Author's Note: So, as promised, back to Sunday updates! I haven't had a chance to reply to reviews yet, but I assure you, I will try my best!

There's no song for this chapter, so sorry about that.

And as usual, I don't own or have anything to do with Skins.

Chapter 20: Mommy Lessons

Sunday, September 15th, 2013

Emily had left early this morning to go to London with her boss, Stacey. It was London Fashion Week and they were both asked to work on the makeup teams for various fashion shows throughout the week. She would be back next Sunday, meaning I was left in peace and quiet for the next seven days. Normally, that would be completely blissful, but as of late, I avoided staying alone for prolonged periods of time. The longer I spent time alone, the more likely I was to think about the fact that I would never get a chance to repair my relationship with my father, or the fact that John Foster's one year sentence in prison was speeding past us much more quickly than expected, or the fact that my best friend and biological father of my child had now completely deserted me because he was still in love with me and couldn't stand to see me happy with my wife.

It really was quite a lot to take in, considering that didn't even mention the fact that Emily and I were moving into a new house in about a month and still weren't quite sure what we were doing with the flat yet and it also didn't take into account that I was now 11 weeks pregnant. I was juggling working, taking care of Emily, the house, Libby, the baby that was forming inside me, maintaining my friendships with Effy and Katie and my sister, and worrying about Cook and John Foster. It was no wonder I was constantly bloody exhausted.

I had decided that telling Emily the complete truth about why Cook left was, for lack of a better phrase, a very stupid idea. Instead, I told Emily part of the truth – she knew Cook went to Glasgow, but she did not know that it was because he was in love with me. I told her that Cook just wanted to spend more time with his brother and to try to get his life on track. Emily had always considered Cook to be a bit of a mess, so she accepted this quite easily. I felt slightly guilty for lying to my wife, of course, but I knew it was really the best option for keeping my family together. Emily was not the most secure person, and I was sure that telling her Cook still had feelings for me would be a massive blow. I was still wholly committed to my wife and my marriage and I had no intention of acting on any of Cook's feelings, considering I had no feelings for him except pure rage. Emily was quite angry at him as well and called him selfish for abandoning us and our child, but I think she said those things just to appease me. I think Emily was actually quite relieved that Cook was going to be out of the picture for a while. Having Cook around throughout the pregnancy, birth, and life of our child could have been difficult for Emily, quite understandably. He would play a part in our child's life if he had stayed in Bristol, and however small that part may have been, I think it would have always nagged at Emily that he was the other biological piece of our child. I, however, was already thinking what this would mean for us if Cook stayed away long-term. It meant that I wouldn't be able to use Cook as my donor again and our child would never have a fully biological sibling. Of course, Emily and I had agreed that the science behind how we built our family didn't really matter, but logically, this mattered. If anything were to happen health-wise to our children, having a biological sibling could be helpful regarding treatment. I knew it was a negative train of thought and that it likely wouldn't happen, but I wanted to at least consider the negative possibilities.

I hadn't heard from Cook since he had left, and to be honest, I was happier that way. If he had called I probably would have screamed at him over the phone for being a fucking selfish arsehole and just stressed myself and the baby out for nothing. Cook was, essentially, a selfish person. I knew that when I first met him and I couldn't really blame him for being who he was. I doubted he would ever change for anybody.

I had pulled myself together after Cook left and by the time Emily and Natalie got home from the grocery store, I was exactly where they left me – on the couch, reading a magazine. Emily made a lovely dinner and we told Natalie about the baby. She was absolutely ecstatic for us and when she left the next day, she'd promise she'd be back to help us move into the new house and, as she'd promised months ago, to help decorate the nursery. I appreciated my sister's offer to help and of course I had no intentions of refusing her, but spending time with Natalie was difficult, especially after Neil's death. Looking at her and her life reminded me of everything I deserved and didn't get. I was her equal, I was Neil's daughter just as much as she was, and yet Natalie had all the success and fatherly love she could have ever wanted. I looked at her and felt ripped off. I had talked to Emily about it, but she couldn't really understand my emotions towards my sister. I loved her and was also endlessly jealous of her. So I reached out and talked to Effy about it, which helped a bit. But I still held all these emotions inside of me and sometimes, looking at Natalie made me feel like toxic sludge. I didn't want to be jealous of her and I hated the fact that I was. I was bringing a new perfect life into this world and I didn't want my baby to feel any of my negativity. I needed to sort out my feelings towards Nat, and I needed to do it soon.

