To do lists.

Phone contract, suspended.
Car insurance, cancelled.
Travel insurance, purchased.

I am really going. Really, really, really, really going. On THURSDAY. Which is a mere 3 days away. What to pack? Nail polish? Books? My most favourite painting in the world? Or sensible things like maternity clothes and How to Make the Baby Stop Crying So You Don't Go Insane for Dummies? A mixture of the two.

I have no idea what I am going to do once i get there. I mean, I know the first week will be sleeping, re acquainting myself with the landscape and calling out "hello there!!" to all the locals across the fields. And then fast forward 5 months and it will be all breast feeding and watching reality TV at 3am. But the in between bit is kind of a blur between strolling through the garden like something out of the Darling Buds of May and joining the Country Women's Association simply because THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO DO.
I can see a few home hair cuts and some extremely abstract art taking place during this period. Perhaps i shall learn to bake and knit and harvest the crops. Or maybe i will just work on my Welsh accent so i can say these thing convincingly. OR I could finally write a book despite the fact my brain has turned into a field of forget me nots which i keep, inevitably, forgetting.