Thirty-three

On Thursday I turned 33. The day before heralded a new week of pregnancy – week 33.

Never one to be too excited by birthdays, I was surprised that I felt light and free – not 33 in either sense.

An old friend was staying with us all the way from Dublin. We worked together for a short time in Sydney and caught up briefly a year later in Dublin and London and kept in touch somewhat sporadically in the intervening years. The last time we saw each other I was just 23.

When I heard he was coming to Australia, I admit I had a few fretful moments – so much time had passed and my life now bore no resemblence to my life then. Our whole friendship had been a blur of happy hours and hungover workplace camaraderie, I wondered if we’d still share the same bond we did then. I worried he would find me boring and a pregnant party pooper. Continue reading

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