Day 125

The weather hasn’t been much to write home about, as they say, and as a result I have been absolutely rubbish at maintaining my daily exercise. My abdomen looks as though I am pregnant with twins, and my dresses are that little bit too tight. I swear people have been eyeing me up and down, trying to assess how many weeks I have left until giving birth. I’m even struggling to paint my toenails without gasping for breath, doubled over and smothered by my own chest.

I don my tankini at the weekend and instead of the top graciously skimming my belly, it clings to every rounded surface (front and back!) and there is no way to hide it. Being on “mum duty” there is nothing I can do or say, because I never want Charlotte to have body issues or low confidence, so I act as if I am happily embracing my (cellulite-ridden) skin.  Besides, I convince myself, a little sun will camouflage it all with a light tan.

Charlotte is over-the-moon that it is warm enough to access the outdoor pool. As she puts on her goggles (AKA “gubbles”) the rubber strap snags her damp ringlets and I wince on the inside, smiling on the outside because she is putting them on independently. I do have to intervene briefly when her eye bulges out, the plastic lens squishing her eyelid, making her a dead ringer for Sloth from The Goonies.

The water is cool and I repeat the very British mantra “it’ll be fine once you’re in” over and over again in my head.  On the plus side, it does feel really refreshing in comparison to the hot sun.  And as an added bonus, there is no one else in the pool but us. Bliss.

If only this was The Azores….

To be fair, I’d take a week in Bognor in the current climate.

To be honest, although we tend to stay in Cornwall for only one night, it always feels like we are on holiday. Putting a few miles between us and home has an amazing effect on our wellbeing, and the peace and quiet of the campsite is a great help.

I watch Darren and Charlotte bonding over her brand new, pink, flashing fishing reel and Darren is so calm and patient with her.  Charlotte’s eagerness and excitement spills over into her laughter and high-pitched squeals of joy and they are both beaming.

It’s moments like this that makes my heart feel incredibly full.  A bit like the time Charlotte asked me: “is that dog’s name S’ghetti?” and I tilted my head to one side and replied: “no love, it’s Noodle, but noodles are a bit like spaghetti, so you’re not far off.”  Or when Darren looks at me with such happiness in his face and squeezes my hand, because we are enjoying every single minute of our day.  And I experience that feeling this weekend, with Charlotte falling asleep clutching my arm (and dribbling on my shoulder) and Darren lying next to me, snoring, and I feel completely content.

*****

Too soon it is Monday morning and I awake groggily, smacking my lips like an old man. I manage to enjoy some sun for part of the day, my laptop shielded by a parasol (apart from the odd patch of light streaming through the mouse-nibbled canvas). I desperately need some exercise, but it is scorching at lunchtime, so I await Darren’s return and suggest an evening bike ride.

I look the part: lycra shorts (which I have not worn since about 1990) (not this actual pair, obvs), a vest top layered with a loose(ish) workout top and my faithful trainers. I team this with matching cycling gloves (I know, proper professional!) and fill up a water bottle in preparation for my inevitable dehydration.

Then it’s off to the pub we go!

I find it a bit hard going, but feel boosted when Darren tells me that it is noticeable how much more I can do than I used to: “it’s brilliant, you couldn’t get up that hill a few months ago” he exclaims. I agree, and am confident it won’t be too long until I am back “in the zone” again.

We find a table where the sun is casting down its last few beams before dusk, and spend the next couple of hours chatting, laughing and talking about the future – the real future – not the one we wish for when we win the lottery jackpot. You know, what our house will look like one day, the number of goats I am allowed to have and how we’d like to improve our camper over the next few years.  Darren pauses as he takes a slurp of his frosty lager, and then says “when we are in the van, just us three, it’s like we are in our own little world” and I nod in agreement.  My mind goes back to Saturday night, under a unicorn duvet with my favourite five year old and my soulmate, and I smile, taking Darren’s hand: “yep, I love it when we are away together in the van.”

It’s our small, but perfectly formed gang.

Side note

Does an hour of cycling negate cheesy chips, garlic bread and pint of cider?  I’m asking for a friend….