Last Thursday was the 1st of September, which heralded the start of autumn. Well, the meteorological start of autumn anyway. It might still be warm outside but the signs are telling me that my favourite season is upon us.
So why then has it felt like such a slog?
As much as I love autumn there’s always a strange tinge of sadness in the air. Maybe sadness isn’t the word, but there’s a weird melancholy that sweeps in and makes me feel a li’l more reflective than usual.
After a bad week and a good week I was a little worried how this one was going to go. I thought they might alternate and I’d have to ride this one out and wait for next Monday. As it turns out, it’s been a bit of a mixed bag. Like the preamble to bigger and more exciting things: necessary, full of potential but not quite there yet.
Although finding maternity skinny jeans was pretty exciting.
Looking back at last week, compared to the one before, I can’t believe the contrast. My first catchup post came off the back of a stressful week of shifts topped off with low moods and low energy. This past week has seen something of an upward swing: I don’t know if it’s because I made a subconscious effort to get back on the horse, or if it was a combination of dead good things. In any case I’m not questioning it.
I’ve never been the type to dread Mondays. Between film and TV work, customer service and bar work, I’ve mostly always worked weekends. I don’t so much embrace the new week as full on disco winch it. I still felt a bit queasy on Monday, and a slow night shift didn’t help matters, but by Tuesday it was all but gone. Tuesday was the first of my run of days off and I was starting to feel like myself. Unsurprisingly documented the matter through the medium of selfie (as is the way of the millennial). I’ve never gone out in public with a bare midriff before never mind put it on the internet, but sometimes you get to a stage where you just don’t give a shit.
Today marks the 22nd week of pregnancy and only about nine or ten weeks since I actually found out li’l bean was on his way. I feel like I’ve had a lot of catching up to do to make up for lost time: I’ve mentioned previously how overwhelming it was being launched into the end of the first trimester with little adjustment time. Since then though, we’ve had two scans (including the super-scary sounding anomaly scan) and numerous blood tests and everything looks- fingers crossed- like we’re all good to go.
As with most things (trying veganism, for example), I find it easy to keep track of progress ‘n things if I write it down. I feel like if I have a physical record of something, I’m accountable to it. I don’t know quite how many times I’ve rebooted My Fitness Pal for that very same reason. In order to try and cram as much missing information as possible, I scoured baby websites and apps and found a couple that were of use: namely the NHS’s Ready Steady Baby app, and the pregnancy tracker from Bounty.
A little over a month ago, I was sitting in a bar on the tenth floor of a Berlin hotel. I had a rum and coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other and as I laughed and chatted with my boyfriend and two pals, I felt pretty contented. It’s been a pretty testing year so far: the graduate job hunt seemed like a series of defeats, I was turfed out of my shitty bar job and I’d been feeling that things were at a bit of a standstill. However as I sat on the bar’s 360-degree balcony, taking in the Berlin cityscape, I had a weird feeling that things were going to be OK. It might’ve been the half litre of wine I’d had (to myself) with dinner, the pre-gig anticipation or just the atmosphere, but bad luck can only last for so long. At the very least, I had another job to get me by, I was in my favourite place and I was in great company.
Exactly a week later I was back in Glasgow, standing in my flat, by myself, with a positive pregnancy test in my hand.