairly well and saw each other at parties, but I’d spent most of my time having dinner with her alone. “Yeah, she’s nice.”

“But?” Zara asked, biting into her toast.

“But nothing. I said she’s nice. She’s my best friend.”

“There was a but in your voice,” she said, pointedly, her mouth still full.

I laughed a little tiredly. “I don’t know. We just don’t have as much in common now.”

“You’re still a person, just because you’re a mum.” Zara seemed to be trying to convince me.

“I know. But I’m home all day with the kids and don’t really have any friends. Sam works all day, anyway. I need to make some friends that are home.” It had been on my mind a bit over the past few weeks. Now with Zara having caught up with Jason and Sam and saying how great Sam was, I said it aloud.

“You should join a playgroup and make some mother friends. You know I added the Rainbow Playgroup to my Facebook and they meet during the week every week and some regular family catch ups on weekends. Oh, and there’s the foster care playgroup too. You’ll meet some similar families in both groups.”

I shook my head. “I’m just not so sure about exposing the kids to only two mum families or only foster care families. I think they need to see diversity.”

Zara nodded. “That makes sense. Maybe you could find a standard playgroup.”

I sighed. Playgroup! It sounded so dull, the sort of thing other mothers went to, but not me. But I knew Zara was right. If I wanted a mother friend, it was going to have to be the way. That night, rather than trawling through baking recipes or just randomly surfing the net, I looked for a playgroup. I emailed five local playgroups, and one replied straightaway. The next day, I heard from two others and by the end of the week I heard from a fourth playgroup. I finally picked one of them after some back and forth chatting.

The next week, I took the children to playgroup, and it was awful. Truly awful. The women and the children themselves seemed pleasant enough, and I chatted to a few of them, but the moment the official session time started, they suddenly transformed into the types of women that should be hosting Play School or something. They sang, and they chugged around the room like trains, and they became little teapots. They talked in chirpy voices and their eyes widened when they talked, looking like crazy people. I was alarmed, but stood there silently, gritting my teeth. I know you’re not meant to judge other mums, but I was judging. And when it came time to end, I vowed to myself that regardless of what the children thought of their session, we would not be returning.

Against my better judgment, I decided to persevere once more with the playgroup idea. That evening, I found another group and chatted to another lady. I asked if they had structured music time, and she replied saying “our playgroup is very unstructured. If you are looking for more structure, I would recommend you search for playgroups that indicate that in their description. Some say “music time” or “craft time” in the description. Apologies if we’re not what you’re after.” Bingo! I could sense her judgment of the other types of playgroups in her email, so I hurriedly explained that her group was exactly the type of group I was after!

On Tuesday, when Zara was at work, I piled the kids into the car and walked into a church hall. There were four other women and nine children, including two babies. “Welcome, Renee,” one of the women said. “I’m Charlotte, the coordinator.” She smiled a little too widely but seemed harmless enough. Charlotte was a tall, thin, blonde lady, mother of a three-year-old boy, Riley and a baby son, Lachlan.

“Hi, Charlotte,” I said shyly. I soon met the gorgeous red head, Sienna with a son, Angus, and two daughters, Olive and Isla. Next was a plump, happy brunette, named Monica, with a daughter, Brianna, and finally petite blonde Caitlin with her three children, Isaac, Caleb, and Evangeline.

I still didn’t really think playgroup was my kind of environment, but I was happy that the whole group seemed welcoming. I silently decided to withhold judgment for two weeks. After the first week, I was tempted not to return, mainly because it was overwhelming to meet so many people, but I had made that promise to myself, so I had to. The kids had enjoyed it; however, the whole thing still felt a little forced. I was just relieved that there were no organised games or songs. Instead we stood around chatting while the children played. My three seemed delighted to be playing with other children and so the following week, I dressed them and put them back in the car to return.

I hadn’t come out to the group – neither as a lesbian or as a foster carer. I just wanted to see what they thought of us before they realised all of that, but on the second week, we were having a cup of tea and chatting when Sienna asked about my husband. “Oh, I don’t have a husband,” I said, dismissively. At this point, I was unsure what to say next, so instead I sipped my tea.

“Oh, are you a single mum, or do you have a partner?” Monica asked. It didn’t come across intrusively, she just seemed curious.

