Today is the first day in what seems like forever that I am bordering on actually feeling good. Morning sickness has held me in a tight grip for over six weeks, and it’s only now that I can slowly warm to the idea of entering my local Waitrose without wanting to throw up. Finally, my family will be taken off the slightly monotonous diet of humus and carrot sticks. Who knows, I might even be able to cook sausages and fish fingers again – without a spinning head and a churning stomach. I might even go to a proper restaurant again. Without gagging at the sight of my fellow diners’ dinner plates!
The new place is coming along nicely. Chevron parquet, white marble slabs in the master suite’s bathroom and a shaker style kitchen in Dove Tale’s grey. We wanted a very subtle, 20s inspired New York Art Deco theme, and I am more than happy with the results so far. Naturally, we are not in tune with the initially agreed timing. In fact, we will have to move out of our rental on the 31st of March without being able to move into the new flat before the 14th of April. Which leaves me with little choice but to pack up and travel. Again.
Don’t get me wrong, I love to travel, I love to visit friends and family, and I love introducing little L to the concept of different countries and cultures. If only I weren’t so bloody exhausted. We have just come back from a trip to Stockholm, and only shortly before that came back from St Lucia. It seems that I can’t pack, unpack, wash, fold and pack again fast enough. Or maybe I just don’t own enough clothes?
Which brings me to the next thing: what to wear? My spring/summer wardrobe is in desperate need of an extensive overhaul, however, I am not at all inclined to spend money on clothes that will most likely not fit in a few months time. On the other hand, I am only three months pregnant, and buying stretchy maternity clothes just yet would come very close to plonking down on the sofa, stuffing my face with chocolate all day and meekly waving the flag of defeat above my head. Not going to happen.
In fact, my deeply rooted aversion of all motherhood-induced frumpiness has driven me into the arms of a personal trainer today. Today, the first day I didn’t feel like throwing up at the thought of chicken soup. I know, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? Wait. I know. I am pregnant.