It's New Music Tuesday in this Bug's life.
Once a month I get paid a small amount to listen to a lot of recent music and translate my feelings into as few words as possible. PJ Harvey, Radiohead, Adele... not a bad start to an afternoon.
Today also marks the first day I've worn my new Belly Band; A foot-wide lycra tube that I would quite probably have worn as a mini-skirt as a teenager, but now covers the gaping button of my jeans, keeps me from buying maternity trousers, and provides a suprising amount of comfort up to my ribs.
The band has made me realise 2 things. 1) I understand for the first time why high-waisted trousers are so comfortable and 2) for the first time I actually like my belly.
As a child I never had an issue with weight, but still I always had a belly. Beach shots are of the blonde, grinning girl, squinting into the sun in a multi-coloured one piece - all skinny legs and round tummy; usually holding up something I'd found, like some sea-weed or a dead crab. As an adult I've been able to either hold my tummy in or dress it down, but it's always been there... not so much sexy hour-glass but homely cottage-loaf.*
Now, for the first time, I can look at my round and growing belly with affection instead of wistful embarrassment or even shame. There's no thoughts of "time to cut our bread again" or "I really should go to the gym", just affectionate strokes and wonder at the magic that's knitting together this perfect human I'm honoured to carry for a few more months.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Growing on the inside
As of today, I'm 13 weeks pregnant.
What's growing on the inside already has functioning limbs, teeth sitting ready in gums, and fully formed eyes; sealed tightly behind perfect lids. Mind blowing.
This next season of liminality, living in the shifting change of now-but-not-yet, has so far brought little of the romantic, brooding introspection I'd imagined. Maybe that's a gift of a first pregnancy when one isn't already a part-time parent. Maybe it's just in the movies.
I'm dreaming more. A smattering of terrifyingly real nightmares amongst the gloriously bizarre; eating a restaurant owned by Jack White, before walking home and realising I'd accidentally left without paying... and I'm only wearing one shoe.
My belly remains the same shape it always has. People have started to wonder aloud if I'm showing, but I think that's only the same me that 10 years ago prompted a sweet man to give up his seat on a boiling hot Tube for entirely mistaken reasons. I took the seat then as I take the pats now; with a smile on the outside and a mixture of embarrassment, seething resentment, and genuine amusement within.
What's growing on the inside already has functioning limbs, teeth sitting ready in gums, and fully formed eyes; sealed tightly behind perfect lids. Mind blowing.
This next season of liminality, living in the shifting change of now-but-not-yet, has so far brought little of the romantic, brooding introspection I'd imagined. Maybe that's a gift of a first pregnancy when one isn't already a part-time parent. Maybe it's just in the movies.
I'm dreaming more. A smattering of terrifyingly real nightmares amongst the gloriously bizarre; eating a restaurant owned by Jack White, before walking home and realising I'd accidentally left without paying... and I'm only wearing one shoe.
My belly remains the same shape it always has. People have started to wonder aloud if I'm showing, but I think that's only the same me that 10 years ago prompted a sweet man to give up his seat on a boiling hot Tube for entirely mistaken reasons. I took the seat then as I take the pats now; with a smile on the outside and a mixture of embarrassment, seething resentment, and genuine amusement within.
Fresh Breeze
She'd come home
Giddy with occasion
And open every window
To the frigid night sky
"Letting the New Year in"
Her flurry of movement
All petticoats and perm
Wafting the zest and strength
Held within her tiny frame
Like the very breath of spring
As I work the blade into the painted seals
Of windows she'd never see
It's that spirit I'm clawing to invite
Longing to throw open every window
And let her in
Giddy with occasion
And open every window
To the frigid night sky
"Letting the New Year in"
Her flurry of movement
All petticoats and perm
Wafting the zest and strength
Held within her tiny frame
Like the very breath of spring
As I work the blade into the painted seals
Of windows she'd never see
It's that spirit I'm clawing to invite
Longing to throw open every window
And let her in
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Siesta
A short story in response to the painting The Siesta by Paul Gaugin.
The heat of the day brought is onto the porch and out of the sun. Keeping their proper distance, the men sat in the grass, smoking in the shade of the bunkhouse and winning nickles and buttons from each other in mindless wagers.
It took a long time to get comfortable with the proximity of my new 'sisters', A near lifetime together had brought with it a physical familiarity between them that was alien to me.
