Riding through the wobbles

Simply put on Thursday 17th January I was a complete washout.   I'd  lost the beginnings of a baby and with it the delicate hopes and silent prayers that were gently strung around my heart.  What followed next was a new dawn and a new day and as the saying goes, 'you've got to get back on the horse that threw you'.  I know this to be exhausting and painful and most of the time you just want to sling the filthy nag back in its bloody stable and slam the door.  But in order to move forward you generally have to face your demons and ride at them like hell.  So last week I reluctantly dragged the horse from its stall - because a toddler marching at your side waits for no man, woman or beast - and rode like the devil with a lump in my throat. 

Irritatingly I hadn't factored Leo being so in tune with my emotions (of course he wont let me wallow in my own cupboard of sadness outside of his bedtime) so when we play with his wooden trains or race around outside I occasionally lie down and pretend he's run me over with the plastic motor bike or mini locomotive.  This tiny breather of self pity is all I need until much later in the night when I can cry alone.  I realise holding it all together instead of letting everything go is twisting my conscience about grieving, but I'm there with misty exhausted eyes for the good, the bad and the ugly.  Is it helping?  Nope, but the weeks holiday I've booked for us on the Kenyan coast most definitely will.

Ahhhhhhh sea air and ocean wash me clean and vodka dawas cleanse me internally!

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Chris got back on Monday evening.  He had driven a horsebox up from Nairobi with a metal giraffe inside for the Lodge - yep my life is like some weird movie.  So I've added a few photos to prove (hi mum) that I haven't crashed and burned (yet) and we're slowly and carefully making it through the wobbles.