Well, I suppose starting out in the middle of things doesn't really make sense; at least not to the reader, and it makes it more difficult to follow whatever is coming before or after. So, here is the beginning.
At the beginning there was just me. And there is gonna be 2 for 1: me and my son. Simple.
I don't think I have to go into all that 'flowers and bees talk' as I am sure we're all familiar as to how babies are made.
But that's exactly what happened to me about 6 1/2 months ago. It was a hot summer's day in August...Sounds like the beginning of a really bad novel. But that's what it was. Though it was really too hot to be touched by anybody something has gotten into him and me ....in the middle of the afternoon. Regardless or maybe because of the circumstances, i.e. the lack of an AC in my room, the uncomfortable air mattress and the threat of being surprised by the house mate... we seemed to have been in a real hurry. As we were so intimately engaged neither of us remembered using that special the little 'cap'. Stupid, really, you might think. Yes, indeed. Or a accident? What would Freud have to say about that? Nobody really knows and it will always remain a mystery. The sex -to be quite honest- wasn't great, though it rarely is with egomaniacs or maybe should I blame it on the weather? 'Ok' is almost an 'over'-statement.
Anyhow, afterwards I couldn't wait to get into the shower what with all the heat and sweat and such, and soon enough I shoved him out of the door after he had about three post-coital cigarettes on my balcony clearly enjoying his 'success'.
Later on in the evening I met with my students for drinks - of which I had quite a few as well as quite a few bad smokies.
The next day, I didn't feel so good. Thinking I had had too many mojitos and way too many fags, I blamed my condition on my students who obviously forced me to stay on for another and another and another drink.
Knowing that the weather stations had forecast another glorious summer's day, I forced myself to get up early with the firm intention of going to the pool in the afternoon.
Intentions - shmuhtensions. At about 1pm, without any warning my body suddenly shut down and put me into Seeping Beauty mode - forcing me to take a 3-hour-nap in the middle of the afternoon. I have stopped taking naps when I was five!!! At the time I was convinced that it was just me sleeping off the hang-over.
Little did I know that that right there was the beginning of the most intriguing ride I've ever been on.
(Weeks later I read about a gazillion webpages about conception and watched another gazillion videos on how this all works and I am still in awe. Mainly about the fact that my body - like the bodies of another gazillion women - is programmed to go through the same stages. My body went completely by the books. And that is so exciting it's already creepy.)
Roughly a week later I had a slight suspicion. Something was different but I couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't feel nauseous and I didn't throw up or anything (yet) but I thought that maybe I just caught a virus or a cold which i often do in the summer. Another couple of days after that saw my boobs growing ever so slightly more tender, though that wasn't unusual either. A few more days passed and I decided to buy a pregnancy test - not intending to use it, of course, but just to have it there in case I might want to check. Meanwhile I was trying to ignore what was happening and focussed on work or going to the gym instead.
When the day came - or rather when the day of my period didn't come I knew it. Though as if to make it not real I didn't take the pregnancy test until another week after that. When I did and it showed the positive signs I thought the damned thing was broken and went to the pharmacy around the corner to get another one. I ask the guy behind the counter how certain these thingies were anyway and he said: well, my dear, 99,9%. And that's when I started to cry right there and then. I didn't really know why. Something was gushing over me...forcing me to have a public melt-down in the middle of the bloody pharmacy!
Phew. That was the beginning. Wow. It already seems like a million years ago and yet, I remember every second of it. Amazing - that is all I can say. Amazing. And no regrets whatsoever. Cloud seven is booked for me for all eternity. Well, maybe that is stretching it a bit, but for a long while at least. :-)
Monday 4 February 2013
Sunday 3 February 2013
Old becomes new
Well, they say that when you are 'expecting' everything about you changes. I must concurr...cos sometimes I don't recognize myself anymore. Well, I do, but I find myself quite confusing. I can go from 'chirpy as a bird' to 'the world's saddest girl ever' within minutes - and that is quite scary.
But those instances are exceptions cos generally, I seem to be quite stable - at least emotionally, cos I don't really cry that often and my brain seems to block quite a few things out as if to help me not to get upset.
Anyway, here I am now, in neutral emotional gear, sitting in my comfy little flat somewhere in Germany - of course wishing I was in the UK amongst all my friends - but still neither really sad nor really happy. Neutral really.
