Delicious, funny and touching final installment of Emma Hamilton's struggles to become a mother. Just as Emma and her husband James become parents of eight-month-old Russian baby, Yuri, they also find out that Emma is pregnant. Emma discovers that having her dreams come true brings a whole new set of problems as she is faced with well-meaning friends and family – and not-so-well-meaning maternity Nazis – telling her how to be a mother. Only her wonderful calm long-suffering husband, a mad family that makes her look like the down-to-earth sensible one, and fantastic friends whose lives are even crazier than her own, keep Emma from losing it, and in the end she comes through with her usual mix of humour, good-natured hysteria and real heart.
Extract from From Here to Maternity by Sinead Moriarty
Hello, I'm Emma. I'm a thirty-six-year old makeup artist. I married James five years ago. He's a rugby coach, which means that I spend a lot of time standing on the sidelines of rugby pitches in the lashing rain and howling wind. After a happy first year of marriage we decided to have children. Unfortunately Mother Nature was not on our team, so after a couple of years of post-sex gymnastics followed by fertility treatments - all of which failed - we decided to adopt.
Then we spent a year and a half sitting through a very intense adoption course where everything about us and our relationship was dissected by social workers - including how often we had sex. We were eventually approved and a month ago we flew to a children's home at the back end of Russia to meet our little son Yuri, with whom we both fell in love at first sight.
We are now on our way back to Russia to make the adoption official in court. Then we can bring Yuri home to Ireland with us and begin our life as a family. Oh and by the way, I've just found out that I'm pregnant. Seven weeks. Needless to say I'm in shock. I told James last night...
[Taken from Chapter 1]
There was a knock on our door. It was my sister Babs. Lucy had invited my whole family to the wedding - my parents, Sean, my younger brother by eighteen months, and his fiancée Shadee, and my brat of a sister Babs, the afterthought, twelve years younger than me. We'd all spent the night in the same hotel.
'Helloooooo, are you decent? I'm hiding from Mum, let me in.'
James scurried off to have a shower and I let Babs in. She was wearing a tiny T-shirt that barely covered her bum.
'Have you no shame? Where's your dressing gown?'
She shrugged. 'Dunno, and I'm too hung over to care. I just tried to order breakfast but they said it was too late, and I've eaten everything in my mini-bar so I've come to raid yours.' She bent down to pull out the Toblerone. Thank God James was in the shower, I thought, as I got a full flash of her arse.
'Hey, what's this?' she said, as she threw her wrapper into the wastepaper basket, which was empty except for -
SHIT! My pregnancy test.
'Emma?' she said, looking at the positive result and then at me.
I groaned and covered my head with the pillow. I wanted to get used to the idea myself first. James had only known for about twelve hours - nine of which he'd spent in a Guinness-induced coma.
'Look, I've only just found out and I'm still in shock. Don't tell Mum, OK?'
'Don't tell Mum what?' asked my mother, coming through the bedroom door, which Babs had left wide open.
'It's like Central Station in here. Well, what a wedding! Did you have fun, Mum?' I said, trying to distract her.
'What is Barbara not supposed to tell me?' she asked, glaring at me suspiciously.
Babs, helpful as ever, waved the pregnancy stick in front of her face and shouted, 'Emma's preggers!'
'What?' said Mum, staring at me. 'Is she joking? Are you?'
I was suddenly overcome with emotion as I saw tears well in my mother's eyes.
'Oh, Emma,' she said, reaching over to hug me. 'What a wonderful surprise. How long have you known?'
'I've literally only just found out.'
'Well, you won't need to go to Russia now.'
'What do you mean? Of course we're going to Russia. Yuri's our little boy and this is just an incredible, miraculous bonus.'
'But you don't need to adopt someone else's child, you've your own on the way now.'
'MUM! We love Yuri, we want him to be our son and we're adopting him officially in five days' time. Nothing's changed.'
'You need to think about it, Emma. He might feel a bit left out now that you're going to have a baby. He'll always be adopted and the other child won't.'
'Mum, Yuri's our son in every way. We adore him and I don't want to hear any more of your opinions. We're leaving tomorrow to bring him home, so just drop it - OK?'
'Lord, there's no need to bite my head off. It must be your hormones. Lie back now and calm yourself. It's not good for a woman in your condition to be getting het up. You need to mind yourself, Emma. There's a high risk of miscarriage in older women.'
'I'm not old,' I said, gritting my teeth. It never ceased to amaze me how easily my mother could make my blood boil.
'Well, you're no spring chicken either.'
'Who's no spring chicken?' asked Dad, wandering into the room.
'Me apparently,' I said.
'Emma's pregnant,' said Mum.
Dad looked at me. I smiled and nodded.
'Jesus, I think I'm having a heart-attack. There's never a dull moment with this family. Oh, Emma, love, that's the best news I ever heard,' he said, hugging me.
'What is?' asked Sean, coming in to join the family.
'Emma's pregnant and Dad's getting all soppy,' said Babs, taking a large bite of the Toblerone.
'What? Really? Oh, Emma, that's fantastic,' said Sean, taking over from Dad in the hug department. 'It's going to be an exciting year for the family. Emma's two babies and my wedding.'
'What about my job?' demanded Babs.
'Nose job or real job?' asked Sean, referring to the nose job that Babs had recently undergone, transforming her from an attractive blonde with a great figure but a large hooked nose - we're talking Barbra Streisand, Barry Manilow, Seabiscuit, Shergar, you get the picture - into a very good-looking blonde with a lovely nose.
'I'm referring to my job as a television presenter,' said Babs, flicking her hair. She had landed a job selling crappy products on BFL - the Buy For Less channel in London - and thought she was the new Oprah.
'What are you selling again? Gardening tools and wooden spoons?' asked Sean, winding her up. Thankfully, before a fight broke out, James came strolling out of the bathroom in his towelling robe.
'Congratulations,' said everyone, descending upon him.
