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.

Goodbyes.

Goodbye to my favourite barista who gives me free coffee and tells me about his evenings at the Greyhound.
Goodbye to my work friends and all the outfit descriptions (shoes, Sportsgirl. Scarf, models own.)
Goodbye to my little niece who thinks seagulls are called sea girls and loves nothing more than barbie and stickers.
Goodbye my car that stinks of flood water and general grossness.
Goodbye my sisters, i carry your hearts in my heart.
Goodbye to my nephew and all our gun battles and lolly sharing.
Goodbye to the beach
Goodbye to the Australian accent
Goodbye to my parents (for the next three weeks.)

Goodbye to my empty bed.
Goodbye to skyping at 7am every morning and goodbye to running late to work every day.

Here's a painting of my village:



It's so much more beautiful in real life (the village, not the painting.)

5 more days!!

Alone

As the youngest of three very strong, opinionated, passionate and somewhat enthusiastic in the participatory sense (ie, we interfere in each others lives) sisters, i have never really had the occasion to feel alone. I break my arm at four, my sister carries me to the house, first day of school, there they both are in matching uniforms to mine. We've seen each other through countless breakups, nights out, tears and teasings for 30 long years.
Sure, we've all travelled....and then we travelled right back to our family home to share bedrooms and secrets and secret eye rolling towards our parents. We've grown in different directions. Paths shaped by family, careers, passions and partners. But our paths always loop back to each other and the safety of looking two other people in the eye and knowing they (usually) get it and even if they don't, they have your back anyway. Unless you are currently in an argument in which case they are on the phone to the other one stabbing you in it until you see each other 24 hours later and wonder what all the fuss was about.

And now suddenly, i am to be without them? Excuse me?
Next week, I'm getting on a plane. Alone. To travel to a foreign country. Alone. To have a BABY. ALONE.

I never imagined I would be having a baby without my two sisters right beside me. Literally, beside me. The face of the father was always a little blurry in these imagining (handsome, capable, luscious) but the faces of the women who would hold that little baby and introduce it to its cousins? Those faces have been clear as day since my dad bundled me into the waiting room and told them they had a baby sister.

My sisters are my family.

And now, I have a new family. A tiny family of me, Welsh, and lifetime of promise in my belly. He sent me a text message the other day; "I just bought you some vegemite!!" He's over in Wales, painting our house, buying furniture and sourcing cots and god knows what else and he goes to the supermarket to buy me vegemite, so that when i open the cupboard on my first morning there, it will feel like home. I think of Welsh and vegemite toast and the baby in my tummy and suddenly, I no longer feel alone.

Fate, Destiny and Safeway.

I just ran into an ex work colleague's wife in the supermarket. When i mentioned i am moving to Wales, she told me she had lived there for three years and loved it. Apart from the weather. The last time I saw her was the night I met Welsh and a few months later her husband offered me an incredible job, just when I had decided to go to Wales. Oh and she had a baby in a foreign country with none of her family around her. I feel like she is quite central to my story, without even knowing it. You see, I used to nanny for her sister in law when we struck up a friendship of sorts. Then I met her husband and we started working together on a photography project with young mums. I ended up working with him fulltime for a couple of years. Then the organisation we were working for was taken over by a new boss. I gotmarriedquitmyjobseperatedfrommyhusband and then that boss had a birthday party which is where i met Welshy.

Oh and I am having dinner with her and my ex work colleague on Tuesday night. They have just moved house. She wrote her address down on a piece of paper and as I walked to my car, I glanced at it. I shouldn't be surprised, but i was; Wales St.

I forgot to tell you something

My divorce hearing has been scheduled for the 30th of June. I, of course, will be getting fat in Wales by then but will celebrate the day with some sort of mocktail and a folate pill.
So by my maths, I will be divorced by August one. Fancy that.

Knock knock. Who's there? Boo. Boo who? No need to cry, it's only a joke.

What the effing crap is up with these fricking baby hormones? I get it okay? I get that i need them to do....well, stuff i guess. Actually, on second thoughts, what is their real purpose? Apart from making me break down every time i accidently watch SBS, i mean. I saw the last five minutes of Australian Story this afternoon. BIG mistake.

I cry at the news, I cry at masterchef and yes my friends, I even cry at Dancing with the Stars. I bawled at Britains Got Talent whilst in Wales and continued to blub when i saw the Australian version. The people were trying so hard and some of them were so talented and it was touching and moving and profoundly inspiring! Not inspiring to me, you understand. I am too exhausted and baby brained to even consider doing....that thing...you know, that thing with the movement and the smiling...oh you know what i mean...dancing! Yes, I have always liked dancing. What were we talking about again?

I've turned into my mum. I have turned. into. my. mum.

I just booked a flight.

And now i am getting scared. The "what ifs" and the middle of the night dread is starting to creep its' way into my optimism. I have had too much time to think about this. To consider the impact it will have on my life. To enjoy all the things i am leaving behind.....

However. It is time to move forward. It is time to be brave and remember that this is an adventure. This little life of mine has always been interesting and i suppose this is the next chapter. The one called The Year I Moved to Wales and Had a Small Baby. But it's scary right? Leaving everything i know and love behind and shacking up with a Welshman. Jebus Jebus. Luckily this particular welshman is sweet and kind and has spent the last week buying furniture for our home and digging out a vegetable garden. Bless. I really like vegetables and i read somewhere that you should sometimes feed them to your kid too. You know, just for a change from ice cream.

I'm looking forward to the fresh air. To the quiet. To the slower pace and the easy smiles. Wales to me is Welsh sipping tea in the mornings. His nieces' tiny hand curling into mine as we wander down a lane. Kicking water at each other in a stream until we are all wet and laughing like something out of an OMO ad. The wild violets and the tame lambs. Oh, it's so beautiful there. So, so beautiful. You should see the sky at night. Unbelievable.

So on the 9th of June I will go to Bangkok (possibly have a massage) and then arrive in London at 7.15am (my Visa starts that very day and i don't want to miss Welsh for even a day longer than i have to.)

It's crazy really, isn't it? It's crazy.