Day 138 - Dad to Dam to Dum to Mum

This weekend, we went our separate ways.

I met up with the boys and went and into a practice studio in Hertford and spent four hours playing the dribbliest prog rock jams you can possibly imagine, followed by a cracking curry, far too many beers and singing along to vintage footage of Genesis doing Supper's Ready. Nice.

K___ went to a party on the other side of Hertfordshire. K___'s best friend L___ is getting married in just a few week's time and the girls got together to talk about sex, slag off men and indulge in all sorts of top secret women's stuff that a few years back would have resulted in them being declared witches and thrown in the local duckpond. I would go into more detail of their arcane practices but I'm told 'the first rule of Girl Club is you don't talk about Girl Club' etc., so it wouldn't be much more than educated guesswork. Lezzing up may have been on the agenda.

Or that might be wishful thinking.

It was the first time we'd been apart all night since K___'s been pregnant and it did seem odd. You start to realise how dependent you are on each other and the rituals you've built up. Most people have these regardless of pregnancy, but there are certain things that we do that are very specifically pregnancy-oriented. For example, every night, I moisturise the bump. K___ could do it perfectly, but it's a thing I do. It's a bonding thing.

I wasn't sitting in a corner mooning over the fact that K___ wasn't there and I don't imagine she was over me either. I wouldn't claim it ruined my evening or stopped me for enthusiastically embracing the whole curry, beer, prog ethos to our lad's night out, but I was always aware of it. Even through the fog of alcohol, as I slipped off into a comfortable coma, I remember thinking about the fact that I hadn't moisturised the bump for the first time.