Month One, Day Four

This afternoon I after work, I drove to Henley-on-Thames. I don’t really belong in
Henley-on-Thames. I’m too poor, too badly dressed and un-made up, too full of loathing for the people who do belong there. But it’s the nearest town with a bookshop, and I needed books to tell me how to make my baby.

Henley is the town for Those of Immense Good Fortune. Here, the women have immaculate, articulate, Oxbridge-educated three-year-olds dangling from their wrists. These children don't have tantrums. They don't have tantrums because:

1. They go to yoga.
2. They have never, ever been frustrated. Their mothers took them to Baby Sign Language classes from the time they were six months old, which meant they were able to express their needs through signing, rather than through throwing themselves uncontrollably to the floor and
wailing because they only knew four useless words.
3. Ever since these children were weaned from the breast, they have consumed no sugar or E-numbers, and they’ve eaten only organic, anti-tantrum foods hand-grown by monks and sent to them from a remote farm in Tibet.

I don't know how Henley women get their children. I'm certain it can't be through sex.