Whereas previously I’ve apologised for my use of song titles in posts, ashamed at the utter crapness of the song, and then appropriating it for my means, I’m glad I get to use this one. It also feels a little more than appropriate in light of the fact that any attempt to put make up on my tired,
slightly (who am I kidding?) bloated and increasingly fat face and my new appreciation of faded black jersey clothing to cover the body it wobbles atop, lends a more than uncanny resemblance to the current Robert Smith. Oh, and the hair…
I’ve just been aware that my last few posts have felt a little bleak, as I sat perched on my sofa, watching my boy carefully, assessing his unusual behaviours, trying to calculate what they mean, what they will mean, I was getting a bit meta. I was bored of myself. When I got up today, I felt pants. Achy, snot ridden, exhausted. But this is my day with the boy and the Wolf, and we’ve had an arduous few weeks- ships passing in the night doesn’t cover it given my propensity to fall asleep like clockwork at 10pm. Wolf’s masters degree completed, myself having helped organise and hold an excellent hen party for the most deserving hen oor Josie, working, hospital appointments, the minutae of daily living meant we weren’t a family unit, we were family units.
In the midst of it all ‘That Day’ came and went. We knew when it was, we had a scan booked, but both of us gave it a shifty look and tried our best to not mention it. See miniest D has been operating as it’s own unit within our family now for some weeks- shape shifting my enlarged belly into all manner of rhombus like shapes and generally keeping me awake when number one child has eventually decided to sleep again… The pair of them acting like a tag team on my sleep pattern. We’ve been through some very scary testing, got the best results possible. No real clarity or resolve, but at least from where we stand we could give them a cautious high five- amniocentesis showed low levels of protein, baby still growing well, no amniotic fluid issues, and someone is quite clearly serving this child a healthy dose of weetabix everyday. But still, we needed to get past That Day. We needed to know this one was going to rest up where it belongs for now, comfortable and happy in its jacuzzi bath.
I’ve been wondering whether to tell anyone this, but because I personally don’t believe there should be any kind of stigma around it, I’m letting you know the Ds have had some counselling recently too. I reached out in the midst of our crises and held my hand up for help, held our collective hands. Some very clever blogger wrote that Life was Bigger than Us. Oh right, that was me. Life was getting heavy, heavier, I was scared of it and we needed some help to prop up the edges of the canopy as it felt like it was closing in around us. I wanted to keep the gross of the smiles real, just keep the fake ones for bad jokes (the majority of which I make myself) It just so happened that we had a session on That Day. Despite my reservation it couldn’t have come at a better time. Wolf and I had to answer questions as each other about each other (what did I say about getting a bit meta?) NB; there were no false beards involved. The outcome was that we realised we get the most joy in our lives within our family. The three, soon to be four of us, in our bubble. There are of course a multitude of other lovely participants and endeavours in our lives that make us happy. But in our home, wherever we make it, we’re stupidly happy. Despite the shit (literally and metaphorically)
So, to get to the point Friday. Why Fridays? Because I’m not at work? A bit. Because it’s our bubble day? Mostly. Because Wolf and I got married on a Friday? Well, yes. The overriding because is Because miniest D turns another week older on Fridays. And we’ve passed That Day. So that means we’re on bonus time every Friday from now on until, according to pregnancy yoga, I will breathe my way through my journey to meeting my baby. Hmm, dubious. But if I get to hold that baby for cuddles as soon as it arrives, unburdened by machinery and fear, I don’t care if I can’t walk for months. And also, family tradition means that Friday is fish and chips night, and what’s not to love about that?
It also just happens that this Friday, our elf managed to stand for an hour in his standing frame. No meltdowns. Just giggles and play. You’d also like our bubble I think, but I am more than a little biased. And this bias means I can’t post a blog without some piece of Rufus eye candy at the end. It’s only going to get worse when this miniest one gets towel dried off, so let’s have another one of just the boy.