“I have a partner.” I paused and then added, “Her name is Zara.”

There was a general buzz of “oh, lovely.”

Sienna’s eyes widened as she looked me up and down, and then glanced at the three children. “Did you carry them, or Zara, or a pregnancy each?” I paused and so Sienna chimed in, quickly and apologetically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I know you’re both their mums and it doesn’t actually matter who carried them. It’s just,” she looked flustered, “my sister had twins, so I wondered if you’d carried them. Oh, it was a dreadful pregnancy. Anyway, forget I asked.”

I smiled, feeling bad for her. “Actually, neither of us carried them.”

The group looked confused, so I continued, “We’re foster parents.”

“Oh, wow,” Monica said, “you’re amazing.”

“I take my hat off to you!” Caitlin said. “I couldn’t do it.”

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” Charlotte said, “but I’ll wait till the kids get a bit older.”

“A friend of mine is a foster carer. She just had her little girl taken from her, to return to the birth mum. Oh, it was awful,” Monica said.

“That’s why I couldn’t do it,” Caitlin added. “I’d get too attached!”

These types of responses were so typical – telling us we were amazing through to telling us that only people who don’t get attached could do it. I particularly hated the “I’d get too attached” line, because I felt it implied that we weren’t attached, or didn’t really care. Still, Caitlin seemed kind and just a little misguided in what to say. She wasn’t intending to be mean. The group was very curious about foster care and how long we had the children for. When I said almost six months, they all marveled at how comfortable the children seemed with us, and how well we were doing, which both flattered and embarrassed me.

That night, over dinner, I was pleased to have stories to tell Zara, but she seemed a little distracted. She’d been working on a grant application, and so her mind was elsewhere. After I gently chastised her for not listening, she agreed and said, “I’m sorry, babe, I’ve just had my head in the literature all day! I hope that by the end of the week, things will settle down. Would you like to go for dinner on Friday night? Maybe just us? Maybe your mum could babysit?”

We still hadn’t used a babysitter, and other than the odd outing when the children were visiting their mother, we hadn’t been out together, child free, since the kids had moved in. I figured if the children were asleep, having them babysat wouldn’t be such a drama, so I called my mother, who promptly agreed. I was looking forward to just spending some time alone with Zara and decided it was exactly what we needed right now.

 

MELISSA

 

When the twins were little babies, everything continued okay with David. Megan was out of the picture by then, well and truly. I had learnt from my own mother how to treat a man, and she always said to make no demands on them, they’d work out what they wanted as long as we were loyal and happy. Dad used to disappear sometimes, too, I had seen him come and go, so I wasn’t worried. I knew our love would keep David and I connected. Mum was right. But parenting was harder than I thought it would be. I still found the twins hard work, but over time I grew to love them and that made it all much easier.

And then I got pregnant with Jacob, but this time it was all so much better. David knew what to expect, and although he didn’t exactly hold my hair back when I spewed, he was more helpful with the twins. He wasn’t a natural father, and going to the pub was still his top priority, but this time around, he used to stay with me five nights a week, only staying out two nights a week, Friday and Saturday nights. I felt very lucky to have him by my side. They said there wasn’t a need to have another c-section, that they thought I could have a vaginal birth this time. And I did! I pushed Jacob out, and there were complications my body didn’t like giving birth, but this time I got to cuddle Jacob straight away and knowing what to expect made the first few days much easier to handle than I had experienced with the twins. I still cried for days, I still got interviewed by Child Services, and I still had to stay in the hospital longer than the other mothers. It seems that once you’ve been flagged, they got their kicks by watching you.

I fell completely in love with Jacob, instantly, in a way I hadn’t with the girls. Jacob was my reason for living now, and I could lose myself in him. But in the months following Jacob’s birth, I promised myself that now we’d had our last child, I had to get some of my own life back. I told David I wanted to start going to the pub, too, and dressing up and feeling like someone other than just another mum. He wasn’t thrilled but agreed I could go out Thursday nights, so he could still have Fridays and Saturdays. He also said he wanted me to come home to his bed after being in the pub, which I thought was really sweet. He said he didn’t want me flirting with some guy, and I reminded him I only had eyes for him. He also said I had to wake up with the kids on Friday mornings, so not to drink too much. I was annoyed that he got Saturday and Sunday mornings to himself, and could sleep in as late as he wanted, but I couldn’t, but I understood. I was better with the kids than he was. Plus, I could lie on the couch dozing off while the kids played around me, and I had nowhere to be, so I napped when the children napped. It seemed like everything was working well for us and finally we were a happy family.

