Tonight we are going to see My Bloody Valentine perform live in Camden. My ex-inner-Goth of 1995 is currently doing cartwheels (in her grave - depressing cartwheels of death).
I actually cannot wait, even though I feel as though I’ve swallowed month-old baloney and gasoline.
This morning, though, I woke to several strong assertions made by that formerly dormant drill sergeant that is my Ego, namely:
- You are not dying, so stop acting like it!
- Nothing worth having comes easy, so:
- Stop eating junk
- Walk like you mean it
- Instead of going easy on yourself, go hard
Because ultimately
- Even if you crash and burn, eventually your body will catch up with your new attitude, and that can only make things better.
You can’t argue with good sense, so today I packed orange slices, cherries, bananas and low-fat cheese sandwiches, and virtually ran the 20 minutes it takes to reach the Metro by foot.
I got off at Waterloo as usual, charging up the South Bank with such purpose that I managed to forget for 40 whole seconds that I’m nearly 3 months pregnant.
And you know - I don’t feel any worse than I typically do these days, so that’s something! And we’ve decided to scrap getting to the show on time for the opening act, which means that I can still come home after work and nap before heading out for a late(er than usual) evening.
Take that, morning sickness!
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3 comments:
Did you really talk to your self in that slightly odd football coach way? I believe the second trimester is all bliss and glow, so you can take yourself aside and tell yourself how grouse you are instead. I feel completely involved and happy for you: how absurd, but lovely.
Run like you stole something: or something.
Mrs Slocombe, your comments always make me SOL (smile out loud). Thanks for staying involved and happy - it makes a big difference to hear these things when I'm feeling up, down or generally weirded-out about my predicament.
Go, mama!
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