Coming Clean

I didn't stop dating because it was rubbish. Although. Actually, I probably would have done. My last date (it was a hangover date - arranged before I decided to stop, followed through out of courtesy), would most likely have tipped me over the edge. The photo was at least a decade out of date (totally forgivable) but despite the mansion in Angel, good job, chocolate coloured Labrador (my favourite) and grand piano, the guy had no manners. Turns out he wanted to play 'are girls or boys hotter' all night, before revealing that whilst he'd had a plethora of same sex screws at boarding school he was 'definitely straight'. I hate that. Definitely straight is my sister who, much as she appreciates beauty, would find even Angelina leaning in for a snog unalluring. Definitely straight is not a string of dalliances with the same sex and avoiding all the phobia the braver folk get for admitting as much.
I actually gave up dating when I realised I was going to be a mum.
I decided that my head space would be pretty full and I needed to keep things serene and balanced.
Which was just as well cos no sooner had I realised I was pregnant than my innards started pouring out through my pants and I thought I wasn't.
Only it's a fighter. Held on amist the torrents. Saw it on a scan a few weeks ago, complete with heart beat and all. The bleeding has stopped and the hospital are confident it's all ok. I'm not 12 weeks yet so shouldn't really be telling, but I'm only a fortnight off and hope we're through the worst.
Bar the screaming and tearing bit.
Which, I should mention, terrifies me.
There's naught like seeing your sister sewn up like a puppy ravaged dolly to put you right in the mood for adopting.
Most of my friends and family have been marvelous. There's been times I realised a few of my friends see me as the spinning top whose life is so nuts that the comparison allows them to feel serene. But mostly I've not felt that, just cherished.
Dad had a tough time with it. I wonder if he wonders if he was a sado-masochist maniac in a previous life to have been punished with me. There he is, an ordinary, conventional geezer, who no sooner gets to grips with Big Daught being a dyke, than is hit with, 'oh, and did I mention I'm heading for single-parentdom?'.

I'm thrilled. Wasn't sure until I found it the pregnancy sack had survived the internal tidal wave.
The father is less so.
I'm waiting to see how that pans out but currently expecting nothing seems the safest option. An initial flurry of 'I want to do the right thing' has petered into silence.
I've got names.
Chosen my guardian angels (God parents without the God bit)
Found out I'm bloody lucky to be a civil servant as they will give me six months on full pay followed by six months unpaid leave.
Planned a naming ceremony in a bluebell carpeted wood in spring 2007.
Decided I'm going to tackle this with humour and aplomb. Learn all I can, love all I can and give all I can to make it a success.
I haven't been able to get much further than that. Too bloody shattered. No sign of blooming, I look and feel rubbish. Can't work out whether it's the chocolate or baby that's stopping me doing up my trousers.
Have naturally resolved to get fit in the New Year!

xxxx