Over the next few months, Child Services visited, and I thought they had some kind of secret plan. And then there was the night that I yelled at the cop. That got them visiting even more often.

One Thursday night, though, I came home really late from the pub, and David was furious, and that night I told him what I thought – that he got to sleep in on Saturdays and Sundays, but I didn’t get to sleep in on Fridays, that he got to stay out and sleep at his mates’ houses, but I had to come home. That although it was sweet he wanted me home, it pissed me off that it was all his way. He suddenly flipped. He was furious. He screamed and screamed, he was so angry and then, without any notice at all, he hit me with a big, hard box. I was so scared as I sat on the ground, with him standing over me and yelling. In that moment, I sat there thinking I just had to surrender because I knew he was capable of anything. Then, Hannah came into the kitchen rubbing her eyes. “Mama?” she asked. “Daddy, leave Mama!”

At first, he didn’t respond to her, or even realise she was in the room. Hannah started to cry, and finally something snapped in him, and he realised she was there. He picked her up and angrily told her to get back to bed. While he carried her to her room, I took the opportunity and grabbed a knife to protect myself – just in case. When he returned, he kept yelling at me, and I yelled back, but he stood over me screaming again. His voice was louder than mine, his body bigger than mine, and I felt so scared that he would hurt me. I held that knife in my hand, my fist gripping around it tightly. I was so tempted to use it but knew that things would be bad if I did. I physically held myself back, tensing my hand, but as he screamed even more than he had, I lost my temper, and I plunged the knife into his hand. I needed to calm him down. I needed to protect myself, but the second I did it, I hated myself – more than I ever had. I loved him, after all. Blood spurted everywhere, and I stood and watched. Suddenly, someone was knocking on the door and the twins were standing in the kitchen with the most scared looks on their faces that I had ever seen. He was going to die because of me.

He sat on the floor holding his hand, pathetic, and spluttering, “You silly little bitch.”

I threw him a tea towel to hold down on his wound, and said, “There’s someone at the door,” then turned on my heels and went to the door. I don’t know, to this day, why I opened the door. Someone arriving at three am after a domestic fight could only mean one thing – police – but in that moment, it didn’t occur to me, and I answered the door like it was someone popping by. I was only half alarmed when I opened the door to the men in uniform. The rest of the evening is a daze, but I will never forget them picking up my babies and walking out with a bag I’d hurriedly packed for them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I kept saying to them until there was no one to hear my words. Then I sat next to David and apologised. Another police officer was with us, and he interviewed us to determine if we were a threat to each other and, somehow, despite everything that had happened, it was decided that we could stay together, but if there was another incident, they’d have to consider alternatives. I felt lucky to have a second chance with David, so even in my grief of losing the children, I felt grateful to have him. I couldn’t have lost everyone I loved that night. We were both enrolled in anger management programs, but not together. We started those stupid courses as part of our attempt to get our kids back.

If I may say so, though, day to day life continued almost as normal during those few months. I didn’t have the children to deal with, but I still went to work, I still went to the bar, I still adored David, and I still fought with David. It truly was the cycle they told me about in the anger classes. I now recognised it was the same cycle I had seen with my mother and father, and even my sister and her husband. I knew that David loved me so much, and I loved him so much. I knew that we had something special; we just needed to channel our passion for each other into our romance, not fighting.

Once I started to get used to my new life, not having the children was a bit like life pre-children with visits to a centre to see the children twice a week. I didn’t know what to do to make it all better. It didn’t seem like I could do anything. I was angry with those workers, and angry with the stupid foster carers, and angry with David and angry with myself. But I knew I would go crazy if I thought about it all the time. I had to let it go. The anger management classes weren’t really helping. They were all about anger acceptance and management, rather than actually stopping anger, but did make me realise I couldn’t let the anger get the better of me. If nothing else, I had to do it for the kids.

