Oh bugger, this morning Sister phoned to suggest coming down this weekend to do a Car Boot Sale - she is having a new kitchen and has loads of old stuff to get rid of - and I had to say no because I'm disappearing off to a BF in Kent. I felt really sorry because I have been looking forward to getting together with Sister and catching up. And we both feel that the days of Car Boot Sales are numbered simply because the weather will go tits up soon. Anyway, we're going to try for next week.
Next Sunday is, in fact, Son's Birthday. He will be 28, and I find that really hard to believe sometimes. He probably won't be coming down here for the day, as he's going out with friends in London on the Saturday evening. I remember his actual Birthday vividly. I was woken at 6am on 16th September, by a rush of warm something. As it was exactly a month before he was due, I panicked, thinking it was blood and heralded disaster. Actually it was breaking waters - quite normal. I was transported to the Avenue Clinic, where we were booked in, and Son made his first appearance at 11.30 am. Elective Caesarean. He was rushed off to a special care baby unit, and I was left to wonder where my baby had gone. He came back 36 hours later, having had mild breathing difficulties, and with jaundice. Again all perfectly normal for a baby who's 4 weeks premature. I never really believed that he was premature, as such, just in a hurry to get on with life. He's been the same ever since. Always the first to do anything, ready to try anything. Wanting to get there first. Dear boy.
Read my favourite two Blogs today, only to be thrust backwards at a million miles an hour to the time when a)my two were starting school,and b) my ex-husband delighted in making my life (and, co-incidentally the childrens' lives) a complete misery. a) I've never forgotten leaving them at school for the first time and sobbing helplessly at the loss. I couldn't go home either, because it was worse there. Too quiet. b) The times I had to literally beg for extra money to buy shoes or a coat. Or justify needing anything extra for school. And the sheer nastiness that came down the phone if I ever needed any help or moral support. And don't mention the time after the brain tumour. He'll go to hell for that!
Thankfully we came through all the difficulties intact. But it still hurts to relive it - and to think that other families are having to go through the same problems.
Anyway, back to the future. Must go, or will hit the rush hour traffic.