My move to the flat was strenous but went all well. And now I have started to unpack the past and I am on an emotional roller coaster. I am sitting in my living room, using my ironing board as desk and breakfast table - I knew I bought this for a reason :-) whilst going through all of those boxes of memories that have been securely stored away for almost ten years. I didn't touch them for several days as I wasn't sure how I'd feel about all of this. Today, however, I was inspired by a Snow Patrol song (obviously, I can never remember titles!) and it instilled some courage into my little heart and I've decided to deal with the past.
It's a bit creepy on the one hand, discovering things that once meant a great deal to me and now, when I hold then in my hand, contemplating how pathetic I once was, when at the same time being in awe: gosh! how naive and sweet at the same time.
The discoveries that excite me most are my books. My beloved books. Sometimes, back in the nineties, my books were my only friends. Their stories and lives were my escape from my own bulimic and emotionally abysmal world. I devoured them - just like I devoured all that food. But in contrast, I didn't 'spit' them out again but rather kept them stored away in my memory. I am so excited to see all my friends again: Stein, Thoreau, Ellis, McCourt, Carver, Morrison, Updike, Carr, McLiam Wilson, Coogan, Poe, Kleinbaum, Grass...you name them! The touch and the smell of those books - it's all very special to me. I associate certain experiences and memories with each and everyone of them. Like a small child, I am excited about reading them all again, making new memories and even new friedns.
I want to read them aloud to my son, I want him to be enchanted just like I have been enchanted when I read those novels for the first time. Obviously, he won't have a clue what I am talking about but he can feel the stories just like I feel them. I am so thrilled!!
At the same time I am looking forward to engage in intellectual activity - as for the past months I had the feeling that my brain shrank to the size of a pea.
The difficulty now is to choose whom to start with. That's a tough one - though secretly I know exactly whom to start with....Bohemian Paris, beginning of the 20th century...my favourite artists...all frequenting the same 'salon'...living their stories...
Well, I am off now...indulging in the depth of world literature!!
But those instances are exceptions cos generally, I seem to be quite stable - at least emotionally, cos I don't really cry that often and my brain seems to block quite a few things out as if to help me not to get upset.
Anyway, here I am now, in neutral emotional gear, sitting in my comfy little flat somewhere in Germany - of course wishing I was in the UK amongst all my friends - but still neither really sad nor really happy. Neutral really.
My move to the flat was strenous but went all well. And now I have started to unpack the past and I am on an emotional roller coaster. I am sitting in my living room, using my ironing board as desk and breakfast table - I knew I bought this for a reason :-) whilst going through all of those boxes of memories that have been securely stored away for almost ten years. I didn't touch them for several days as I wasn't sure how I'd feel about all of this. Today, however, I was inspired by a Snow Patrol song (obviously, I can never remember titles!) and it instilled some courage into my little heart and I've decided to deal with the past.
It's a bit creepy on the one hand, discovering things that once meant a great deal to me and now, when I hold then in my hand, contemplating how pathetic I once was, when at the same time being in awe: gosh! how naive and sweet at the same time.
The discoveries that excite me most are my books. My beloved books. Sometimes, back in the nineties, my books were my only friends. Their stories and lives were my escape from my own bulimic and emotionally abysmal world. I devoured them - just like I devoured all that food. But in contrast, I didn't 'spit' them out again but rather kept them stored away in my memory. I am so excited to see all my friends again: Stein, Thoreau, Ellis, McCourt, Carver, Morrison, Updike, Carr, McLiam Wilson, Coogan, Poe, Kleinbaum, Grass...you name them! The touch and the smell of those books - it's all very special to me. I associate certain experiences and memories with each and everyone of them. Like a small child, I am excited about reading them all again, making new memories and even new friedns.
I want to read them aloud to my son, I want him to be enchanted just like I have been enchanted when I read those novels for the first time. Obviously, he won't have a clue what I am talking about but he can feel the stories just like I feel them. I am so thrilled!!
At the same time I am looking forward to engage in intellectual activity - as for the past months I had the feeling that my brain shrank to the size of a pea.
The difficulty now is to choose whom to start with. That's a tough one - though secretly I know exactly whom to start with....Bohemian Paris, beginning of the 20th century...my favourite artists...all frequenting the same 'salon'...living their stories...
Well, I am off now...indulging in the depth of world literature!!
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