Once you’ve had a child, they’re a part of you forever. You don’t just forget just because they’re not with you. I was still their mother, and I knew they knew it, even if they were living with other people. But every day my heart ached for those children.

The visits were awful. Everyone said I should make the effort to go, but I felt policed. It was a reminder of the worst day of my life, and I didn’t like it at all. The man sat there, silently most of the time, while I talked to my kids. Sometimes he wrote notes in a book, and I always wondered whether he was writing his grocery list, or if he was keeping detailed notes on my interactions with the children. It was the most unnatural playtime you could ever imagine. I felt terrible for thinking it, but I actually hated the visits, even though I was seeing my kids.

So, some days I couldn’t get the motivation to go. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my babies. Of course, I did. I wanted them home with me. I would do anything to prove that they should come home with me, but I just didn’t know what to do. Often, I talked to Angela and she seemed human, she was sad for me and wanted the best for me and my kids. Other times, she seemed heartless and distant, like it was my fault. In those moments, I hated her, but what could I do? I couldn’t tell her to just fuck off, like I wanted to, could I?

Sometimes, though, after a really hard day, I did get angry with Angela. And sometimes, when I would get angry, I would tell her so. “You’re heartless. You have no idea what it’s like!” I cried down the phone, one afternoon.

“Believe me, I understand,” she said in that stupid sing-songey voice I hated.

“I just don’t know what I can do. I need to prove to you that they should be with me. What would convince you?”

“It’s not my choice, Melissa,” Angela said. “It’s up the judge.” I was silent. What could I say, what could I do?

“Do you have kids, Angela?” I asked.

She was silent.

“You do,” I guessed. “Then you must understand.”

“I prefer not to talk about my personal life,” Angela said. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that.

“Just have a heart, Angela.”

“As I said, it’s not up to me,” she said.

“Well, then, get fucked! Why are you wasting my time, then?” I hung up the phone and sighed. I knew I shouldn’t have sworn to her, but she really pissed me off. Really, really pissed me off. Cow.

People had a habit of pissing me off. Anger management clearly wasn’t doing me much good. It helped me to identify when I was angry, but most of the time, particularly with David, I couldn’t help lashing out. I had a right to be fucking angry. The anger management people would never understand the stress I was under. Little wonder I was angrier than most. What on Earth did they expect? Assholes. They had no idea. I had no control over my own life.

I was even fucking angry with the stupid anger management people. I just wanted people to understand me and what I was dealing with. But they never would.

Fuck.

 

ZARA

 

For no reason at all, I took Thursday off work, and told Renee I wanted to spend the day with the children. I had been working really long hours, and I wanted to have a little fun, and give Renee a break too. Renee was surprised, and maybe a little disappointed that she wasn’t invited on our day out, but I thought she should have a break. Renee went to the shops. I told the children we were going on an ‘adventure’. The children were excited, and Hannah asked if she was going to get a treasure map. I mentally noted that as a good idea for next time. We chatted in the car, and the children told me silly stories, which made me laugh. Then, we got to a large play centre and parked outside. The children went wild, and as I paid for overpriced bottles of drinks, I realised why Renee always fussed around taking so much with us every time we went out. We had lunch at the play centre, and then I took them home for Jacob’s nap. By then, Renee was home, so I asked her if she wanted to join us for a movie.

She frowned and said, “You want to go to the cinema now?” I nodded. She shook her head and glanced at her watch. “I think you’d be cutting it fine in terms of behavior, and you’ve already had a big day.”

She was right, so instead I put a bunch of pillows in the lounge room and we lay down with blankets watching a DVD. Renee came in with a large bowl of popcorn, and we were all excited to share it. The children thought the day was a success, and so I sat on the couch, writing a list of activities for days off here and there over the next few months – movies, art and craft, long walks.

It had been a long week, and when I woke up the next day, I was happy it was the night of our date. I came home from work early and had a soak in the bath, shaving my legs. I put a black dress on, then took it off, and put cream pants and a white blouse. I then put the black dress back on again. Renee laughed at my dressing ritual, an all too frequent event. It isn’t like I don’t have clothes to wear, but I’m so indecisive, I almost always try on two or three outfits before going back to the first. The twins sat with me as I put on my makeup. I still have fond memories of watching my mother put her makeup on before an evening out with dad, so I was enjoying that history appeared to be repeating itself. I put the finishing touches on, spritzed myself with perfume and then we left the bathroom to organise dinner for the kids.

