Gut Punch

You’re aimlessly sifting through junk. You’re sorting through your dressing table and trying to assemble some semblance in your life to make everyday life a bit easier. Clear tables, clear mind and all that jazz.

Knicker drawer is next. You’ve purchase new undies to make you feel a bit lovelier so it’s time to shift the Granny pants.

It’s cathartic to sling the old life nuances and bring in some delicate prettiness.
You feel like you’re finally letting yourself be Frannie again.

But there, tucked in the drawer, folded neatly, ready to be used again is something that stops your heart.
It’s the most ridiculous item to set you off. All of a sudden you’re weeping. Tumbling tears are unstoppable.
A fucking SPD support band, which you kept ‘just in case’ is the culprit.
You sniff it and it still smells of Sanctuary Mum to Be bath salts.

You let yourself think you were ok and then you get gut punched again.

But it’s ok. Gut punches remind us we are only human. It’s ok to be overwhelmed and to have a cry.
It’s ok to keep these things too. Let it remind you that it helped you in those last 6-weeks of carrying Cub.
A tiny piece of material can evoke such emotion. But it won’t always be this way.

I promise.

Next stop, your shoes and bags.

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