My children mean the world to me, but the world just got shoved along to the side of the bed, with slightly less duvet and a cold shoulder exposed. Sorry world. There’s a new guy in town, and he’s making his presence known by eating up the space in my belly, my bed and my clothes. And he makes me look ridiculous in a dressing gown.
So, August 30th continued, I return home to Daz, still sobbing at the realisation of the wee (ha ha, what a pun) pink parallel lines I’d been presented with 5 minutes earlier. For some bizarre ludicrous reason I park around the back of the house, and battle my way through our broken back gate, stumbling over muddy lumps and bumps and past three curious chickens to the back door. I assume I did this due to the massive ‘I’M PREGNANT’ flashing beacon above my head, which I didn’t want to broadcast to the street. I’m at the bottom of the stairs, he at the top. I mumble something about ‘It’s positive’ incoherently, which Daz manages to decipher and, within a beat, assumes I am joking. The next ten seconds were straight out of a soap opera, and I wait for the drum solo that leads to the closing credits of EastEnders. No such luck.
Twenty four hours later, we are sat opposite one another in a pizza establishment, looking for the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle in our Vegetarianas. Of course we would have the baby, that was without question. I already loved the cheeky blighter – fancy that, you clever little bunch of cells! Nature is a flaming, complete and utter miracle. But that missing puzzle piece was the bit that told us how we would do it, along with home school, house busting at the seams, businesses, other houses to do up and rent, actual ‘Emerald Lodge’ being built, writing….generally just getting by. I’d excitedly given away all of our baby gumpf (I do like that word) over the last year, and having geared up for a future of day trips, exploration and holidays, were we now putting everything in reverse, popping the home school juggernaut in the garage and hiding behind closed doors for 18 months?
Fast forward four months, and we are now in 2016. The year of the house. I have named it so, as the house needs to be our focus, for the sake of our family. Belts (apart from mine) will be pulled in. Money earmarked for the next summer holiday has been released into general funds. The garage will be converted to a cool space for the boys and their toys, so that we can reclaim some of the space in the dining and living room, as well as using it as a more functional home educating space. The office will eventually be little boy wonder’s abode. The office stuff will find a home in the lodge, which will be built this year once the ground is stable enough for Daz to put the footings in. The wet summer, autumn and winter, and the sloping estate that culminates in our ‘lake garden’ has put paid to any progress as far as the lodge is concerned. Finally, we will eat into the mighty garden to extend the space right along the back of the house, though this project has to come last on the list, as this will require borrowed funds! Home is our castle, and the castle needs to accommodate the four princes, and allow their servants (that’s me and thee Daz) a comfortable existence. Somewhere in the distance, I can imagine hazy-edged Christmases sprawled out in an echoey palatial space, a table that goes on forever where all my nearest and dearest can dance about their chairs decadently, where Kevin McCloud does his sycophantic summing up of our brave new build standing in his tweed jacket outside the lodge, but realistically, I can’t wait to see our lovely minecraft house swelling out a bit as it fills with the sound of boys running, screaming, dancing, playing, fighting and just generally breathing life into every square inch. And just like the great mystical god L’Oreal said, they’re worth it.