We gave the children a quick dinner of the previous night’s spaghetti bolognaise before Renee’s mother arrived. The children adored her, so they were all excited to be spending the evening in her care. I was a bit concerned that adoration meant testing the boundaries, but I also knew that Renee and I were well overdue for a night out together, so it was time to throw caution to the wind and go out.

Just sitting in the car felt different with no kids to buckle in and no conversations about where we were going. It felt both peaceful and odd at the same time. I silently vowed to myself to do this more often. We loved going out with the children, but it was nice to just focus on us – to be the couple we once were. I felt awful for thinking that, because I knew that we were living our goal. Although I hadn’t initially wanted children, once I got my head around the idea, I was just as keen as Renee to become a parent. And so, there was a small amount of guilt to be so early into the parenting gig and be so eager for some time alone with Renee. I guess the parenting guilt kicks in with everyone. Maybe it was stronger for us, because we were still finding our way with these kids. I felt a desperate need to reconnect with Renee, to remember that we were in this together not because it was necessary but because we wanted to be a team on this. Because we were in love. Because this was meant to be fun. And because, already, with the day-to-day running of the household, we were growing distant. Life was getting in the way.

As I pondered everything, I was unusually quiet in the car. And that’s when I discovered what a spiral all this can become. We spend less time talking about us, about our lives, our work, our dreams, and more time dealing with and communicating about the day to day mundane, the routine and plans for the kids. Suddenly we had less to talk about and more to think about. It surprised me, though. I’m not usually one to retreat into my thoughts, preferring instead to ‘talk it over’. But right now, it seemed easier to be alone in my thoughts, somehow. I turned to Renee, reaching to hold her hand as she drove. This felt nice and despite the unspoken, we were reconnecting.

At the restaurant, we sat mostly in silence. Finally, I spoke up. “What are you going to have to eat?”

She laughed a little, probably thinking much the same as me. This is what we talk about now? This. Yes. She didn’t answer immediately, and instead made a process out of looking at the menu more intently.

We spent our dinner jumping between three communication stages – general chit chat about the food, the décor, and the week ahead; more serious conversation about us and the kids and companiable silence. What was missing, I noted, was the light-hearted laughter and general silliness. The friendship.

Why?

What is it about little people that can change a relationship, if you’re not careful, even if you’re both on the same page about everything? I kept pondering but was too frightened to say something and ruin the night by talking about it.

And when we went home, I was a little excited to connect with Renee physically. But after chatting with her mum for thirty minutes, and checking on the children, Renee crawled into bed, yawned, and turned her light off.

“I love you,” she said into the dark.

I put my head on the pillow.

Really? Truly? I wondered. Intimately reconnecting seemed impossible if our romantic, kid-free evening hadn’t sparked it.

★

I slept in the next morning but awoke with a start. Renee must have already snuck out, and the clanging in the kitchen had aroused me from my sleep. I heard giggling and music and I instantly felt happier. Saturday morning! We had no plans, so I was looking forward to a nice family day, and Renee had clearly got it to a good start with breakfast. I strolled out to the kitchen and gave her a peck on the cheek. She was in the midst of making a large plate of pancakes. Jacob was sitting in his highchair, watching, his chubby hands tapping on his highchair, while his sisters danced to the stereo Renee had put on. The scene was joyful and family-oriented, and the energy was contagious. Soon I, too, was dancing through the kitchen with my babies. I grabbed Jacob out of his highchair and swirled him around the room. Renee giggled, and we exchanged a look between us; contentment creeping across our faces. This was perfection! If every Saturday morning for the rest of my days would be like this, I would be happy. My disappointment from the night before was soon forgotten.

 

RENEE

 

The weekend was blissful, nicer than we had had in a while! Our date on Friday night was nice, and the food was amazing. We had really reconnected, had some interesting adult conversation and when we’d gone home, we’d blissfully fallen asleep in each other’s arms. I felt so happy. Then we enjoyed time with the kids for the rest of the weekend. Although Zara told me that she didn’t mind doing housework together on weekends, I was eager to get as much of it done during the week so that we could just enjoy our weekends. And we did. This particular weekend was totally unplanned, so we walked to the park, with the twins on their new bicylces. We went out to a noodle restaurant and laughed as the kids tried to use the ‘trainee’ chopsticks, but failed dismally. We even had cooked breakfast two days in a row, which is pretty rare. It was just the kind of weekend I wanted to repeat over and over.

