wrong

I thought things were changing, getting better, albeit slowly.

I was wrong.

At first I didn't realise.  A came back from his trip, we were pleased to see each other (I thought).  We went to see the Lovely Therapist last week and during that session A said that he would like the two of us to start thinking about looking in to international adoption.  My heart soared.

Then on Saturday night, A said that he was actually very depressed again and was going to start back on his anti-depressants the following day.  

Sunday afternoon it all came out: since getting back together in August, he has "often thought" of leaving.  He doesn't - or hasn't so far - because he feels that he is never going to be happy so he may as well stay with me.

He says he loves me still, though.  But I don't think I can believe him.

How could I have been so wrong, so blind?  So fracking stupid that I didn't see this coming?

mystery man

Someone other than A came back from his trip.  This man looks and sounds like A but
- he noticed the re-grouted tiles
- and the new shower curtain
- and the re-sealed bath
- he knew something was different about the shower head but it took him 2 days to work out what that was
- he has made me coffee every morning
- he has done almost 50% of the washing up
- he said that he would come with me to a friend's birthday do - and he didn't pull out at the last moment

I don't think I need to tell you how lovely this past week has been at home :-)

countdown

A's flight should be landing in London in 3 hours 21 minutes (yes, I'm tracking it again).  As my friend the BFG suggested, I made some changes around the flat.  In the past 3 days since coming home myself, I have: 

cleaned and re-grouted the bathroom tiles 

re-sealed the bath

hung a new shower curtain

replaced the limescaled old shower head with a sparkling new one

Taking bets on if he notices :-) 

(And I promise not to mope if he doesn't!)

motherhood

Tomorrow is Mothering Sunday in the UK, or as it is now more commonly called, Mother's Day.

It is not an easy day for most of us here, is it?  We don't get cards or flowers or chocolates and we don't get to paste endless In Yer Faceb00k re-posts about how special we are.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines "mother" as "a woman in relation to a child or children to whom she has given birth".  I guess that doesn't make me a mother...   

Wikipedia has a broader definition: "a woman who has conceived, given birth to, or raised a child in the role of a parent".  I like this one better.

But I like the inscription on the Monumento a la Madre in Mexico best of all: "to her who loves us before she meets us".

Thinking of all of us who love, but never got to meet, our children.

too much too soon

Despite last evenings alarms, I slept like the proverbial top (why "top"?  Anyone know?) and was up, lark-like this morning intending to squeeze as much as I could from the rest of my time here.  (Yes I am back in my hotel room with my laptop but it is pouring down rain and it was either this or taking my credit card here).  I went down to the sea and sat in a superbly opulent cafe bar and drank coffee looking out at this:

The coffee was heavenly, there was light jazz playing in the background, there was a man raking the pebbles tidy on the beach, I was sitting in an armchair (an armchair!), the sun was shining and the sea was sparkling.  All that was needed was A to make me 100% happy in the moment, so I dug out my phone and sent him a text in NZ:
"I love you more than I have words to convey".

An hour later he texted back "Okay.  Well, I'm going to sleep now and switching off my phone.  Goodnight x"

Ah well.  Perhaps it was too soon in our relationship to make such a dramatic declaration...

vraiment?

So a couple of hours ago I was standing at my hotel room window, watching the rain and idly speculating over my dinner options for the evening when the sound of sirens drew ever nearer until the sickeningly familiar sight of a fire engine hoved into view.
And stopped outside the hotel.
And disgourged three fire-fighters who rushed into the building.  Moments later they came back out again and rushed instead to the adjacent building from which there was smoke issuing.

The hotel management told us to stay in our rooms with all doors and windows closed and await further instruction.  I slung my clothes into my backpack and my laptop, passport, train tickets and money into my handbag in a matter of minutes and then took up my post by the window again and watched and waited.

Two hours and a half hours later, all is well and the fire engines (there were 2 of them by this time) have departed.  But my bag remains packed and my nerves remain frazzled.  Because - really?  Really?

moved like Harlowe

This morning I took a train from Nice to Monacco. 

If you have never been to Monacco, it is everything you think it probably is.  Hugely wealthy, glittering, polished, stunning.  And expensive - I couldn't really afford a cup of coffee at 8 euros (£7, $11) but the views are free:

Oh, and the post title comes from this, which was in my head the whole livelong day :-)