Hello there. I’m back. Where have I been, you ask? Have I a very good reason for not writing on this here blog for almost two weeks? Was I building a house out of mud bricks, and were my hands too dirty to type? Did I accept a fabulous new job as the head of a multimedia company that requires me to wear a short skirt and a long jacket and dial O for an outside line?
Um, no. I haven’t got a good reason. I was just off, you know, living my life and trying to keep warm. Oh, and GROWING A HUMAN, too, thanks very much. I passed from the first to the second trimester of pregnancy with little fanfare, except perhaps, maybe a few little wriggles deep in my belly. The nausea seems to have passed, as has the excruciating heartburn (but I know that little chum will be back to visit in the third trimester, so not getting too cocky on that front). My paunch is becoming more bumplike. My bum is becoming more … just more.
Because we dwell in what is essentially an Art Deco fridge, and despite our best attempts to warm it up with masses of clutter, we have been suffering from the cold the last few weeks. Sydney gets cold, believe it or not, but no-one acknowledges it so the houses are mostly not very well heated. Well ours isn’t, anyway. We recently solved the problem of May Blossom’s early waking (mostly around 5.20 am) by putting a small heater in her room – her room which is in essence an enclosed verandah, with glass on three sides. Turns out she was freezing herself awake. Now she sleeps until 6.30 or 7. We continue get up at 5.30 to conduct international media interviews in the wake of our Parents of the Year Award. Seriously, who lets their kid freeze? Turns out we do.
In order to get a bit colder, we spent a night last week in the Blue Mountains with three lovely friends. I can sum that mini-break up with this sentence: We ate pies for two meals out of three. It was fantastic. The small people played with their dolls, threw balls around the huge garden and entertained the tourists at Echo Point with a smooth combo of moves whereby one would slap a tourist on the thighs while the other made a break for the gift shop for a spot of shoplifting.
Then we spent a glorious, glorious long weekend in the country with one of the best people I know and her small bundle of hilarity. We cooked, which is what she and I like to do best, and we talked a lot of shit and laughed and realised that one day we will be us again and we will be able to get drunk together once more. We won’t always be pregnant and/or breastfeeding. We dug potatoes, leeks and harvested silverbeet. I made orange ice-cream and chocolate ice-cream. It was blissful and restorative and bloody cold. (Was the ice-cream to blame? There’s every chance.)
It was so long between blog posts that I began to get a bit scared about coming back. Let’s call it writer’s block (or what it was: laziness). But it really isn’t so bad here. For one thing, typing is warming up my fingers and the laptop is toasting the tops of my thighs in a very pleasing way. You might be hearing a bit more from me in the future.