I have come home to my mother to slow down for a little while. Goodness knows I have needed this, with just five weeks of pregnancy left and a much awaited family wedding to celebrate in between, the time between now and “D-Day” grows ever shorter. There’s still so much to prepare for but, perhaps as this is my second, I don’t feel quite as frantic about it as before. It will all get done. Eventually.
Last week nesting kicked in in the garden. I waited til dark, stripped to my underwear and spent a good hour weeding, pruning and watering in the balmy night air. Not a pretty picture but let me tell you it was heavenly. No one to see me or engage me in unnecessary bump chatter (I am huge and yes, thank you, I’m aware that I’m “all out front”) and I could marvel at the stars and listen to our resident fox rustling in the bushes next door.
And now a few days of pottering are in order for me and our son with family in Suffolk whilst my husband finishes painting our living space a clean, bright white.
I love to come home, always. Despite all my protestations as an angry teen to escape this place, I spent the rest of my twenties happily returning to it or trying to recreate a surrogate in our own home. The house is filled with a heady scent of lilies-my mother’s favourites left over from her birthday, which stand majestically on the worn and battered kitchen table.
There’s always the slow and steady sound of a clock ticking in the house, quite mesmerising when the rest of the house is quiet and a faithful heartbeat when it’s not. I can take my time here, there’s no rush, no strict routine to cling to and I can enjoy my own company for a while. I got my hair cut for the first time in months and I already feel like a new person, not the pregnant frump I was before but the old Tiff who had a little style and a gorgeous wardrobe before comfort and practicality took over.
I think being allowed the chance to take a step back and re-evaluate life every once in a while is invaluable, especially as someone who doesn’t like to mentally sit still for long (physically I’m too heavy and tired to move!!) my mind is always working over-time, pushing myself on to the next thing. I am my own worst enemy at times.
I’m already planning ahead to the end of my sort-of maternity leave (because it doesn’t really exist when you’re self-employed!) and to new and exciting projects and shoots towards the end of the year. I’ve been in so much denial these past eight months, to the point at which I found myself on the phone to Kitchens & Bathrooms magazine for an assistant stylist job for some shopping pages at six months gone. What was I thinking?! Really, I ought to be focusing on how we’ll all settle in as a family of four and try to get my head around being a mother to a three year old and a newborn. What I want to be doing though, is painting the house from top to bottom, up-cycling some worn bits of furniture we have that I can’t let go of just yet and baking like a demon. One thing at a time Tiff.
I’d love to know-how do you recharge your batteries? Is it something you reserve for your holiday or do you try to do it more regularly? Is there somewhere in particular you like to go?.