27.08.17: Probably not a Millennial

I've just realised that I'm old. I suppose I knew this already; I know theoretically I'm not a teenager anymore, and I'm aware that I only get ID'd maybe once a year, but still, I get nervous making phone calls and I know the name of Zalfie's pug*, so I figured I must be a millennial at least.

Mates, I was in denial.

This weekend we went to Victorious Festival in Portsmouth (which was great, and a bargain) and the demographic was basically split into two: families, and groups of 12-25 year olds. And, looking around, I realised that I DONT UNDERSTAND THE YOUTH. Also my 23 week pregnancy belly made it pretty clear which demographic I slotted into (and I imagine the resulting child will make it even clearer).

The line up consisted mainly of bands I used to love. And by 'love' I mean 'obsess over in the way that only a 19 year old who doesn't have an actual job to occupy her time can'. As I watched Franz Ferdinand, Maximo Park, Elbow, Field Music, Pete Doherty and Stereophonics from the safe middle of the crowd, I reflected on the 'crushing my ribs against the barrier' days of yore and how things have changed. Or not. I still know all the words, I'm still pretty obsessed with the bands, and they were still excellent.** They haven't changed that much, I haven't changed that much, and that's the whole point really.

The things I like are not that cool. I am not a Millennial. Except for the phone calls thing; that's totally valid. Totally legit. I meant legit. 

*I respect but pretty much hate Zalfie so maybe I'm better off not being a real millennial.

**Except maybe Pete Doherty, who is still good but also...just say no, kids.

25.08.17: One Day at a Time

I have a new mantra: one day at a time. I've been repeating it to myself somewhat dogmatically for days, probably more out of necessity than some kind of spiritual rebirth.

Pete's been a moving hero this week; doing the bulk of the packing and moving our stuff into the new house in Bristol. I am pretty much squatting in my own flat now while I work my last few weeks at work; it's just me, an airbed and an armchair we bought from Gumtree. I'm pretty confident no-one died in it, but you can never be 100% sure about these things. The baby is doing well, the anomaly scan was anomaly-free and we know the sex. So that's all getting somewhat real.

The upshot of all that is that change is afoot. And if I think too hard about that my mind kind of races into the future and I'm basically staring into the abyss. Which leaves me a choice: fall into the abyss (been there, it's messy and dark) or take things one day at a time.

One day at a time it is. Turns out things are much easier if you're not constantly imagining a horrifying future. Huh.

Everything Changes But You

The last, say, 15 years of my life have been fairly eventful. To be fair, most people could say the same about themselves between the ages of 16 and 31; it's rarely a boring time. In my own particular case, I've had 14 homes, 10 jobs, two husbands, six hospital admissions, three family bereavements, I've visited 20 new countries, and studied at four universities.

And there's a lot more change in the offing; if everything goes to plan the next six months will see us relocate to Bristol and *gulp* have a baby. So yeah, my life is currently one big festival of trying not to freak out about change.

Despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, I find it comforting to remember the things that haven't changed. So, some things I still have in common with 15 year old Liz:

I love:
Salt and vinegar crisps.

Fruit. All the fruit.
Brushed cotton duvet covers/soft blankets/duvets in general (nothing can hurt you under the duvet, right?)

Laughing until I can't breathe (usually at animals/people falling over).

Dancing like an idiot.
Making lists (case in point).

I hate:
Branston Pickle.
Arrogant men (I guess it was boys back then).

I need:
Validation (although I can sometimes do this for myself now).
At least eight hours sleep a night.

I can:
Sleep through pretty much anything (thunderstorms, earthquakes).
Do some excellent, if slightly niche, impressions (a frozen chicken, Deirdre Barlow, a monkey).

Drop things, spill things, lose things and trip over things with almost unbelievable regularity.

If you need me I'll be in my duvet eating crisps and pretending everything's staying exactly the same and it's not scary at all. Yep. It's all gonna be fine. Completely fine. 

Marmaris: A Holiday Scrapbook

A few weeks ago Pete and I looked at our calendars, took into account expiring passports, annual leave allowances, the unpredictability of third trimester pregnancy, and impeding relocation, and realised the window during which we could go on a child-free holiday together was closing. So after some extensive online searching (seriously, it's like the Thomson website doesn't actually want you to buy a holiday) we booked an all-inclusive week in Turkey. Lounging around a resort for a week isn't usually my bag, but I feel like I'd reached a stage in life/pregnancy/my stress levels where the thought of lying down, eating, reading and swimming for a week was ridiculously appealing.

Said week of lounging means that there isn't really enough physical evidence for one of my usual scrapbooking projects, so you get a blog post instead (you lucky things). Some photos, thoughts and memories:

This was probably the most relaxing holiday I've ever had. Even after the first day I felt completely calm and chilled out. I'm writing this on the last day (view from balcony above) and it's seriously an effort to keep my head up.

One morning I woke up to the sound of Pete's phone vibrating. I obviously jumped to the immediate conclusion that something awful had happened and promptly started freaking out. Turned out I'd actually missed all the drama: in the night I'd apparently open my eyes, looked at Pete, told him not to be silly and gone back to sleep. I am not the person you want by your side during an earthquake (but if you know me, you probably knew that already).

Sunsets and the sea and just beautiful, really, aren't they?

All inclusive slush puppies are almost the one. Obviously air con is the actual one though.

Watching the fish through our epic full-face snorkel.

Pete eating three starters (two were a 'heroic' attempt to save me from banned cheese and raw fish, the other one was...arguably unjustified).

I can't be too smug on the overeating front though; my baklava obsession reached new, syrup-soaked heights.

Spending actual quality time with Pete. It's weird how you can live with someone and still feel like you don't really spend enough time together.

Kicking Pete's ass at cards. Well, at the time of this scorecard I was kicking his ass. I don't think you need to know how it ended.

Sometimes it's important just to be. To listen to yourself and just do what you want to do at that moment.