1.0Vicky Goodenhttp://www.vickygooden.comvickygoodenhttp://www.vickygooden.com/index.php/author/vickygooden/rich600338<blockquote class="wp-embedded-content" data-secret="NBzxMWNoPF"><a href="http://www.vickygooden.com/index.php/2017/05/18/every-thursday-rolls/">Every Thursday that rolls by…</a></blockquote><iframe sandbox="allow-scripts" security="restricted" src="http://www.vickygooden.com/index.php/2017/05/18/every-thursday-rolls/embed/#?secret=NBzxMWNoPF" width="600" height="338" title="“Every Thursday that rolls by…” — Vicky Gooden" data-secret="NBzxMWNoPF" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" class="wp-embedded-content"></iframe><script> /*! This file is auto-generated */ !function(d,l){"use strict";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&"undefined"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!/[^a-zA-Z0-9]/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),c=new RegExp("^https?:$","i"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display="none";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute("style"),"height"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):"link"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute("src")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener("message",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll("iframe.wp-embedded-content"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute("data-secret"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+="#?secret="+t,e.setAttribute("data-secret",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:"ready",secret:t},"*")},!1)))}(window,document); //# sourceURL=http://www.vickygooden.com/wp-includes/js/wp-embed.min.js </script> https://i0.wp.com/www.vickygooden.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/IMG_5005.jpg?fit=2048%2C7182048718I’ve been awake since 5.30am when I woke up crying from an unpleasant dream. Today I should be 9 weeks pregnant. And this happens every Thursday. I am reminded of the progress that my precious pregnancy isn’t making. I know the suspected due date of it too. Dec 21st. Readjusting to not being pregnant when you have finally accepted that, my god, you are, is what one might call a massive head fuck. I’m not consciously dwelling on it either. I’m very aware it’s over. I was just, in those blissful weeks of my first ever pregnancy letting myself believe that the dream was coming true. Finally. Letting myself do the countdown, imagining the size of our little bud which on last review of my pregnancy app was an apple pip. Alright, damn well indulging in a bit of Etsy nursery interiors browsing. Looking at maternity dresses for upcoming summer weddings where I would need to dress my poking bump. The acceptance happened surprisingly quickly. All paralysing worries of never giving birth to my own baby started to distance themselves. It felt right and deserved. As it should be. Was this all too premature? Was my excitement idiotic? Next time, […]