Alice would always be on the edge, one leg dangling down to swish the long grass that evaded the mower's reach. She'd sing softly to herself or, when asked, would share one of the stories her momma had taught her in the days before she died.
Constance seemed allergic to rest. Always anxious of the list of chores left to accomplish before lamp-lighting, she would ever have something with her to do - ironing, darning, trimming the lamps. Her industry made me nervous, but if I ever offered to assist, or tried to bring a chore of my own onto the porch, Natty would scold me.
"Child - you just let that be now." She would say, taking my basket out of my hand, "Never mind her fuss. You sit beside me here and take your rest.".
It was Natty who took siesta the most seriously. Sprawled out on a pillow she would talk and dream, even daring to gossip until Constance started tutting when, with a small giggle, would roll onto her back and ask Alice to sing.
The heat of the day brought is onto the porch and out of the sun. Keeping their proper distance, the men sat in the grass, smoking in the shade of the bunkhouse and winning nickles and buttons from each other in mindless wagers.
It took a long time to get comfortable with the proximity of my new 'sisters', A near lifetime together had brought with it a physical familiarity between them that was alien to me.
Alice would always be on the edge, one leg dangling down to swish the long grass that evaded the mower's reach. She'd sing softly to herself or, when asked, would share one of the stories her momma had taught her in the days before she died.
Constance seemed allergic to rest. Always anxious of the list of chores left to accomplish before lamp-lighting, she would ever have something with her to do - ironing, darning, trimming the lamps. Her industry made me nervous, but if I ever offered to assist, or tried to bring a chore of my own onto the porch, Natty would scold me.
"Child - you just let that be now." She would say, taking my basket out of my hand, "Never mind her fuss. You sit beside me here and take your rest.".
It was Natty who took siesta the most seriously. Sprawled out on a pillow she would talk and dream, even daring to gossip until Constance started tutting when, with a small giggle, would roll onto her back and ask Alice to sing.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Beautiful Moments
As with all parents, there are beautiful, magical moments with my step-lovelies that I want to etch into my heart and remember forever. This weekend - alongside the exhaustion brought on by constant bickering, grouchily-appealing every parental request and the usual nonsense - there seemed to be bucket-loads, but this one will suffice for now.
I am honoured to be part of both #1 and #2's nighttime routine. We snuggle, chat, I scratch their backs, and they whisper me confidences and fears. Tonight, #1 (now 11 and a proud middle-schooler) let me know, among other things, that when he's at school and missing his dad and I he sometimes tucks his own hair behind his ears "as it reminds me of you."
"...but it still annoys me when you do it" he said, quickly, putting his head back down in his Ugly Doll.
Be still my heart.
I am honoured to be part of both #1 and #2's nighttime routine. We snuggle, chat, I scratch their backs, and they whisper me confidences and fears. Tonight, #1 (now 11 and a proud middle-schooler) let me know, among other things, that when he's at school and missing his dad and I he sometimes tucks his own hair behind his ears "as it reminds me of you."
"...but it still annoys me when you do it" he said, quickly, putting his head back down in his Ugly Doll.
Be still my heart.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Grandma
My Grandma would have been 100 yesterday, August 1st 2010.
When she died, aged 96, people were staggered to find out how old she was. Embarrassed of her great age when she married at 30 (Shock! Horror!) back in 1941, she'd been routinely taking off 10 years "for the war" for as long as anyone could remember.
Grandma was an inspiration to more than just our family. Broad Scots, under 5 foot and bright as a button she was an amazing woman. She worked in some way or other (from secretarial work to running her own antiques store) from the day she left school at 15 until her even the temp agency couldn't pass her for 65 - at about the age of 80.
She saw so much in her life. As a child she lived in Glasgow, London and Brighton and was even 'farmed' out to a family in the Highlands for a period as very small child when her parents divorced. She lived through 2 worlds wars, a scarlet fever epidemic that claimed the life of her older sister, and a near catastrophic engine failure on a flight from Hong Kong (They landed in Beijing, where the airline had them all sleep in a big room. She awoke to see everyone had been covered up in white blankets, and for a full minute she though she was in the morgue!). She was around when telephones, radios, cars, TVs and then computers went from being a luxury to being necessary. She traveled the world and never ceased to be interested in everything. Everything.
There are so many little things that made up who she was. She loved music, literature, cinema, theatre and handed on to me her love of poetry. She was sweet, fun, incredibly warm, and completely incapable of telling jokes (which, of course, made them all the funnier). She gave wonderful hugs, and always smelt divine - a strange mixture of Estee Lauder's Youth Dew and toast & marmalade. She could break the bones in your hand with the strength in her thumb.
