Me with nothing to say, and you in your autumn sweater

My heart has been filled with joy for the past couple of weeks as the leaves turn and the nights draw in. I love summer. I love long days and wearing one item of clothing at a time and beer gardens and, more recently, watching my son run around in water features. I don’t love any of that as much as I love autumn. I am literally having more and more of a love affair with this season every year. The older I get the more I yearn for it. So, I just wanted to do a fairly pointless, chatty blog about why I love autumn.

  1. Staying in guilt-free. Who else feels bad the second the sun comes out and you’re still in comfies on the sofa? I do. I mean I’m a mum so I’m predisposed to feel guilty about every choice I make but this guilt shines into my living room when I’m curled up with a vlog and shouts “GET UP YOU LAZY SLAG!” until I do. I need staying in at the moment, more than ever before. I’m trying to set up my own business whilst caring for Cass full time and that, I have come to learn, is flippin difficult. He’s getting funnier and more joyous and more interesting by the hour but goodness me he’s grabbing toddlerdom with both hands and really sinking his precious few teeth into the matter. I.e. he’s fucking impossible a lot of the time. So work has to be shoehorned into “free moments”, whatever they are. I’ve also been in pain for approximately 6 months now, maybe more. I won’t shit on about it but it’s chronic pelvic pain and I’ve had so many nurses, GPs, gynaecologists, oncologists and radiologists in my foof in the past few months that I now just automatically drop trou if I get even a slight whiff of TCP, so probably best I don’t go out much.
  2. Halloween and bonfire night. Who doesn’t like an excuse to eat sweets, dress like a hot goth and watch fireworks? Two great nights within a week of each other – we’re so lucky.
  3. Everything feels like a rom com. Gritty, edgy, arty films seem always to be set in high summer with the heat adding to tensions and all the bare skin and the tattoos and the sexy violence…etc. But if I want to feel like my life is some sexless, cosy, charming Nora Ephron dream (and I do), I need autumn. I need tights and boots and and a big scarf. I need to crunch through leaves and gaze longingly at premature Christmas windows. I need to clutch both hands around a hot chocolate and watch on old movie on my cushion and blanket laden sofa. And when I say ‘old movie’ I mean something from the early 2000s, not the boring stuff from way way back.

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    I put conkers in my fireplace. No reason. Just feeling twee af rn. 
  4. You can be candlelit by 19:00 hours. One of the things that annoys me most about summer is that, save for getting blackout blinds in the bathroom, I cannot have a candlelit bath until about 10pm. It’s a pathetic problem that isn’t even a problem but I’m a pathetic human being and I need my bath bombs to go off in optimal lighting.
  5. Strictly. My heart sings the second the Strictly Come Dancing rumours begin. I think I have pathological nostalgia. I am permanently recalling comforting moments, sounds, and smells from the past. My dreams always seem to revolve around some familiar setting from my child/teenhood and then I go on to think about my dreams all day! I’m dogged by reminiscence and I’d love to know if other people get this too. Well Strictly puts me in mind of so many happy times. Watching it with friends before going out to a pub/club in my early twenties or sat with my mum and a good glass of wine and some nibbles in our living room in Cov. It’s not just the sparkles and the lifts, it’s the comfort and the cuddle, the televisual cuddle, I get from watching the show on a Saturday night.

There’re probably a dozen other reasons, at least, but those are my big dogs. For the next few months, when Trump is winding up the North Koreans or the Tories cut another fundamental service I will simply light a scented candle, clutch my oversized mug of coco and gawk lovingly at Karen Clifton’s legs. I mean footwork. Ahem.

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I Miss My Birth

No not my birth. I don’t remember that. I miss Cass’s birth. But it was mine, it was the most mine thing I’ve ever had or done. I may have ended up in theatre, numb from the waist down with thirty medical professionals surrounding me but I still think of it as my achievement. The longing I feel for that time – those last moments of pregnancy, the transition from pregnant to parent – is a deep ache that I hadn’t anticipated at all. And although there’s a part of me that is definitely feeling a brood again, it’s not necessarily wanting a second child. It’s this strange and confusing need to revisit that scene, when Cass came into our world. I had the most intense sense of purpose and, although I’ve always always wanted children, I didn’t know just how powerful that new meaning in life would be. It blew me away.

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I gave birth in an intense August heatwave. I drank ALL the icy orange squash and danced to Beyonce to try and get the baby to come out. FUN.

I’ve been watching One Born Every Minute and thinking about my future a lot. From the second I met our student midwife I felt a niggle in the back of mind telling me ‘You could do that!’ but having started and not finished a few different professional training courses I didn’t want to run into anything too hastily. However, my favourite jobs have always been those in which I get to work directly with people, helping and supporting young people and families. I think it’s time for me to return to a position in that gives me that purpose again. I might never be able to recreate the magic and awe that struck me a year ago at Cass’s birth but I can certainly be there for other women and help them feel the energy and strength that labour gave me. I know it doesn’t work that way for every woman and the number of new mums with PTSD from traumatic births is probably higher than we even realise. But my experience had panic, trauma and lots of blood and I would, without a doubt, do it all over again. Every woman deserves to miss her birth, I want to help make that happen.

I’ve got a plan, but unlike my birthing plan, I think this one might work out 🙂