Monday was a fairly quiet day. We kissed Zara goodbye as she disappeared for work, and spent the day playing with blocks, reading books and cooking dinner. I surprised myself to find that I was looking forward to playgroup the following day. I suppose it was the adult company, because Zara was working long hours. Although I really liked all the mothers, I found myself becoming particularly close to Caitlin and Sienna. By the fourth week of playgroup, Sienna had invited us over to play. I was particularly excited, because I was missing the company of adults now that I was a stay at home mum. Although once a week playgroup was fun for the children and enjoyable for me, I was particularly keen to make an actual friend. The group environment provides chatter, but that doesn’t necessarily translate to friendship, so I was happy to take our friendship one step further. “I’m really looking forward to it,” I said to Zara the night before, as we ate dinner.

“Yeah?” she had responded, biting into her steak.

“Yeah, I miss adult company.”

She laughed. “Um, what am I?” She sat back in mild confusion and mock offense.

“Oh, you know what I mean. During the day adult company. It’ll be good, I think.”

She nodded. “It’ll be nice for you to have a friend. How old are her kids?”

“I think Angus is four, Olive is three and Isla is a little over one, maybe?”

“Two girls and a boy, like us!” Zara said, smiling.

“Yes, but the reverse. Boy, two girls,” I confirmed, and Zara nodded.

“What about Sam? Have you seen her lately?” Zara asked me the question I’d been dreading.

I paused and replied without really answering her question. “Do you think you can outgrow friends?”

“Of course, but you and Sam have always had so much in common, and I know she’s keen to catch up.”

“I know. I think my life is just so kiddy-oriented and I’m a bit conscious about it, because they don’t want kids. What can I talk about other than the kids? I’ve heard her say that she hates when new mums have nothing to say other than “oh, the baby pooed today!” and I must confess I don’t have a lot more to say!” I laughed sadly.

Zara looked at me. “Sam contacted me,” she said, as if she was confessing something.

My forehead crinkled in surprise. “Oh, yeah?” Although Sam and Zara got on well, they didn’t usually chat outside of our social get togethers.

“She wants some advice on a work thing. She’s been pulling together some grant proposal and wanted my advice, having just been through it.”

“Yeah, but you’ve done an academic grant proposal, whereas hers would be for a small business. A non-profit.” I was a bit surprised.

“Yeah, but the principles for seeking funding aren’t that different. Anyway, I thought we should catch up. Do you think we should invite her for dinner, or I could meet her?”

I couldn’t think of anything worse than cooking for guests right now, even if it was my best friend, so I quickly answered, “Takeaway here or you go to her. I don’t mind, but I’m NOT cooking!” I laughed a little.

Zara pondered as she chewed. “Maybe it’s just easier if I go to her. But will that be okay, since you’re home all day on your own?”

I was pleased that she was considering me, but I still enjoyed my own company. “Yeah, of course. I’ll put the kids to bed and then watch TV. I’ll watch some reality TV show you hate! When are you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” She was already pulling her phone out already to text Sam. “I’ll see when suits her.”

★

The next morning, the twins helped me make some raspberry and white chocolate cookies while Jacob slept. We piled into the car and drove a few minutes down the road. I was surprised that Sienna’s house was an impressive tall, double-story house. Very classy, and big. We parked in the driveway and rang the bell. Sienna opened the door.

“Hello, hello!” she said cheerfully. She invited us in, and we all went out to the backyard. The children played on tricycles and in the sandpit, while Sienna and I chatted, snacking on fruit, cake, the cookies I had brought, and sipping tea.

“Oh, it’s nice to have some adult company!” I laughed, and stretched my legs out, enjoying the sun on my legs. “I haven’t been a parent for long, but already I need time out! How bad is that?”

“It’s funny. Funny that you’ve got kids basically the same age as mine, but you’ve only been doing this for six or seven months. You’re a natural.”

