Almost five years ago I passed my driving test,it was the day after I'd been sent for a viability scan at 17 weeks pregnant with Sid, and a week before Woody and I got married. A fairly stressful time.
I drove a handful of times, but my enourmously stupidly mahoosive bump (Sid was just under 11lbs!) meant that I pretty soon couldn't fit behind the wheel of the car, and after Sid was born I totally lost my nerve, and basically haven't driven since.
That is until a few weeks ago, when despite my bereavement midwife's concern that I might not be ready for the challenge I booked my self some refresher driving lessons.
It did take me a few weeks to pluck up the courage to even book the lessons, but I finally did it and have been pootling about Stockport under the guidance of my lovely (and patient) instructor,Sue.
One of the reasons I was reluctant to book the lessons in the first place was I was terrified of having that conversation, you know, the "so how many children..." one?
I finally decided though that my need to be able to drive myself to the cemetery to see Florence was stronger than my fear of small talk, prepared an answer just in case and booked the lessons.
So far though, the question hasn't arisen, much to my relief.
Then this morning as I was walking the littlies to school I saw Sue drive past, she waved and I though "oh no, now she's seen (some of) the children she's bound to ask".
(And I prepared another answer in my head just in case.)
Today's lesson was pretty good, and Sue did ask about the children,but not so directly that Florence came up. She also asked me where I needed to drive to in my daily life, and I avoided telling her the cemetery, we even drove past the cemetery and I didn't cry, but then we went past a pub that had a psychic night event on, and she started talking about how great psychics were, and about heaven, and dead relatives, and well, all that stuff.
I was ok, and she's such a nice lady, I couldn't possibly say anything about Florence, it wasn't the right time. She might be embarrassed or cry, or I might cry, and oh heck!
I feel like I'm lying, or worse still denying Florence.
I was relieved the subject hadn't come up, but now, I like this lady and I feel I'm deceiving her, but at the same time it's not intentional, and well, we have a professional relationship, she doesn't need to know everything about me, and oh bugger these silly little social situations are so hard to navigate with a dead baby in tow.
Thank goodness for the lovely lady from school who came to my rescue yesterday and came to my house to cut my hair. I certainly couldn't cope with hairdresser etiquette right now.
