In which I woke up at 4am because my body knew I had to get up at 5am.
In which I flew from Melbourne to Sydney and, when I arrived, the sun was high just like I remember it always being in Sydney and I thought all those Wettest Season Ever claims must have been imagined.
In which I had toast and tea with my parents in a cafe in my old neighbourhood of Surry Hills, and it was oh so familiar but also not.
In which I realised that yet another place no longer felt like home, but that I was ok with that.
In which my dad and I roamed around The Rocks taking photographs, and my mother exercised the patience of a saint.
In which on seeing the photograph of myself at the top of this post, I realised I really should invest in some actual maternity clothes.
In which I devoured a Thai lemongrass and basil stir-fry for lunch, and the chilli gave Baby B the hiccups.
In which my parents, just returned from China, brought back a bounty of cute outfits for Baby B, and a hand-engraved ink stamp with Mr B's and my name and the symbol for 'love' to celebrate our first anniversary.
In which my friend Sarah and I met up in Chinatown for noodles and dumplings and green tea icecream.
In which the owner of the noodles and dumpling place came outside and played his violin for the crowd while we waited for a table.
In which Sarah and I had one of those brilliant creative brainstorms during which everything fit into place.
In which I watched incredibly bad reality TV in bed in my hotel room, and it was an unspeakable luxury.
In which I flew from Melbourne to Sydney and, when I arrived, the sun was high just like I remember it always being in Sydney and I thought all those Wettest Season Ever claims must have been imagined.
In which I had toast and tea with my parents in a cafe in my old neighbourhood of Surry Hills, and it was oh so familiar but also not.
In which I realised that yet another place no longer felt like home, but that I was ok with that.
In which my dad and I roamed around The Rocks taking photographs, and my mother exercised the patience of a saint.
In which on seeing the photograph of myself at the top of this post, I realised I really should invest in some actual maternity clothes.
In which I devoured a Thai lemongrass and basil stir-fry for lunch, and the chilli gave Baby B the hiccups.
In which my parents, just returned from China, brought back a bounty of cute outfits for Baby B, and a hand-engraved ink stamp with Mr B's and my name and the symbol for 'love' to celebrate our first anniversary.
In which my friend Sarah and I met up in Chinatown for noodles and dumplings and green tea icecream.
In which the owner of the noodles and dumpling place came outside and played his violin for the crowd while we waited for a table.
In which Sarah and I had one of those brilliant creative brainstorms during which everything fit into place.
In which I watched incredibly bad reality TV in bed in my hotel room, and it was an unspeakable luxury.
In which I caught a taxi out to Rozelle in the morning, and the driver was actually friendly and knew the way.
In which I sipped chai tea and fresh juice with my friend Cara, and we shared our lives on fast-forward.
In which the 3 Weeds was closed when we arrived, and I had to submit to the indignity of being a pregnant woman loitering on a pub stoop.
In which at 12:05pm the pub opened, and we headed toward the back where Cara and Sarah had booked a private room just for me and my friends.
In which I proceeded to sit like a fat, round queen bee for the next five hours while my friends dropped in as the afternoon suited them, to say hi.
In which my mum made a black forest cake for Baby B and it was sublime (and very cute).
In which I was thankful, not for the first time or even the 100th time, for the wonderful friendships I have, and that love trumps distance.
In which, while waiting for my plane, I realised I'd miss dinnertime and that was not a good thing while pregnant, so I ordered airport McDonalds.
In which regret became not a strong enough word.
In which all the staff at Virgin Airlines were super sweet about my baby bump, and even the security-check staff got all excited for me and Baby B.
In which Mr B was waiting for me at the gate, the dog and cat spilled out of the front door in a frenzy of love when I arrived home, and the house wasn't QUITE as bachelor-messy as I had feared.
How was your weekend?
In which I sipped chai tea and fresh juice with my friend Cara, and we shared our lives on fast-forward.
In which the 3 Weeds was closed when we arrived, and I had to submit to the indignity of being a pregnant woman loitering on a pub stoop.
In which at 12:05pm the pub opened, and we headed toward the back where Cara and Sarah had booked a private room just for me and my friends.
In which I proceeded to sit like a fat, round queen bee for the next five hours while my friends dropped in as the afternoon suited them, to say hi.
In which my mum made a black forest cake for Baby B and it was sublime (and very cute).
In which I was thankful, not for the first time or even the 100th time, for the wonderful friendships I have, and that love trumps distance.
In which, while waiting for my plane, I realised I'd miss dinnertime and that was not a good thing while pregnant, so I ordered airport McDonalds.
In which regret became not a strong enough word.
In which all the staff at Virgin Airlines were super sweet about my baby bump, and even the security-check staff got all excited for me and Baby B.
In which Mr B was waiting for me at the gate, the dog and cat spilled out of the front door in a frenzy of love when I arrived home, and the house wasn't QUITE as bachelor-messy as I had feared.
How was your weekend?
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