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Stream of Consciousness Sunday - Mummytown

 

allthingsfadra.com

My five minute stream of consciousness:

 

I’m trying to look at her without her seeing. She’s an angular sort of girl. Maybe Donny gets his staring thing from me. It was a mission getting him ready for school this morning. God. What happens when number two comes?

 

‘Hmm, what happens when you come and join us, eh?’ I look at my belly, place my palm warmly on the soft grain of the stretchy fabric. I’m scared. I’m sinking really. She’s even got angular eyes, the girl. That’s quite weird isn’t it? They’re quite striking actually; a very piercing blue, in fact, too. ‘Donny what is it? Come on, look at mummy, no, look at mummy Donny.’ I wish he wouldn’t stare so much at the bigger boys. It’s antagonizing them, I can tell. Should I be worried? I feel so useless, standing here waiting for Donny to act normal so I can leave and get on with the zillion things I have to do. I should chat with the other mummies. God I hate all that. The way they throw up their egos and pride all over each other. Well that’s why I stand on my own. Obviously. Stand on my own and stare at the poor young mother who always stands on the edge of the grounds, who also keeps herself to herself, like me. Donny is shifting from one foot to the other; he needs the toilet. So now he’s looking at me. I bend down, gently move his hand away from his crotch. ‘OK Donny, it’s time for me to go now. Look at Mrs. Bell. Can you see her?’ He follows my gaze and nods at the stern short woman by the double doors. ‘Walk over to Mrs. Bell and ask her to let your teacher know you’re going to the toilet and then you’ll come inside. OK?’ He nods again. I let go of Donny’s hand and he half smiles up at me and shuffles off uncomfortably. I see him start to talk to Mrs. Bell and then I know I can leave. I heave my bag higher over my shoulder and take in a deep breath as I walk back through mummytown, eyes down at my feet, hoping the frown I’m pulling with tell them I am in deep thought and not to interrupt me. They don’t and I am relieved but feel stupid now as I turn the key in the ignition; why would they try to talk to me anyway? I never bother with them. How conceited of me.

 

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