It’s official. I’m past the honeymoon period of being off work, not having to leave my house at 5.30am, running to the Tube, cram in the overnight market comments to Canary Wharf, sit at my desk, maybe a lunch, likely a drink and then another and then yet another only to get home, pass out and begin again the next day. I’m passed the last few weeks of pregnancy, the anticipation, the excitement, the impatience (oh yes, I have very little patience). I’m through the first very difficult couple of months of sleep deprivation and intensive learning and I’m out the other end. Oh god I hate to say this but it’s true. I’m not happy. I know that I should be. I absolutely adore my beautiful son Alexander. He is an angel. The most amazing, amazing thing that has ever happened to me and yet it is not enough. I never seem to be happy. My whole life came so easily to me that I do not appreciate things easily. It has to be a curse; not being able to appreciate what you have when you have it so good.
We are just back from Paris, 3 Michelin-starred restaurants and a stay at Le Bristol (separate post coming up!) and yet I am constantly worried, thinking, planning, plotting. What am I going to do next? Do we try now for baby number two or do I try to look for a job back in the City? (We need the money). Do I look elsewhere (the City job is a hostile one and not conducive to family)? Do I work on my Internet business plan? ( I have a brilliant idea and half a business plan completed!) I am indecisive and blowing hot and cold at the moment. More than anything I want financial security-no, more than that, who am I kidding- wealth. I’ve lived nearly forty years and I haven’t got to grips with the fact that as the Rolling Stones say ‘you can’t always get what you want!’.

 

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