50,483 Words
I've been editing again, hence the odd word count.
A funny day, this: it's usually here that I'm a writer, rather than a mum; it's in this room that I forget about washing the PE kit and what time pottery club finishes; I forget about nappies and 5-a-day and concentrate on what's inside my head, but today the two halves of me are inseparable. My friend V has just texted me that she's pregnant again. She has one daughter, the same age as my little Tabby. I should be happy because I already have two beautiful girls. I should be happy because she is a little older than me and was semi-secretly afraid that it might not be so easy the second time around. I should be happy because I don't want another baby just yet - I want to do this, for a while longer. I should be happy because my husband's controversial vasectomy seems to have failed so at least I have the possibility of another child, at some point. I should be happy because I hope that V might ask me again to be godmother, and I have liked having that connection to V's little girl. It was just a wobbly moment, I hope, when I felt like sitting down, just where I was at the side of the road, and crying. The funny thing was the idea that consoled me: I thought to myself Well I'm on this diet now. As long as I am shrinking as she is growing, I'll feel okay. I was shocked at myself at first, and have tried to fathom the reason for this odd mode of thinking which, however strange, seems no less true to me now than when it first popped into my head. Perhaps it is that I must make a change in my life, in order not to feel stagnant, left behind, boring even; there are many possible changes: I might get a part-time job, I might even get published, but dieting is something I can control - for certain. I have heard the theory of eating disorders as responses to a world one feels one cannot control, and today I agree.
A
A funny day, this: it's usually here that I'm a writer, rather than a mum; it's in this room that I forget about washing the PE kit and what time pottery club finishes; I forget about nappies and 5-a-day and concentrate on what's inside my head, but today the two halves of me are inseparable. My friend V has just texted me that she's pregnant again. She has one daughter, the same age as my little Tabby. I should be happy because I already have two beautiful girls. I should be happy because she is a little older than me and was semi-secretly afraid that it might not be so easy the second time around. I should be happy because I don't want another baby just yet - I want to do this, for a while longer. I should be happy because my husband's controversial vasectomy seems to have failed so at least I have the possibility of another child, at some point. I should be happy because I hope that V might ask me again to be godmother, and I have liked having that connection to V's little girl. It was just a wobbly moment, I hope, when I felt like sitting down, just where I was at the side of the road, and crying. The funny thing was the idea that consoled me: I thought to myself Well I'm on this diet now. As long as I am shrinking as she is growing, I'll feel okay. I was shocked at myself at first, and have tried to fathom the reason for this odd mode of thinking which, however strange, seems no less true to me now than when it first popped into my head. Perhaps it is that I must make a change in my life, in order not to feel stagnant, left behind, boring even; there are many possible changes: I might get a part-time job, I might even get published, but dieting is something I can control - for certain. I have heard the theory of eating disorders as responses to a world one feels one cannot control, and today I agree.
A
posted by WorkingOnABook at 1:05 pm
1 Comments:
The most touching and profound thing you have written in the blog. I check up on your progress regularly and today this really touched me.
Keep the words coming and I'm sure the deal will come too.
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