If my life were like the pages of a women’s magazine, today would herald a new year AND a new me. But I won’t start 2007 by slinging off my vices as I don’t have a whole lot of interesting ones to refrain from. No, my life in 2007 will be radically different, not because I’m about to change my ways but because I’m about to reproduce.
In July 2005 I emigrated from London to Vancouver. Four months later, I’d moved into a house in North Vancouver. Now I’m preparing to fill that house with the smell of poo, shrieking and chaos.
I’m under no illusions. I’ve spent the last 12 years watching friends drop their own sprogs and I have a memory deposit box in my brain overflowing with stories of agonizing birth dramas, nappy mishaps, sleep deprived hysteria and the general zombified gruesomeness that early parenthood entails. Which is why I’ve waited until the age of 40 to get going on my genetic heritage.
A bit cavalier to leave it this late I know but my mother had her fourth child at 38 and my overweight, KFC munching sister also had an accident at the age of 38 so I figured my ovaries were good til then. Waiting for the glacial Canadian immigration service held things up for a few more years but I have ownership of a super-virile English gent and my biological clockwork seems to be powered by long-life batteries, so didn’t have to resort to desperate measures.
So, I’ll be writing about impending motherhood, making a life as a new immigrant in Canada, reminiscences of the UK and other odds and ends of life that grab my attention from the wonderful wilds of Vancouver’s North Shore.
Welcome to my blog
YB
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