Wednesday, 10 March 2010

Special Delivery

My son is obsessed with Postman Pat. However; it has to be, simply has to be, Postman Pat SDS (for the uninitiated – Special Delivery Service). It has to be said that the world Postman Pat inhabits seems quite appealing. The lengths that man will go to, getting your special delivery to you, knows no bounds. It’s not uncommon for him to commandeer a helicopter, a motorbike with a sidecar, a tractor, ice-skates or a magic bloody carpet, to get that item delivered.

I keep telling my son that in reality after waiting in all day for your very important item, you go to the loo for two seconds, the bell rings, you remerge with your pants still round your ankles, only to discover a red postcard shoved through your letterbox with “While you were out we tried to deliver your Special Delivery…”. This is followed by a series of collection options, none of them particularly convenient. Does anyone else’s sorting office open for two hours at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, or is it just mine?

At 5.59 am this morning we had a very Special Delivery. As it turned out, Victoria Sponge was not full of jam and cream as we had all expected. Instead she gave birth to a whopping 9lb 1oz baby boy.

As the happy, post-natal glow set in; the sense that everybody was safe and cherished and content, I noticed an unusual feeling creeping into my brain.

“Perhaps I could look forward to having another baby?”

Over the past few weeks I have resisted the urge to write about my pregnancy. My scan passed by undocumented and in its place a cheeky poem was offered. This is actually what I began writing after my scan:

“There it was, on all fours, bottom in the air.

“Just like it’s mother” said a friend of mine when I told her.

And now I have to admit that it is real, that there really is something there and it’s making me feel awful. As the truth is revealed to friends, family and work colleagues the “congratulations” they offer has been met with a rolling of eyes, a squirm of embarrassment, a matter of factness that shows not a hint of enthusiasm or joy.”

As I continued to write everything spiralled dismally out of control. I checked myself and realised that if I didn’t want to read my miserable shit then no one else would; so I shelved it.

The birth of Baby Sponge has reminded me of those happy feelings, those awe-inspiring moments, the hard graft and the sense of achievement. But before I could start getting too soppy I had to spend the morning with an emotionally-detached, armed-robber. Oh well, nothing like jail to bring a girl back down to earth.............



5 comments:

  1. I agree. PG sucks. I wholeheartedly agree with all your points on the Victoria Sponge post. I didn't face my 2nd pg with much glee either. But my 2nd boys is a joy (*cough - ok, so he is a little sod and at times the bane of my life...but he has his moments). I have 2 friends who are pg with their 3rd (bonkers, the pair of them) and another friend who has just had her 2nd baby - and there is something so miraculous about new babies that you can almost see a glimmer of the point of it all. Glad you saw that glimmer today. Long may it last!

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  2. all I can say is.. thank god for Shadrach. But on another note...just thinkg of the copious amounts of alcohol and shit food you can consume once it's all over.... sorry.. i've got nothinge. PG sucks like an aboslute bitch, don't get me started.
    x

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  3. I think, planned or not, it's difficult getting excited about a pregnancy early on. Too sick, too much chance of it going wrong, too much of the "oh shit will I cope." I hope this will get better for you.

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  4. I am an anomaly: I loved being pregnant, had no sickness or other issues, and was besotted with my babies, and quite frankly would have had more except Other Half threatened divorce...

    Of course working full time both throughout pregnancy and since has helped preserve my sanity, so maybe I am bonkers after all.

    LCM x

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  5. i was so happy to see that you were robbed, or involved somehow in something ARMED. things were starting to get a touch mushy and i was beginning to doubt you.

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