I remember distinctly the collection of necklaces she wore at the same time; their chains would get tangled into knots that I could sit and unravel for hours. She taught me how to coat fresh fish in breadcrumbs, and made the best Yorkshire puddings in the world. The only thing she could play on the piano were some arpeggios, and she'd play them at speed every time she passed an instrument. She could remember every one of my childhood friends.
I grieve that she never met my husband or my step-children, and never knew the happiness I've found here in the States. She would have loved Nashville.
I miss her every day.
Happy Birthday Grandma! 21 again? ("yes dear..." *hand-breaking-thumb-squeeze*)
When she died, aged 96, people were staggered to find out how old she was. Embarrassed of her great age when she married at 30 (Shock! Horror!) back in 1941, she'd been routinely taking off 10 years "for the war" for as long as anyone could remember.
Grandma was an inspiration to more than just our family. Broad Scots, under 5 foot and bright as a button she was an amazing woman. She worked in some way or other (from secretarial work to running her own antiques store) from the day she left school at 15 until her even the temp agency couldn't pass her for 65 - at about the age of 80.
She saw so much in her life. As a child she lived in Glasgow, London and Brighton and was even 'farmed' out to a family in the Highlands for a period as very small child when her parents divorced. She lived through 2 worlds wars, a scarlet fever epidemic that claimed the life of her older sister, and a near catastrophic engine failure on a flight from Hong Kong (They landed in Beijing, where the airline had them all sleep in a big room. She awoke to see everyone had been covered up in white blankets, and for a full minute she though she was in the morgue!). She was around when telephones, radios, cars, TVs and then computers went from being a luxury to being necessary. She traveled the world and never ceased to be interested in everything. Everything.
There are so many little things that made up who she was. She loved music, literature, cinema, theatre and handed on to me her love of poetry. She was sweet, fun, incredibly warm, and completely incapable of telling jokes (which, of course, made them all the funnier). She gave wonderful hugs, and always smelt divine - a strange mixture of Estee Lauder's Youth Dew and toast & marmalade. She could break the bones in your hand with the strength in her thumb.
I remember distinctly the collection of necklaces she wore at the same time; their chains would get tangled into knots that I could sit and unravel for hours. She taught me how to coat fresh fish in breadcrumbs, and made the best Yorkshire puddings in the world. The only thing she could play on the piano were some arpeggios, and she'd play them at speed every time she passed an instrument. She could remember every one of my childhood friends.
I grieve that she never met my husband or my step-children, and never knew the happiness I've found here in the States. She would have loved Nashville.
I miss her every day.
Happy Birthday Grandma! 21 again? ("yes dear..." *hand-breaking-thumb-squeeze*)
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Letter To My Younger Self
Letter To My Younger Self
I’m sorry that it’s taken me
so long to think of us as we,
to own the person that you were
as part of me, not just as her
I’m sorry that I still might cringe
when thinking of that eager, ginger,
loud and frantic little girl
so hungry to embrace the world
if only to squeeze out a friend,
a kind word and a happy ending
full of talent, life and spark,
making all she looked at art;
the view from up the cherry tree,
the ever-present scarry knees,
the constant choosing different names,
the romance trapped in dancing flames.
I’d tell you that your teeth get straight,
Your boobs arrive (they’re worth the wait).
That you’ll get kissed by someone who’s
been dreaming just as much of you
But most of all I want to praise
you for the hope that fills your days.
Your dreams and spirit were the key
that unlocked the me I’m proud to be.
I’m sorry that it’s taken me
so long to think of us as we,
to own the person that you were
as part of me, not just as her
I’m sorry that I still might cringe
when thinking of that eager, ginger,
loud and frantic little girl
so hungry to embrace the world
if only to squeeze out a friend,
a kind word and a happy ending
full of talent, life and spark,
making all she looked at art;
the view from up the cherry tree,
the ever-present scarry knees,
the constant choosing different names,
the romance trapped in dancing flames.
I’d tell you that your teeth get straight,
Your boobs arrive (they’re worth the wait).
That you’ll get kissed by someone who’s
been dreaming just as much of you
But most of all I want to praise
you for the hope that fills your days.
Your dreams and spirit were the key
that unlocked the me I’m proud to be.
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