I know it’s childish of me but sometimes I just want people to guess that something is wrong with me. They don’t have to guess what is wrong, but couldn’t they just, I don’t know, assume that my depressive sounding tones and minimal use of words might mean that I’m just a bit out of sorts. And when I say “people” I actually mean my Mum and Dad.

You see, my Mum and Dad stopped worrying about me the day I married DH, about a year and a half ago now. To be fair, it’s not like they had much to worry about in the first place – I never got them into debt, didn’t date a drug dealer, forged my own career, chose a good man and maintained a mildly balanced mental state throughout. But, until my knight in combats and shining trainers came to save the day, they continued to worry about how few carrots I ate, how I was managing my career and how much Chardonnay I was drinking. Since my Knight hit the scene, they’ve more worried at me – about life, the universe and my sister (whose Knight hasn’t yet turned up). Don’t get me wrong, this is generally fine, as I say I am a mildly balanced person who enjoys life. Only recently, with the fertility stresses, I’ve hit my own hump in the road and I need my Mum and Dad to rewind to the bit when they put plasters on my knees and put me to bed with a hot water bottle. Fine, you say, tell them what’s up! Only I can’t. It’s terribly difficult to drop a bombshell about their daughter (not to mention their future prospects as grandparents) when as far as they’re concerned I am The Mildly Stable One in a World of Insanes.

For example, I called them this morning. Dad answered and said “Good morning darling. Hope you’re well, now I don’t know about you but I’m wrestling with my cataracts and their possibly devastating impact on the renewal of my driving license. I’ll get your mother.” So then Mum comes on the line, “Hello darling,” she says, “Your father tells me you’re well. How funny, I was just this moment thinking there was something you might need.. now what was it..?” I don’t know, I mused, support, a shoulder to cry on, a chocolate gateau and sweet tea for shock? “That was it,” she said eventually, “I was just polishing up your wedding photo frame and I thought to myself ‘a silver cleaning cloth’ is what she needs! Would you like me to buy you one the next time I’m at the market?”

I was pretty mute after that, hoping she’d the follow up this prize winning “silver cleaning cloth in lieu of shoulder to cry on” idea with some motherly advice, but she dealt with the silence by saying “well, darling I’m not sure I’ve got much more news”. I calmly put down the phone and burst into tears.

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