Not a book post. Not even a tenuous one

Ah, 4.30am, my old friend. It’s been a while. Not that I don’t see you – hey, we rub shoulders quite often. But it’s been some time since I threw off the duvet, along with any self-delusion at getting more sleep, got dressed and hunkered down for a cup of tea and a chat. At least at 4.30am, I get to finish said cup of tea. Well, keeping a firm grip on the positive thoughts, if I’m going to slip back into pregnancy mania and insomnia then at least it augurs well for blogging and book-reading. I may yet finish Wolf Hall and The Marriage Plot. At this rate, I’ll be through both before the week is out.

Everyone says to you “oh, no two pregnancies are the same, just like no two babies are the same.” Brilliant. I don’t know what it is about my personality that as soon as I hear something I automatically feel it’s my feminist duty to be the exception.
“Oh, you won’t want to be going back to work straight away after the baby.”
“Oh, you won’t be able to work full time.”
“Oh, that new-fangled baby-led weaning, you won’t want to do that.”
“Oh, you won’t want to have a baby at your age”
etc etc etc
And because all of the above has worked out so swimmingly, here I am, all over this one, doing it my way again. At least this time, I can’t be directly blamed for it. I think my body’s so used to witnessing the best way to do something, the tried and tested way that everyone else is doing, and my promptly sodding off and doing the exact opposite that it’s just gone on autopilot. “Supposed to not be exactly like last time..? No siree. I’m an INDIVIDUAL. I’ve got this covered.” Or perhaps, my midwife from 2009 has just sent some fax of my previous pregnancy to my 2014 body. With the one obvious difference that this time I started off the size of a house rather than just ended up one. Because that can only help.
Anyway, the reason I’m waffling at you right now, not even remotely on the subject of any book I or my pre-schooler has read, is because my sleeplessness from pregnancy month 5, 2009 has arrived, right on cue. It’s a kind of prenatal Groundhog Day, rather than Independence Day.

There are positives, right? I know how this plays out. There were no serious issues last time and the ones I had I’ve skipped this time (that fax was perhaps a little foggy.) So I dont have to waste the hours I’ve gained in not sleeping updating mad spreadsheets of all the things I need for the baby. A) I’ve still got the last one (looking back, I wonder how I avoided an institution. Who creates a 4-spreadsheet workbook on what you need for a new baby?) B) most of the new baby kit is languishing in my mother’s loft, and C) I updated the old spreadsheet in the daytime, six weeks ago, natch… So, with all this new-found space and experience, there’ll be room in my day to read and therefore to blog, uncluttered because this is all going down just like it did before, right?

We all know how things ended up last time (there’s a rich history of overwrought, trying to-do-it-all, ballsing-it-up parenthood scrawled on these virtual walls in between inconsistent bouts of book blogging). Non-conventional wisdom also dictates life sends you the same lessons until you learn them. I’ve learned enough to know that’s one piece of wisdom not to ignore.

Happy 4th July, wherever you are.


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