Be gentle with me. This is my first post from my new life.
My name is Harriet. I'm a full-time mum. I live in Scotland.
This time two weeks ago, only one of those things was true, and I didn't admit to it in internet-based-public. But this is a new life. Here I am.
I fear that like many (most) first posts, this one is going to be rubbish. I'm here, in an internet cafe (still no broadband), looking at a blank screen, and with simultaneously nothing, and everything, to say.
It's blinking cold here. I'm told it's cold everywhere. But I'm also told by my mother-in-law that it took her five years to stop feeling cold when she moved to Scotland. I'm a little scared by that.
The girls are loving it (mostly). The new nursery (about which most definitely more later) is beyond our wildest expectations. There is a trampoline (thank you to B's parents) in the garden. They have a playroom. A is punishing us for leaving her for a week I think, but even she is adoring toddling from room to room and scattering a trail of toys behind her like a 21st Century Gretel.
My "no toys in the kitchen" rule may be doomed to failure. But how lovely to have enough space that you can even attempt it.
The water really is nicer. B's been whinging about London water since I've known him. I was brought up on diluted limescale so I've been generally tuning him out (which is not to say I do that often, of course), but on this one he's right. The water tastes lovely. And I keep running my fingers through my hair because it feels so soft. All that money spent on expensive shampoo searching for the elusive one that would make my hair touchy feely, like I just stepped out of a salon... and all it took was a move of 350 miles.
This feels right. The town is lovely. It has everything I need (internet cafe included) within a ten minute walk of my front door. No one has yet lynched me for being English. Indeed, and maybe it's part of being so close to the Border anyway, the variety of accents you hear in the 200 yards between our front door and the centre of town puts parts of London to shame.
Now I am here, I'm going to have to do the things I've been talking about. I'm going to have to be a consultant lawyer. I'm going to have to set up a millinery business. I'm petrified. What if I fail?
My father-in-law thinks I'm pregnant.
There are still places in the UK where people park their pushchair (complete with child) outside the shop when they go into it. Am amazed. And very tempted. Am I mad?
The girls are in nursery a day and a half a week. It costs less a month than a week of nursery in London. This is the greatest luxury I could imagine. I feel guilty beyond words.
We have made the right decision. So far.
ps: The bloggy bits:
I have been enormously touched not to have been forgotten in the bloggy world. Thank you for all the comments on my various moving house posts, especially given that they have been met with silence. It means a lot and I will reply to all comments in due course.
I'm going to wimp out of the Gallery this week. Feel a bit rubbish about that as I was very proud of having not missed a week. And I think it's done wonders for my stats! But it's Men this week, and they're sadly outnumbered in my family, and a view of my beloved from behind seems a little silly, much as I love him, and definitely not worth a trip back here tomorrow morning with all three in tow.
Finally, in answer to the emails etc about CyberMummy, was totally totally delighted to be the winner of the ticket in the Tots100 this month - and gutted that I still, nonetheless, despite everything in its favour, can't go. Sadly, a wedding's a wedding, and we've already said yes. So we will be in Lancaster. But I will be thinking of you all.
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