And plan a spontaneous trip to New York this Christmas.
And spend nearly £700 on season tickets for our home football team for Dave and me.
And arrange multiple nights out with friends.
I’ve got to that point where I feel “fuck it”.
Fuck avoiding doing things or spending money ‘in case’ I’m pregnant.
It could be the scorching British sun of this past week going to my head, or it could be the despicable terrorist attack in Manchester on Monday night. But life is too fucking short.
I’m going to eat that cake (after I’ve syn’d it of course…)
I’m going to get drunk over the summer. Sod my TWWs.
I’m going to plan trips and holidays.
I’m going to go to New York this Christmas and stay with my TTC twinnie, who, if it wasn’t for Kindara and our separate journeys to making a baby on opposite sides of the Atlantic, our paths would never have crossed.
I’m going to go to all the home matches for our football team with Dave and our mate, even though I normally hate going out on a ‘school night’ (so the Tuesday night matches will be a killer for me! Especially with a late staff meeting after school the next day…)
And if I end up with a massive pregnant belly in the process then great. It’ll just enjoy the cake, and holidays, and football matches with me.
I’m saying fuck it to the life plan. And I’m going to get DRUNK.