29 July 2017

Our 1st wedding anniversary.
The due date of our first child.
Our good friends' wedding day.

Not the due date of our first child. The date we were told was the estimated delivery date of our first child. I always knew it was wrong, just like I always knew she was a girl, somehow.

When I first shared the news of my pregnancy with friends, I had a conversation with one about the due date, combined with the wedding, and what we were going to do. I said we were determined to go, but only one of us would be able to drink. (Me, that late in the game, I was planning on half a glass of champagne to celebrate!) I suggested that I might be so fed up of being pregnant by that stage that I would try to dance it out of me; I do love to dance.

We arrived in the morning, having booked into a nice hotel, (because we needed to treat ourselves on our anniversary) to find out that not only was our room ready early, but we had been given an upgrade! We hadn't even told them it was our anniversary! We had dressed for the occasion at home that morning, before the drive down, and I had put on the war-paint in the car, with some touch-ups planned wherever I could find an empty toilet. Thankfully, we were able to get into the room (instead of leaving our bags until whatever time we got back that night) and relax briefly before heading on. We walked through the town, our disorganisation meant that this was necessary, as we needed to buy both lunch, and a wedding card. We arrived at a pub to meet with some others, including the groom, before making our way to the venue for the ceremony.

Throughout the day I was able to enjoy myself, and enjoy the company that we were in. We had to stand for the ceremony, as there were limited seats with it being outdoors (Edinburgh's botanic gardens), and we had to walk from one side of the gardens to the other after the meal for the evening reception. The walk was nice, I got chatting to a friend who had read some of what I had written so far, and I explained a bit more. However by the time we got to the other side, my feet were killing me! So I didn't start dancing straight away. I think both my husband and I drank a little bit more than either of us planned to. We got up to dance at one stage, and instructions for the dance were called (Scottish Ceilidh) but apparently he had gone a bit deaf, so we didn't do so well. Then, when the couple next to us accidentally elbowed me in the head (I think they experienced a similar temporary deafness, as everyone else seemed to know what they were doing!) I tried to keep going but walked off the dance floor shortly afterwards, I think entirely a combination of not being able(/supposed) to lead my husband, and him not knowing the dance, and a memory of that conversation about dancing the baby out.

I stuck it out a little while longer, but I think I had reached saturation point by that stage. We said our goodbyes to the bride and groom, who looked suitably exhausted and happy, and a few others who were nearby. As we made our way down the stairs towards the doors, I burst into tears.

I did not let it ruin our anniversary, and it did not overshadow it, however once the dancing started, it did start to a little bit. I can honestly say though, that I had a good day, and it was the week that followed that was harder. I'm very glad I had booked that time off work.

It was much much later in the year however, that I realised something else: My beautiful patterned umbrella, the kind with the curved handle that I could hang off my arm, I last saw that at the bottom of the stairs by the doors. I'll replace it, eventually...