I sighed as I snapped out of my thoughts and realized I was meant to be working on my article. I lost focus so easily these days. I had asked nobody to contact me today since I was planning on working all day long in hopes that I would be able to focus that way, but apparently that was no longer the issue. I just had too many problems flying around in my head and not enough energy to sort any of them out. I felt like I was bursting at the seams, slowly watching my life and myself begin to unravel.

At that very moment, my doorbell rang. I was suddenly thankful for whoever had decided not to listen to my stupid rules about not bothering me today. I got up and answered the door, revealing my mother carrying a basket full of yarn.

"Well this is unexpected," I said, shooting my mother a quizzical look as I let her in the apartment. She sat on the couch and put her basket of yarn on the coffee table and turned to me with a smile.

"I know something's going on with you and you're not talking to anybody about it and that is just fine with me, but I am not going to let you cut yourself off from your family and friends just so you can mope while Emily's away," my mother said, smiling delicately and encouragingly at me. "Your article isn't due until Friday and you'll have time later in the week to work on it. We both know that. And I am not going to let your negative vibes influence this baby. So we are going to pink things up and make things better...whatever they are."

I shrugged at her and nodded. I sat down next to her on the couch and she put her arm around me and kissed me on the cheek.

"But what's with the yarn?" I asked. My mother smiled and grabbed a ball of pink coloured yarn.

"I'm going to teach you how to crochet today," She said as she grabbed two crochet hooks and another pink ball of yarn. "You're going to make your daughter her first blankie."

"But I don't know if it's a girl or a boy yet," I protested as my mother started tying slipknots into both of our strands of yarn. She smiled to herself and shrugged.

"I have a feeling, okay," She said to me, stifling the rest of my protests as she handed me my slipknot and crochet hook. "Now just do what I do."

She began to crochet and was obviously much quicker than I was, but she was patient with me. She encouraged me when I did well and completely unraveled my project when she said I was working the yarn too tightly. I huffed and puffed and said I wasn't enjoying myself, but I appreciated what my mother was doing for me. This was just...mom stuff. You're supposed to make your baby's first blankie with your mom by your side. You're supposed to be able to laugh about how horrible you were at crocheting your firstborn's blankie by the time you're having your second baby and crocheting their very own blankie. Maybe it was just a hippy mom thing, but it made me tear up later that night thinking that I would sit down with my daughter one day to teach her how to crochet a blankie for her baby. And for some reason, I just trusted my mother's instincts on the whole gender of the baby thing. It felt...right. A baby girl with a pink blankie that her mummy crocheted for her. She would have my eyes with blonde hair and (somehow) Emily's lips.

Later that night, and throughout the week that Emily was gone, I found myself crocheting my baby girl's blankie whenever I would start to think about Cook or John Foster or Natalie or the new house. It relieved my stress just that little bit that I needed to be able to focus and not be so exhausted all the time. I found myself calling my mum and asking her questions about whether I was crocheting the blankie properly. Sometimes she would come over quickly during the day to check on my progress. And one day, she brought a surprise over.

"This was the blankie I made for you when I was pregnant," Mum said as she handed me the slightly tattered pink blanket with a light green border. I smiled as I looked at it and suddenly I remembered carrying this blankie around with me when I was little and sleeping with it every night. And I realized that my mother wasn't just giving me crocheting lessons. She was giving me mommy lessons.

I pulled her into a tight hug and thanked her profusely. That night, I secretly slept with my blankie again. The next day, I folded my blankie up nicely and I went to the hardware store to have a frame made for it. I decided that the frame holding my blankie was going to be the first thing to decorate my own baby's nursery. It would remind me every sleepless night that I spent in that nursery of the mommy lessons my mom was giving me. It would remind me that even though my mum sometimes drove me mad when I was younger, she was a great mum. It was my little way of reminding myself to be a bit more like Gina. More patient and wise. And someday, I would use those blankies to teach my own daughter about being a mum.

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