Maternity leave?

I have always had a strong work ethic. I got my first job at 13 and I have

worked ever since. I am sure it has something to do with the fact that I live

a champagne lifestyle on a lemonade budget. I like to eat well. I am the

Taxi queen- why walk when you can get there in half the time in a cab? I

like to taste the alcohol in my drinks- you can keep your Gordons, mine’s a

Tanquery 10 thank you very much! When shopping, if It fits, I buy it, in every

colour,there and then. Who the hell has time, or can be bothered to see if can be

bought cheaper elsewhere? I have a lunch date to get to. With Tanquery and

Tonic. You see where I am going with this. The paradox is, despite the

strong work ethic, I also have a penchant for spending as much time as

humanly possible sitting on my sofa in my pyjama’s watching Grey’s

Anatomy, 24 and Extreme Makeover home edition. I am a lazy workaholic.

When I am there I am there, 200%. But the more time I can spend on the

sofa, the better.

Pregnancy changed this. I suddenly wanted to spend every waking moment

at work. So much so, that I rented out my place, renovated the flat above

work, and moved in, much to the dismay of my staff, as pregnancy had turned me into the nightmare bitch boss from hell. I was now going to be there 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Two of the team quit as they didn’t want to find out how much worse I was gonna get.  I lived at work. Literally. I worked as many hours as I

could. My Mum tried to keep me off my feet and in the office, but I was far

happier running up and down the stairs serving customers. I had the guests

in shock as they asked me when the baby was due and I told them in 2

weeks!  As it was a family business, I was my own boss, so it was up to me to

send myself on maternity leave. I didn’t. Instead I continued to work until

my waters broke.

Exactly a week before my due date I decided that I had had enough. I had

been up the duff  for long enough, the bun had cooked. I wanted her out.

That day. So I phoned my Mum and told her as much. She proceeded to tell

me that it didn’t work like that. That is was up to the baby to come out

when it was ready. There was nothing I could do except wait. “Wanna bet?”

Was my response. So we did.

The plan was to go for a long walk along the South Downs, followed by an

extremely hot curry. I planned to finish the evening with some solo fun. This

ritual was to be continued daily for the next 4 days. I’d have that baby out

by the end of the week. It was Thursday. If the baby was out by 11.59 on

Sunday I had won.

Mum arrived at the restaurant, walking shoes on, ready to go, when a phone

call came from The Chef. He was sick and couldn’t come to work.

Mum was gonna have to fill in. Bollocks. I finally decided to go on my own

when the phone rang again. This time it was a waiter. Apparently he had

the runs. I was gonna have to fill in. He was on a split shift so I would be

working till at least midnight. So would Mum. Double bollocks. I knew for a

fact that they had been out, together, the night before. Bloody men,

thinking it’s ok for a grandmother in her 50’s and a heavily pregnant crazy lady to

work their 14 hour shifts because they had hangovers. Grrrr. 

It was busy. Very busy. I spent the entire afternoon running, well, waddling around like nobody’s business. It was exhausting but fun. Mum and I decided to get some air during our break, so we went to Nando’s for some Peri Peri . I went for extra hot as I still had a labour to induce and a bet to win. Dinner service was even busier. I’m waddling around even faster, making a killing in tips, as the customers are either amazed that I can still move that fast, or feeling sorry for me, as I clearly must really need

the money or I would be at home with my husband, being served tea and

biscuits with my feet up. Little did they know that I was moving at the

speed of light, because I was desperate to win the bet and take a fiver off

my Mum. Oh, and meet my baby, of course.

 I was on fire. I’m witty, and funny and the best waitress in the South East

of England. I felt fantastic for the first time in months. As I was locking up,

grinning inanely at my newly acquired wealth, Mum announced that she was

spending the night. My bump had dropped. Significantly. We were walking

up the stairs to cash up, when my waters broke. I may just win that fiver.