I’m not a fan of Lauren Goodger but I feel desperately sorry she’s having to have a baby on her own
I CAN’T say I’ve ever been a huge fan of Lauren Goodger.
I don’t know her, but she’s the one off Towie who had pictures of herself as a child Photoshopped because she couldn’t bear the thought of ever having looked anything other than perfect.
For which read: Inflated by fillers, augmented breasts, glam, falsely lashed and nailed, rubber tyre-looking lips and extended hair.
It was a strange and desperate thing to do. But I digress.
Since then, Lauren, 35, has become a mum, which you hope will mature her and ensure she has a different world view so her six-month-old daughter Larose will grow up comfortable in her own skin.
One can but hope.
She split from her baby-daddy, Charles Drury, 24, some months after the birth and it has emerged that he cheated on her with another woman at that time — all the while knowing that Lauren was already pregnant with their second child.
She says it doesn’t feel like the “final break-up” and it’s true, they will now be connected for ever.
But I can’t imagine how painful that must have been for her to discover his fooling around. Maybe his age and immaturity just got the better of him.
I really feel for her right now. Having a baby is all cute and endearing and newsworthy (apparently).
It’s charming and romantic. Outwardly, it shows warmth and depth of character to find yourself with your own special bun in the oven. It definitely adds another layer to your “persona”.
However, it is also unbearably hard work.
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There’s the pregnancy, for starters, making you heavy and cumbersome (in my case, the size of a small housing estate). Then the labour and birth — not always the dignified hypno-birthing you visualised, but a mess of pain and endurance unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.
And if those things don’t end you, the onslaught of breastfeeding and sleepless nights will doubtless bring the romantic dream to a sobering end.
So the contemplation of having to do it all on your own is unbearable.
I know, from personal experience, when the father of my second child abandoned me when I was eight months pregnant, the prospect was simply overwhelming.
It was, without doubt, the most difficult time in my life. Ever. Of course, relationships come with no guarantees (see my three divorce papers for details). You want to share in the joy and blend of genes but, more importantly, you want someone to hold the baby while you go and cry in the shower for 20 minutes because your breasts and undercarriage are screaming blue murder.
But there are no certainties apart from one thing: You cannot count on someone else. I learned the hard way.
That a man making you promises of eternal bliss, support and a desire to become a father is not always going to make it to the finish line.
Doing the baby thing on your own is intolerably hard.
Having a baby solo is task I would never want to repeat
Granted, some women in relationships do it by themselves anyway because their partner may be unsupportive.
Completely solo is a task I would not choose to ever repeat.
So behind the aesthetically enhanced Lauren Goodger now stands a woman soon to be holding two babes-in-arms under the age of one — with an unreliable father figure and partner who might dip in and out of her life, possibly for just the nice and the easy bits. Or the occasional bottle feed.
I can only hope she has plenty of practical support around her because this journey will be a very bumpy ride. It will be stripped of all the charm (and publicity), the dreaminess of another cute little baby — and it may be the toughest experience of her life to date.
But things eventually do get easier.
Good luck, Lauren.
Perfectionist Adele’s no diva
I STILL don’t know what to make of Adele’s tearful apology to her fans for the postponement of her Vegas shows at Caesars Palace.
Were they crocodile tears or the real deal?
A bevy of reasons for the cancellation gradually trickles out with every day that passes, and I have to take objection to some of the hearsay.
There’s speculation that Adele’s “diva” demands and raging arguments with her set designer brought about the demise of the show. I’m growing tired once again of our constant labelling of women as “divas” or “difficult”.
It’s common currency that a man is never bossy – he’s just a great leader. Any hint of a woman’s assertiveness moves her away from the feminine and she might as well accept that she will be less liked.
Let’s not forget that historically and presently, women have been forced to raise their voices to be heard. In the early stages of my career, I was often labelled “ambitious” and the interpretation of the word was wholly negative.
I didn’t feel ambitious – I was just a gal working extremely hard and enjoying the opportunities that came my way.
I don’t deny that I get deeply frustrated when, professionally, I’m surrounded by people who don’t know what they’re doing – who are floundering, don’t have a vision or sense of control in a situation. And it gets my goat.
It irritates me to the core and I will feel myself incapable of hiding my disdain and disapproval.
As a result, I’m sure I’ll have been seen as demanding or maybe even stroppy.
We know Adele to be a creative force. What if she’s a perfectionist with vision who is trying to retain control of her ideas in the crazy world of showbizzy b*****ks?
There is nothing more beautiful than a woman who knows her own mind and it should be viewed as empowering.
The world just needs to catch up. Learn to accept and admire it rather than constantly living in fear of confident, forthright women.
CYCLES WILL DO AS THEY LYCRA
TRIGGER warning. If you’re a cyclist, you may fall off your tiny little saddle when you read this: I’m not keen on cyclists.
Today sees the introduction of a revision to the Highway Code – you know, that dog-eared paperback no one ever, ever refers to after they’ve passed their test at 17.
From today, motorists must give priority to cyclists and pedestrians under all circumstances.
They should leave at least 1.5 metres when passing cyclists, and bikers are encouraged to ride two or three abreast in the middle of the road for safety reasons.
To make themselves more visible – and to make us motorists more miserable, I fear.
Nothing exasperates me more than being forced to sit behind a Lycra-clad army of cyclists taking up the whole road and doing less than 10mph.
I become possessed by my road-rage alter ego.
I rant and rage to myself in the car while depleting every ounce of patience I might possess.
While many of the plans and rules for the road seem to be created with towns, cities and major highways in mind, I live out in the country where lanes are dodgy, narrow and windy – often with bad visibility and distractions such as horse-riders, pedestrians and farm vehicles. This, in turn, means overtaking is already often impossible.
I see the virtue of cycling and understand the green credentials, but in the countryside it becomes a nightmare.
I know I have to share the road with cyclists, but they aren’t forced to have insurance or even wear crash helmets.
Now they will become the kings of the road, due to this new “hierarchy of road users”, and it’s sending me into a spin.
I, for one, might struggle to contain my fury while crawling behind a team of MAMILs (Middle-Aged Men In Lycra) who, despite their nice calves and wholesome thighs, will always make me late to wherever I’m going.
Let’s do reality check
THOSE of you who, like me, are antiques will remember a time when you got a whack around the head if you sat within two metres of the TV.
Our parents would threaten us with warnings of blindness if we sat too close. Those were also the days when there was no such thing as a remote – something which perplexes my Ungratefuls.
I have to explain that you had to get off your behind, go up to the TV and actually physically change the channel.
So it seems bizarre and worrying that we’ve gone from ensuring our children’s minds and sight was not damaged by proximity to a screen, to modern times when we actively put masks around their little faces in order that they can experience virtual reality.
Narky and moody
My youngest Ungrateful is 13 and obsessed.
I have to limit his time on the device – deeply unpopular – because not only does he come off it flushed, narky and moody but I seriously wonder what it is doing to his eyes and his developing mind.
Since he was given his VR – foolishly by yours truly as a reward for some excellent behaviour during lockdowns – he’s become addicted. And he’s also hellbent on making me share the experience, too. But I just can’t.
I have a fragile mind. I suffer from vertigo and just the thought of wearing the headset and disorientating myself is enough to make me queasy and wretch.
When we will know what effect all this virtual reality has on them? Does anyone have a clue?
Or shall I just go back to being a quiet antique who lets her son’s mind be a virtual experiment?
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