Moata's Blog Idle
What colours are you wearing today?
If you're a man-person are you clothed in some variant of blue? Ladies, are you a riot of pink?
Maybe you are... but then again, it's just as likely that you're in green, or red or grey or that old trusty fallback option, black. You have options, is all I'm saying.
But when it comes to baby wear the lines are very firmly drawn. At least in terms of gender.
This is something that I was vaguely aware of before but since becoming the kind of person who actually has a reason to frequent shops that sell baby paraphernalia (rather than someone who would occasionally cruise in, get gooey at the sight of tiny little socks, and leave without buying anything) I now see how strictly gendered baby clothing is.
Today the second week of "no going to work" for me draws to an end. In that time I've discovered that napping is not just good but essential, I should not be scared for/of my boobs, and if I keep eating icecream at my current rate of ingestion the baby will be born, as if in some sort of confectionary homage to Anne Geddes, in a giant waffle cone.
All good information to have, I'm sure you'll agree.
But life is full of other interesting nuggets... and I have photos!
First off, I've been making good inroads into getting the Christmas shopping done before Te Squishy arrives. Sometimes when I'm out and and about I see things that make me think of a particular person. Take the following, for instance.
Spare a thought, if you will, for my boobs.
Euwh, not that kind of thought.
Allow me to rephrase that. A little sympathy, people, for my boobs.
For the entirety of their existence they've had very little to do. Flirting. Getting swift service at bars. Restricting the kinds of outfits I could wrangle myself into. These were the only real functions they had. They were purely decorative and I don't want to sound like a braggard but I was extremely happy with how they performed in that regard. Nice one, girls. Lookin' good.
When you think about it, considering what they're actually for, it's a bit strange that we consider boobs as sexy.
I miss you like sushi. And my waist. And stretches of sleep that lasted 7 hours. And having a deep and cavernous belly-button, the mysteries of which could only be guessed at.
Mind you, I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. In fact, all things being equal, if you asked me to choose between a california roll and a chardonnay right now I'd probably go for the crab meat. I'm as surprised by this as anyone.
What I didn't realise before I got pregnant was just how much pregnant women have to drink, generally. You may not be encouraged to "eat for two"* but when it comes to liquid intake it's a great time to get your (non-alcoholic) drink on because if human beings are generally "ugly giant bags of mostly water" then the pregnant are even more so. After all you have several extra kilos of blood and amniotic fluid to produce, not to mention the lovely watery cushioning you apparently need for your ankles, too. Maintaining all this requires drinking a lot, mainly water though I like to mix it up a bit with a ginger beer or diet soft drink.
This is my first real period as a non-drinker (in the boozy definition of the word) for, well, almost my entire adult life but I still like to go out and socialise (socialising without booze, it is actually possible!). I'm given to understand that my opportunities for bar-hopping will be few and far between in a month or so, so I'm making the most of it and the Silver Fox and I have been dining out a bit.
|The Poet Chatterton - Auckland Art Gallery Toi o Tāmaki|
I mean, what the hell was Bohemian Rhapsody on about? I don't know and I'm sure if it were a poem I'd have gladly passed it by with nary a "no, I won't do the fandango, thanks very much". But chuck a bit of guitar in it and it's a headbanging good time, suddenly.
Which is just my way of saying that I'm aware that my "stance" (if you could call it that) on poetry is pretty much based on nothing but my own laziness. Frankly, poems have a tendency to make you work a bit harder. Get my nuance, they seem to say. My meaning may not be clear... or maybe there just isn't any, I'll never tell.
But sometimes prose just doesn't cut it and so this morning I found myself actually writing a poem. I feel like this is something I should apologise for, but in typical fashion it is very much a straightforward sort of a thing, and probably won't have you questioning the nature of existence or free will. Maybe I'll cover that tomorrow.
Ankles: A poem
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