CarmenRunning through mud and standing still at last
October 3rd 2008 14:18
It’s been a busy week. Not normal-person busy. Not busy as in working a 50 hour week and cramming in social engagements every night, keeping a house ticking over, staying in touch with family and studying part time. But busy in the context of my new life.
I bumped into a girl at aqua aerobics earlier in the week who’s due two days before me – I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks – and she looked knackered and told me she was struggling. And I suddenly realised my batteries have started to run flat too.
There’s an exercise we do in the pool where we get into a big circle and “cycle” around the pool on foam noodles, and then we have to turn around and go back the other way – at which point the current that’s been carrying us all along pushes against us and it takes a minute or two to start moving back in the other direction. That’s how I feel at the moment. Like I’m running through mud.
The last week’s been characterised by hazy fog-like states – lying in bed at 5pm listening to the rain and deciding to skip whatever exercise class it is that I’m supposed to attend, waking up in the morning to find the cat retching on my shoulder and not having the energy to react, driving across the freeway and feeling like all I want to do is pull over and nap. There has been an endless procession of appointments and classes – I had my booking in appointment at the hospital, a scan on Wednesday (all fine), ante-natal class (cried again – this time when I saw a 5 hour old baby being bathed), the chiro (didn’t cry this time), yoga, the pool, home opens, morning teas, the car seat fitting at the hospital. And so on. Nothing strenuous, but it all leaves me feeling like I want to sleep for a week.
My youngest sister is staying with us this week while she studies for her final year 12 exams. All I have to do is get her to school and pick her up each day, and feed her. Not a difficult brief really, but I’m struggling… I usually find myself asleep in the afternoons and wake up with pillowcase imprints and drool all over my face, then dash out to the car and speed across town to pick her up, inevitably hitting peak hour freeway traffic and arriving late, and/or I forget to prepare her lunch and she goes off for a grueling session of study on an empty stomach. Thank god babies cry or I might forget to feed my own child when he or she finally arrives.
I’ve tried to listen to my hypnosis CDs at night in bed but I’m usually asleep within the first two minutes (I just hope all this positive affirmation business is seeping into my subconscious at least).
I periodically lose my keys, leave my debit card at the shops and forget lunch dates. I’m a goldfish. A fat one. With a bad back.
I got a call from the removalists this afternoon – my stuff is finally going to be delivered next week. The quarantine people are going to destroy a book and an envelope that has flowers and seeds in it (actually I was offered the option of having it gamma-cleansed for $300 but I declined as I don’t even know what they’re referring to and therefore don’t think I’ll miss it much) but otherwise, I get everything back, everything from my old life. It’s weird because I’ve been having random memories pop into my head when I close my eyes – like the old cliché of seeing your life flash before your eyes before you die – a street in Athens, a laundromat in Nice, the kebab shop downstairs from my Islington flat. I suppose effectively it is the end of one life and the beginning of another, and the delivery of all my worldly possessions just reinforces this – I’m not in transit anymore, I’m here. I’m not moving, I’m still. And while I mightn’t be thrilled to be in Perth, stillness and stability are something I’ve often craved when I’ve felt disconnected and disheveled and generally disillusioned with life.
The man who fitted the Safe n Sound carseat in the backseat this morning told me to practise with a doll or soft toy so I didn’t get all flustered at the hospital trying to squash our precious *actual* baby into the harness. So I’ve just been outside practising with Laa-Laa (the yellow teletubby), who used to belong to one of H’s nieces. Laa-Laa was pretty good-humoured, given how much I had to yank her arms to get her to fit and the amount of times I pressed her stomach so hard I set off the audio track (“uh-oh!”). I think I did ok though. I’m ready to get this show on the road. Roll on birth-day.
I bumped into a girl at aqua aerobics earlier in the week who’s due two days before me – I hadn’t seen her in a few weeks – and she looked knackered and told me she was struggling. And I suddenly realised my batteries have started to run flat too.
There’s an exercise we do in the pool where we get into a big circle and “cycle” around the pool on foam noodles, and then we have to turn around and go back the other way – at which point the current that’s been carrying us all along pushes against us and it takes a minute or two to start moving back in the other direction. That’s how I feel at the moment. Like I’m running through mud.
The last week’s been characterised by hazy fog-like states – lying in bed at 5pm listening to the rain and deciding to skip whatever exercise class it is that I’m supposed to attend, waking up in the morning to find the cat retching on my shoulder and not having the energy to react, driving across the freeway and feeling like all I want to do is pull over and nap. There has been an endless procession of appointments and classes – I had my booking in appointment at the hospital, a scan on Wednesday (all fine), ante-natal class (cried again – this time when I saw a 5 hour old baby being bathed), the chiro (didn’t cry this time), yoga, the pool, home opens, morning teas, the car seat fitting at the hospital. And so on. Nothing strenuous, but it all leaves me feeling like I want to sleep for a week.
My youngest sister is staying with us this week while she studies for her final year 12 exams. All I have to do is get her to school and pick her up each day, and feed her. Not a difficult brief really, but I’m struggling… I usually find myself asleep in the afternoons and wake up with pillowcase imprints and drool all over my face, then dash out to the car and speed across town to pick her up, inevitably hitting peak hour freeway traffic and arriving late, and/or I forget to prepare her lunch and she goes off for a grueling session of study on an empty stomach. Thank god babies cry or I might forget to feed my own child when he or she finally arrives.
I’ve tried to listen to my hypnosis CDs at night in bed but I’m usually asleep within the first two minutes (I just hope all this positive affirmation business is seeping into my subconscious at least).
I periodically lose my keys, leave my debit card at the shops and forget lunch dates. I’m a goldfish. A fat one. With a bad back.
I got a call from the removalists this afternoon – my stuff is finally going to be delivered next week. The quarantine people are going to destroy a book and an envelope that has flowers and seeds in it (actually I was offered the option of having it gamma-cleansed for $300 but I declined as I don’t even know what they’re referring to and therefore don’t think I’ll miss it much) but otherwise, I get everything back, everything from my old life. It’s weird because I’ve been having random memories pop into my head when I close my eyes – like the old cliché of seeing your life flash before your eyes before you die – a street in Athens, a laundromat in Nice, the kebab shop downstairs from my Islington flat. I suppose effectively it is the end of one life and the beginning of another, and the delivery of all my worldly possessions just reinforces this – I’m not in transit anymore, I’m here. I’m not moving, I’m still. And while I mightn’t be thrilled to be in Perth, stillness and stability are something I’ve often craved when I’ve felt disconnected and disheveled and generally disillusioned with life.
The man who fitted the Safe n Sound carseat in the backseat this morning told me to practise with a doll or soft toy so I didn’t get all flustered at the hospital trying to squash our precious *actual* baby into the harness. So I’ve just been outside practising with Laa-Laa (the yellow teletubby), who used to belong to one of H’s nieces. Laa-Laa was pretty good-humoured, given how much I had to yank her arms to get her to fit and the amount of times I pressed her stomach so hard I set off the audio track (“uh-oh!”). I think I did ok though. I’m ready to get this show on the road. Roll on birth-day.
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