Well. That backlog of blogs hasn't seemed to resolve itself, much to my disappointment. I blame Breaking Bad.
Aaaaaaanyway, after the disappointment of having to miss out on R&B's wedding in Jamaica this year, the CG and I decided that a mini break was still much needed, and opted for something a little cheaper and closer to home: Sicily.
We started dubbing our upcoming trip the "baby-making holiday" - mainly because it meant mum stopped nagging me about when we were going to get serious about legitimising her baby bootie knitting operation, but also because it really was the first time we (ok, I) was willing to start considering potential procreation i.e. once my main girls holidays were out of the way, on the understanding that it would likely take a while to successfully magic one up, and because I could no longer really escape the fact that I am officially in my mid 30's and will never finish doing everything I want to do before I have to stop being selfish and only thinking about myself.
So imagine my surprise when I landed home after Russia to discover that I was already pregnant! CG super sperm. Yikes.
After recovering from my shock, which went something along the lines of:
Me, nearing hysteria: "But...but...BUT I never even had a last rare steak! Or sushi!"
CG, rolling eyes: "You're not dying. It's nine months. You'll survive."
I've actually been super excited. I didn't even know I wanted a baby so much until it turned out I was having one.
The thing with baby making is that, I swear, you never meet anyone who took a reasonable amount of time to fall pregnant. Say, 3 to 6 months. It either just happens, or takes forever. And let me tell you, I cannot believe how lucky we were. To not have the stress of trying and for it to become a point of worry for us.
Not to say there haven't been stresses. A miscarriage scare, worries about the impact of me, er, living the "high life" while the baby was forming, general weird body things I had no idea were part of being pregnant....it's certainly an eye opener. But when the CG and I dissolve into a fit of laughter plotting all the evil things we're (ok, I'm) going to do to the baby (firstly - watermelon pants, secondly - drawn on moustaches, thirdly - using the poor kid as a pawn in my campaign against a piece of my mother's wall art) all my stresses melt away.
We landed in Palermo to warm weather and for the first time in a long while, on our own. Nothing but wandering the streets, feasting, and napping. Is there anything more a pregnant lady could ask for?