When I got married more than 20 years ago, I had a good career in the city and just assumed my life would continue that way. My husband Brian had grown up in the country and was overjoyed when he received a transfer in his job to a small country town near his home town.
I wasn’t so sure, but I loved Brian and was happy to make the effort. It was at this time that I realised I was pregnant. Brian was thrilled.
I found it hard to make friends in the new community, especially without a job to smooth my way. Two of Brian’s sisters, Wendy and Kate, lived close by and they made motherhood look like a breeze. Their kids were always well dressed and perfectly behaved. The more time I spent with the girls, the more inadequate I felt about becoming a mother. Brian tried to reassure me, but as my due date came closer I became more and more nervous.
When Frances was born, I fell in love at first sight when I looked down at her dark hair and screwed up face. When she was five weeks old, Kate’s son Will had his twelfth birthday. The size of the town meant there was only one place large enough to accommodate Brian’s family celebrations and that was the local hotel.
I’d never so much as set foot in the place before, but Brian felt it would be good for me to get out. Not to mention the fact that he wanted to show off his new daughter!
Nervously, I agreed. To make it worse, the dining room was packed to the brim. It was hard to believe that a year earlier I had taken control of board meetings and overseen a staff of seven. I struggled along with my pram, determined to hide in a corner somewhere.
Soon Frances had had enough of being handed around and was starving. Breastfeeding was still new to me and I self-consciously settled into a chair against the wall and discreetly lifted my shirt. Imagine my embarrassment when a few minutes later a man approached me from behind the lounge bar. He leaned over the table.
“You can’t do that in here, love,” he said loudly.
I was dumbfounded and felt my cheeks flame red as the table went silent and everyone looked at me. The man, who I later found out was the manager, obviously mistook my silence for lack of understanding.
“Feeding the baby. You can’t do that in here where everyone’s watching. Duck out the back to the beer garden, will you?”
I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I let the manager direct me out into the freezing night. The title of beer garden was very generous – there wasn’t even a shelter to keep the chill off the night air. A brick wall was all that separated the area from the kitchen.
As I sat there pulling the blanket close around Frances’s cold cheeks, 10 months of frustration came bubbling to a head. The old me would never have meekly accepted the prehistoric attitude of the manager. I had been full of confidence in my old job and at that moment, sitting on the rickety white chair feeding my baby, I realised I had to find that same confidence in my new job as a mother.
I then heard a stack of dishes smash to the kitchen floor. The broken pieces were deposited in to the outside bin just as I got up from feeding Frances.
My meal was waiting for me when I got back inside. Brian was distracted by burping Francis when I got to my feet and yelled at the top of my voice.
“Oh my God, there’s a piece of glass in my food.”
The packed dining room fell silent and looked my way as I lifted the offending gravy-covered piece of glass from my schnitzel. As I expected, Brian and his sisters joined my outrage.
“I think the health department needs to know about this,” I said dramatically. “I could have died from eating that.”
I’d made sure I’d picked a particularly large and jagged piece from the rubbish bin outside and held it high enough for the whole dining room to see it. By now other customers were eying their own food suspiciously and out of the corner of my eye I could see the manager heading in my direction once again.
I made such a fuss that to calm me down, the manager wouldn’t let any of our table pay for their food. I didn’t feel at all guilty. It was the price he had to pay for being so archaic.
The very next day, with renewed confidence I put Frances in the pram and headed to the local shop for the first time. I got chatting with the girl behind the counter and she offered to take me to the local mother’s group the next night. I really enjoyed myself and over time I made friends and genuinely enjoyed country life.
I kept that piece of glass in my dressing table drawer for a long time. It was like a symbol of a new me. Brian and I went on to have three more children and eventually moved to a new area.
About two years ago, we were visiting Brian’s family and went back for a meal at that very hotel. I had to chuckle as I walked out into the beer garden for old times’ sake. But as I sat at the dining table and watched our niece breastfeed her new baby boy, I was glad to know some things have changed for the better!
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