Although I tend to brush off compliments, this time I agreed with her. Already I had worked out that I was a good mum, running a calm house. “I have always wanted to be a mother,” I said. “And, well, being gay,” I stumbled over the word a little, not certain how Sienna felt about it. “Being gay, I wasn’t sure if I would ever get to have kids.”

“Did you consider IVF?” Sienna asked.

“Yes, of course. Home insemination, IUI, IVF,” I listed them off. “Zara wasn’t so sure. And once I heard more about fostering, I wanted to do it too. But really it was her idea. Her ex was a foster child, so I think that’s why she wanted to. It’s nice to help kids that are already here. We wanted to expand our family, become mums, and help, and that’s what we’re doing. It’s empowering to do this, but they’re also giving to us. I think that’s why it initially appealed to Zara, and I’ve been surprised by how much it matters to me too.”

Sienna’s blue eyes beamed as her mouth broke into a smile. As I looked at her, I noticed the sunlight sparkled in her hair. I’d never seen such a truly beautiful person before. Her red hair and pale skin resembled Nicole Kidman. Nicole Kidman with more vivid red hair and a lot shorter and very petite! “I think you’re amazing,” she said, and it was now my turn to smile. “These kids couldn’t be happier, and they’re already so settled.” She shook her head in disbelief.

“It hasn’t been as easy as I thought it would be. I guess I had a romantic view of what parenting would be like,” I confessed, “I thought I’d be a natural mother, just knowing what to do.”

Sienna laughed a little. “Oh, you should have seen me the whole first year after I became a mum. I was a blubbering mess. Everything changes, so suddenly, and the life you used to know just disappears.” She shrugged as she trailed off.

I wasn’t sure I believed her. She seemed so put together and capable. Despite this, I agreed with her. “Everything!”

“I can’t even pee alone!” Sienna laughed.

“I know. Why are children fascinated with that? They can be playing happily but the moment you’re in the loo…”

“Or on the phone…”

“Yes! I pick up a phone, and they’re all over me. It’s crazy.” I was amazed that we had the same experiences despite having totally different journeys to parenting. Maybe everyone did.

“Yeah, and I’m lucky if I can keep on top of the washing,”

“Washing and grocery shopping. Cleaning, cooking…it’s a never-ending cycle.”

Sienna then turned pensive. “It must have felt like such a shock for you, getting three kids at one time. At least you ease into it, with one.”

“Oh yes!” I exclaimed. “Such a shock to the system.” I laughed and tilted my head to the side thinking. “You know, I’ve always known I wanted kids, I thought I knew what to expect, but that cycle…” I shook my head, “I guess I didn’t realise just how repetitive it is, and how much I’d look forward to adult company. I just love it when Zara comes home. Well, most of the time.”

“Does Zara expect a clean house the moment she walks in the door?”

I shook my head. “No, she’s pretty good about it. So then it’s just my expectations.”

Sienna nodded as if she understood, then added, “I wish Mark was a little more relaxed.”

“He expects a clean house? Dinner on the table?”

“Yes, he really does, I think. And I think that’s the hardest part of being home with kids while they’re at work. Always trying to keep the kids entertained, educated, emotionally supported, happy, but not spoilt, and then keep the house tidy at the same time,” she attempted to laugh off her discomfort.

“You have a beautiful home, Sienna.” I gestured toward the kitchen that had big panoramic doors overlooking the outdoor play area.

She smiled and her cheeks dimpled. “Thank you.” Then she changed the topic, “Mark’s great. We’re very happy, for the most part. We haven’t had sex in four years, though.” She laughed, and I did, too, partly from embarrassment from her blurting that out and partly because it just wasn’t true.

“I don’t believe you! I know you’ve done it at least twice since Angus was born!” I gestured to the two girls, still laughing.

She roared with laughter. “True, true. Yes, twice in four years. Much to Mark’s disappointment.”

We both laughed, and I shook my head, knowing she was joking to some degree, though I knew sex had become the last thing on my mind since we’d got the children. Maybe it was the same for her.

“I’m sure Mark thinks of himself as a very lucky man.” Sienna blushed and I silently kicked myself for overstepping the line. Complimenting someone isn’t flirting, I reminded myself, but it was still a stupid thing to say, and I felt silly for saying it, because I had absolutely no romantic interest in her. Also, I knew the cliché, where straight women always assume a lesbian is hitting on them if they compliment them, but Sienna didn’t seem the type to worry about that, somehow.

