Ah mastitis. It’s been grand – just what you want when you’ve got a new Bub and no idea of what you’re doing anyway.
Still, after a brief rest, I am back amongst the mostly-living. And whilst Dad, my brother and my Mum all seemed pleased with their various knitted creations, I find myself in a race against time with my father-in-laws sweater. Had it been a tank-top, I might be able to do it, but to finish the v-neck and two sleeves by Sunday is something of an impossible task. Or at least it is when coupled with a need to sleep and eat.
But enough – I will depart and try to finish anyways. Wish me luck!
It’s so strange, revisiting childhood memories. Reading Beatrix Potter to Bubba is so strange and yet so familiar at the same time – I remember so much and so little of it all at once. And the language! – I don’t recall it being so archaic. Looking back, I just used to hear the stories, unphased bt the fact Potter used words like ‘perplexed’. I think modern publishers would run a mile if they saw a good, meaty word like that in a children’s book manuscript.
I think I had one of the world’s happiest childhoods* and in as many ways as is possible, I’d like to recreate that for my own little worm**. I worry though that I’m doing it for myself and not for her – that I just want to dissolve all my new, scary responsibilities in a big stew of nostalgic books, quilts, and tiny clothes. When it comes to reliving the past, where is the line between selfishness and selflessness? Is there even one?
In other news, I haven’t washed my hair in days and we’re about to go out. It’s scary, but I’m hoping that bub will enjoy the car as much now she’s in the world as she did when she was in me***.
*Until I started school, which I did not like. Not only could we not watch Sesame Street at lunch time, but I was forced to be sociable and interact with other children – something I never enjoyed. It used to drive me mad when I was happily playing by myself in my own little corner of the playground and the school grown-ups would come over and try to make me join in football with the other kids. Interrupting my games of being a knight, or a dragon, or both if the mood took me, is probably what started my deep hatred of what is referred to by my husband and others as ‘the beautiful game.
** When wrapped up in a blanket, Bubba looks worryingly like a worm.
*** Don’t even get me started on how weird that feels. Knowing that somehow, impossibly, 50ish hours of pain led to this small little worm-monster absolutely boggles my mind. I’m wearing all my old clothes again already – if it wasn’t for the stinging reminder of however many stitches they gave me, I would swear that the whole thing was just one bizarre dream. Afterall, babies come from Sheffield Northern General Hospital (it’s where my brother came from and until now, he’s my only experience with infants) so all this nonsense about pregnancy and labour can’t possibly be real…
Nothing to report really – the universe seems to have slowed to something of a crawl and all my days have bled into one long attempt to Stay Awake. It’s not that Bubba isn’t letting me sleep either, it’s just that I’m so paranoid something bad might happen I won’t let myself snooze unless I know S- is up and looking after the little mite.
No matter – Mum and Dad will be down soon and as is typical of me, I will hand over responsibility when they arrive and go for a good, long kip.
In other news, I wanted to say a huge, heartfelt ‘thank you’ to everyone who has sent us lovely cards and happy thoughts.
In other news, I bought some labels with my name on to stitch into things that I make. They look really professional – to the point where I’m worried they look a bit pretentious, rather than just silly fun, which was my aim. In any case, I’ve sewn them onto one or two bits and will toss-up whether or not to add them to others when I can muster enough energy to put my contacts in and start crafting again.
Bub has arrived – we had a little girl on the 2nd May. She weighs 7 lb, 11oz (or exactly 35kg if you’re that way inclined).
For now though, my frame is very tired so I will be doing as little as possible over the next few days. If anyone wants any pictures and hasn’t got them yet, drop me a text/call/email and I’ll likely send some along when I rejoin the real world.
Also, I hereby decree that Tetris should be available for any woman in labour. It is a most magnificent tool to help kill the time.
I’m playing Tetris.
I’ll be back at some point in the future.
My Nan and Granddad lived in a typical two-up-two-down in Sheffield. When my family made the trip from Aberdeen at various points throughout the year, my grandparents would give up their room for Mum and Dad, and Granddad would take up residence on the sofa. Nan, D- and I would all bunk down in the spare room.
My nan was an incredibly calm lady and enjoyed life’s simple pleasures. She and I would share the fold-out bed, and D- would sleep alongside it, cocooned in a mass of brown and orange sleeping bags. Nan always slept with the curtains, “open a crack to let the light in,” and my memories of those hazy mornings are always of the first dawn glow, projected on the wall above us. When she became aware that I was no longer sleeping, we would often lie and talk, listening for the tell-tale sounds from downstairs of Granddad making breakfast.
One year, we went down for the May Day weekend, and – being the curious child that I was – I asked Nan what May Day was all about. As we lay there, chattering in hushed tones and drinking in the early morning light, she painted the most wonderful picture for me. She told me about her childhood in one of the nearby villages. She spoke of the floats pulled by shire-horses, made from spring-time petals. She told me how she and her friends would dance around the May Pole, weaving patterns on the wood with their brightly coloured ribbons. She spoke of watching the older girls compete to be crowned the May Queen, and of how everyone in the village would be out in force, singing songs and making merry.
That wonderful shade of golden light which shone on us that morning as Nan recalled her youth will always conjure images of simpler times for me, and though I didn’t live them, I feel as though I can remember them. May Day, as a result is something of a special holiday for me…
And being up to watch the dawn creep through the curtains, just like that day all those years ago, was something of a real treat.