Another week passes, another trip down memory lane. This time a year ago, I was two days away from my due date. I was experiencing all the mixed emotions that all first-time expectant mums go through. Excitement. Fear. Disbelief. Impatience. That ‘any day now’ feeling would accompany me to bed at night as I thought about whether tonight would be the night I would feel the first twinges of my baby starting to make his entrance into the world.
A lady in waiting. And it seemed so were all my family and friends. One friend in particular, my oldest and best friend, was awash with excitement and would come over every Friday of this waiting period, since I’d finished work three weeks earlier, laden with baked goods from the very lovely bread shop near her house. Fresh baked Friday had begun!
We figured we’d maybe get a couple of these morning events in before the baby arrived, but in actual fact the fresh baked fun carried on for the whole month. As a new Friday would come around and still no baby gracing us with his or her presence, around K would come with a new flavour of bread and to satisfy my preggo sweet tooth, a Pane e Chocolat.
As well as consume our body weight in carbs we’d discuss life in general and the life I was about to bring into the world. She’d remind me that it was me who had convined her to have children one day, when she told me in her teens that she’d rather adopt. ‘Don’t you want to see if they are a good singer, like you?’ I apparently said. In that moment, her mind was changed. And she’s cursed me ever since, for planting that seed in her mind – as the whole idea of labour scares the bejesus out of her.
So I guess those mornings became educational in a sense as I imparted everything I knew so far about how the whole labour thing would go down. Well, in theory anyway. The truth was, I was more than a little scared that I really didn’t know what I was in for.
I cherish these fresh baked memories, as it reminds me of all the other times she has been there for me. There has never been a major event in my life that she hasn’t been a part of. She is the most loyal and generous person I’ve ever met, and I count myself lucky that I met her back when I was 5.
I remember the day like yesterday that I was galloping around the room in Kindergarten and a girl with a shiny bob yelled at me ‘that’s not galloping, that’s skipping!’ I argued that I was infact galloping and she was skipping. Maybe it was the whole odd-coupleness of this first meeting that meant we were soon inseperable.
In our teenage years we would ring each other almost every night to gossip and discuss boy bands, we each had one half of the uber-trendy for the time BFF necklace engraved with each others names, and we’d spend most of our school holidays together. We’d record radio shows on a cassette tape, complete with secret sound contests and creepy callers called ‘Kev’.
In about year eleven, we even had our own radio show on the local community radio station. It sounded remarkably like our taped home versions. I sometimes wonder who would have been listening to a couple of teenage girls talk about boy bands during drive time and giggle to myself.
A friendship like ours could have easily crashed and burned, such was its intensity, but I’m so glad that it has carried on and grown in strength as time went by. I know my life just wouldn’t be the same without her in it. She is the person I can ‘let it all hang out with’, who knows and accepts me, who I can loudly laugh with until my cheeks ache, who gives great gifts ‘just because’ and who knows the importance of baked goods to a pregnant friend.
Someone who is so much more talented than she gives herself credit for, is braver than she could even possibly recognise and who makes the world a happier and more vibrant place by just being in it. Somehow this post doesn’t really do her justice. But I hope she knows how thankful I am, for not just the baked goods but for everything.