It would be rude not to honour this day: the most light filled 24 hours in the calendar and tradition surely states that it should be a positive, inspiring, and generally wonderful day. So why do I feel like total crap? Oh, that's right, because I'm 36 weeks pregnant, with a human head shovelling deep into my pelvis, like a mole making a new tunnel network. One minute my bladder is tingling in desperation AFTER I stand up from a previous acquaintance made with the loo seat and the next my bowels are so close to exploding that navigating the stairs with a crutch in tow is surely going to take too long and eventual stair carpet cleaning will have to fill the afternoon of my miserable day. Things I've come to realise: Netflix can only provide a set amount of distraction as can I player and tv. Playing with the dog in the confines of my garden/ concrete courtyard fills me with feelings of self-loathing as I learn that my highly active Border Collie, Bruce, was built to be the everlasting dog of the dog workers world. He still smiles though and wags his tail, his humbleness breaks me a little further as I realise he kind of half understands my current predicament.
It is surprisingly windy for the midsummer solstice, the black plastic bin liner awaiting the black bin (chocker with the last fortnight’s refuse, due to our joint inability to remember to put the bin out last week) is shifting around like a vagrant checking for the most rustly of newspapers for a good night's sleep on the streets. I usually embrace noises of all sorts as a comfort to the silence of solitude but as the weeks close in on the 9-month marathon I realise that I am just the same as all the expectant mothers out there, past, present, and future, in that all we really want is some peace and bloody quiet. Who’s with me? Whilst we’re on that subject my music taste literally changes every 10 minutes now. One second a power up jogging track (pre-20 weeks lifestyle activity-much missed) is surging me through my day and the next I’m crying in the bath to Enya! That happy, mundane, middle-ground of serenity and balance does not exist right now. It is as though ‘I am not what I am’ (Shakespeare, 1603) and Shakespeare’s Iago has taken the place of my me-ness: a noble creature? Absolutely not! The confrontation of pregnancy is a harsh self-reflection.
Looking ahead for the sake of “remaining positive,” next year’s summer solstice should see myself and the littlun sharing our lives half independently. We can sit in the park, share a joke and a story and my hips will work again so we can even go swimming and scamping around in the sunshine. Come along now baby, time to embrace the outer world: it’s a tad daunting but the adventure proves fascinating at every turn.
