When we were heavily pregnant we lived in renovation land.
Our house had been gutted, meaning there were no walls at the back of the
house. No bathroom, just a portaloo and portashower in the front yard. Our
kitchen was a camping stove and a BBQ for three months and we drank water from
the front garden tap. Our neighbours all knew that I peed at 4am every morning
because they would see our front light go on as I tip toed to our portaloo
where I would try to wee in a plastic bowl as quietly as possible in the dead
of the night. I couldn’t even shut the portaloo door because my stomach was so
achingly big.
Our builders during this time were so patient, especially
when I started mat leave and was hanging around the house growing bigger by the
minute. We formed a special bond. One that saw the builders put spare towels in
the back of their utes, ‘just in case of an emergency trip to the hospital’.
This bond also meant that our three or so builders, who were
strangers to us before our renovations began, got to know us so very quickly as
they lived through our pregnancy. I can’t even tell you how many times our main
builder would walk past our bedroom and see me lying on my side in undies and a
tank snoozing with my mouth open, dribble pouring into the top end of my
pregnancy pillow while the rest of the long sack was wedged between my legs.
I didn’t care after a few weeks. It was hot. 40 degrees hot
and I was so hungry and pregnant. I would eye off their eskies, excited for
smoko just to see what treats they had brought in. Once they saw me eat a WHOLE
watermelon in one sitting with a soup spoon.
So here we are again. In renovation land. Finishing the last
bits of our whole house renovation. Finally. Almost 20 months after our builder
received a call from my husband asking if they could quickly put the toilet in
as we had just had Alfie.
Here we are, living in renovation land, camping in the rear
of our house like a Little House on the Prairie, except this time instead of
being severely knocked up we have a toddler running around knocking everything
over.
What’s harder? Renovating while pregnant or renovating with
a toddler?
My husband and I are no less feral. Instead of passing out at
11am in my undies drooling on my side, I’m running around like a headless chook
in the morning wearing just a bra and dacks trying to sort out lunches,
breakfast, attempting not to fist fight my husband and always looking for a
goddamn shoe. Trying to squeeze a shower in and attempt to be a loving, happy
family before our builder arrives is a joke. We just let him see how real it
is. He’s newly married, perhaps the Webb family visual is a perfect form of
contraception for him.
Today is Friday and it is my ‘day off’ from work. Normally
when my kid is snoozing, I take my pants off and have a nap on the couch.
I’m wondering if this is pushing the boundary a bit too far.
I mean, what’s my excuse? I have plenty.
But instead I might smash a box of Chicken Crimpy’s. At this moment,
it’s the best way to find one within.
This post first appeared on Bubba West.
This post first appeared on Bubba West.
