The Start

What a strange place to start. Almost 38 weeks pregnant, already running out of tasks with which to fill my maternity leave and so have decided to fulfill my newly discovered dream of becoming a world famous writer. Meanwhile, sat typing in our clutter filled, newly formed living room at my parents house with slightly pink hair in a desperate attempt to hold onto my pre-motherhood individualism, wearing last nights pyjamas. Clinging to the hope that at some point, adulthood will spring upon me like a magic spell and quickly transform me into a glamorous, organized and all round together young woman.

Brief background of life until now:

  • 38 weeks pregnant – by this point I am utterly exhausted by every aspect of every emotion felt during the course of pregnancy until now. As you might have guessed, this was not planned.
  • Living with my parents – and dreamy, supportive, verbal punch bag of a boyfriend whom I cannot fault for his incomprehensible tolerance to the monster girlfriend I have not so recently become.
  • Very recent news that baby is no longer breech! After living the previous few weeks certain that a C-section was the only answer to our upside down baby, we received the relieving news only yesterday that she has indeed decided 38 week is not too late to make my life a whole lot easier and summersault into the right position.
  • English literature graduate – awaiting to here of acceptance onto a teaching programme starting a year from now…fingers crossed!
  • Currently in a desperate attempt to try any remedy, myth or legend in order to get the ginormous being I have grown inside me into the outside world.
  • Feeling like we live in the most compact and cluttered hole in the house, despite being allowed to live for free by my darling parents and having created excess storage space due to multiple stressful trips to IKEA, which now filled our once hungover, freedom filled Saturdays.

Originally I did not intend to spend day 4 of maternity leave sat amongst my own empty raspberry leaf teacups and half opened stair gates rotting in my pyjamas. But plans of brunch quickly vanished after AG fell into a pit of misery having left behind her almost boyfriend who is due to move to Devon today. The poor girl has her first bit of highly deserved luck with a male and as the world likes to do, got hit with a pile of shit luck meaning he now has to emigrate to the furthermost regions of the country. Leaving behind a miserable mess that was once AG. Now in true AG style, she is now unreachable and plans of brunch have disintegrated.

Thoughts of the day?

  • How many cups of raspberry leaf tea is considered acceptable?
  • Is it worth starting to eat healthily in order to prepare for post baby weight loss? Or is 3 twirls in one day considered ok?
  • How many days will it take for my body to become naturally skinny again post birth? 3? 4? A week?

After tea with the girls cushioned by obligatory baby talk came the epitome of my week. The Apprentice. The weekly dose of Alan Sugars wit and humour accompanied by tea and far too many dark chocolate digestives had become my highlight. I wasn’t even remotely ashamed of the difference this prominent nine months had made. Id swap vodka and 4am bedtimes, for tea and an early night, any day of the week. Even if the night ahead was to be filled with awkward wrestling and hundreds of toilet breaks.


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