As far as I've gotten today: washed a load of specifically-searched-out items from a floor based wash basket in our first floor bathroom (basket excruciating to bend and grab from); continued to train my dog in the art of collecting and delivering said items from the floor pile to the washing machine (having flung multiple garments in pairs down the stairs, aided solely by the rubbery stump of my left crutch *total god sent equipment btw*, and the half gram of will power I have managed to maintain throughout this process); put wash on (cue more tear jerking, rusty hip bending motion to reach down into the machine drum also trying not to spill the funky blue liquid-filled cap contents in the process- *sob, I cannot wait to have my body back; hung wash out (apart from small bits- too fiddly for my current patience levels- brief aside, if my car was reliant upon my patience levels being maintained, such as the oil should be, then it would be a muddy brown nipple, clinging onto the bobble at the end of the dip stick, no-where-freaking-near the recommended high and low marker incision); met work friends for a cuppa (aided by a lift down the hill from my house in my mum's car, all point 1 of a mile away, independence is such a sweet memory, like the first time I received a pay packet, wrapped in a transparent, crunched up money bag (all £12.50 of it), made up of golden, sturdy pounds and the odd turquoise-tinged 5 pound note.
No one else had fashioned banana splits for that money or washed up chicken and beef gunged-up baking trays for 3 hours either. It was mine, it was all mine to spend as I chose to. The shop was Warehouse and the vest top was fuchsia, such glory of personal achievement infused my being every time I wore it. I was 15. So technically, here I am, 19 years later, regressed back to before receiving that first pay packet, relying on others for everything (others basically being immediate family at that time in life). 19 years I have kept this show on the road, turning up for opening night, directing the acts, producing the effects, achieving the daily goals, all for it to be taken away at 34 years of age because I chose to make a life of my own with my husband. I remember learning at Uni (2nd time around-2nd time not completed but that’s another post for another day) that the pelvis is the seat of the human body, in which all the vital organs are supported, contained, made safe and reliable. When it twists out of action not only does your body go off-piste, but your psychological well-being is flung through the washing mangle, as though to check if you really have considered the seriousness of becoming a parent. Considering I achieved to wash one pile of dirty clothing (and then only with the help of my very bored dog) and meet friends at a café so close to my house it may as well be called “next door,” I think it is safe to say that I have all too much time to really look closely at my decision to become a mum.
Apparently, it will all be worth it in the end…
35 weeks on Monday. #womenshealth #spd #pregnancy #3rdtrimester #painmanagement #naturalcopingmechanisms #independence #askingforhelp