“Thank you.” Her face was still as red as her hair. There was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds and Sienna broke it by calling out to Olive. “Don’t snatch the ball, Olive. Ruby was happily playing with that!” We continued chatting about everything and anything – food, work, school and eventually friends.

“This has been so great,” I said. “It’s nice to have another mum to chat to.” I couldn’t put into words how much it meant to me to feel normal for the first time in months. I knew mothers regularly talk about the importance of time out, and time with other mothers, but I’d underestimated how important that really was.

“I would go crazy without my little group of mum friends. We even do ‘girls’ nights out’ every few months. We ditch the kids, we dress up, and we enjoy dinner without cutting someone’s food up first,” Sienna said.

“That sounds fabulous.” It truly did, I needed to feel like I had a life outside of the children, even though I loved looking after the children. For some reason I started to tell Sienna about Sam. “We’ve been best mates for years. I just don’t think we have much in common anymore.”

Sienna looked serious for a moment. “That can happen. I have lost contact with a friend of mind since Olive came along. She seemed to cope when I had one kid but once there were two, I became a bit too ‘mumsy’. And yet, deep down I haven’t changed at all.”

We both laughed, sadly, understanding what that meant.

“Maybe you could come on our next mum’s night out? Actually Caitlin from playgroup comes, too, and the other mothers have come on the odd night out too.”

I nodded. “Sign me up!” Although the two of us were relieved to have found a friend – or in Sienna’s case, a tribe – I felt that it came with a deep sadness for all we had lost. I didn’t think Zara really understood, even if she said she did.

I glanced at my watch. “Oh wow, is that the time?” The time had flown, and I hadn’t thought about dinner. It had been wonderful to sit chatting. As we climbed into the car, I thanked Sienna and added, “Perhaps we could do this again, my house next time?”

She smiled breezily and said, “Sounds fabulous.” She leant into the car and gave me a peck on the cheek as she said goodbye.

I called Zara on the way home. “I’m later than I thought I would be. Are you happy if I just pick up a chicken and veggies for dinner?”

“As long as you add gravy too!” she said enthusiastically.

“Fabulous.” We drove through the drive through, Jacob looking like he was about to fall asleep.

“Sunlight too much for him?” Zara asked when we got home. I told her it was probably more the play time. We ate dinner before bath time and then put the kids in bed. I told Zara all about my day with Sienna. “She sounds lovely,” Zara enthused.

“Oh yes, I forgot you haven’t met her.” We have always shared all our friends, so it was a little unusual to be becoming close to someone that Zara hadn’t even met.

“It’s nice for you to have a mummy friend. Oh, speaking of friends, I’m seeing Sam tomorrow night. She finally replied this morning and said tomorrow night would be good.”

“Okay, so you’re out for dinner?”

“Well, yeah, I guess so. From six-thirty.”

“Debbie will probably cook.”

Zara shook her head. “No, it’s just Sam and me. Debbie’s at some work thing.”

I’d spent a lot of time alone with Sam, so I felt a little hypocritical for reeling a bit from that piece of news. I tried to be careful in my response, lest Zara think I didn’t trust her. “Oh, right.” Zara knows me better than that and laughed a little.

“You’re not jealous?” she asked incredulously and quite amused.

“No, of course not,” I shook my head. “No. I’ve gone to Sam’s before. No,” I protested.

She laughed, “Oh wow, you are jealous.”

“It’s just a bit odd, she’s my best friend. And you’ve never really given her the time of day.”

“Yes, but you said yourself that you were growing apart from her, and what’s it matter if I hang out with your best friend, anyway? Plus, it’s a work thing, she wants help. Would you rather her come here? I thought you didn’t want that right now?” Zara looked instantly concerned for my feelings, and so I immediately felt reassured. My hesitations were stupid, and I knew it. I simply felt unsettled because things were quickly changing – my friendship with Sam, my friendship with Sienna, and my relationship with Zara.

I knew I had to stop overreacting, so I replied, “Of course not. I’d rather watch my TV in peace!” It was true, after all.