Wednesday, June 11, 2014

It's like the World Cup in my head

There are those pregnant days when it's enough to be getting out of bed, arming a toddler with a mouthful of toast, grabbing a cup of tea and scooting to the park all before the rubbish trucks roar into town.  Usually I can do the above whilst balancing a bowl of fruit and cereal in one hand and checking emails with the other; alongside tidying the flat, penning 'jobs still to do' across sheets of paper, coupled with having the most mystifying conversations with a very funny 3 year old about poo, wee and tractors.

But just recently I've felt blindsided by what life still has shoved up her sleeve to throw at me, which means the normal stuff is often eclipsed by crappy stuff.  Do you have those days?  Days when you just want to slam a hand on the pause button, run your hands through your knotty hair and say, 'fuck it'.  Because no matter how hopeful I am on the end game, my pregnancy past still hovers along the pitch like a hungry dog when at the same time the present shoves stumbling blocks ahead of me like logs rolling off the back of a flat bed truck.

I ain't no Pele, but as we tiptoe into week 30 I'm trying not take my eye off the ball for a second.

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