Ever heard of facon? Nope, me neither

As I sit here drinking my velvet almond mylk hot chocolate (yes that is milk with a y) and a side of acai bowl – the contents of which I’m not certain I can even identify (and I ignorantly refuse to pronounce correctly because it will always be ak-kye to me) – to genuflect on my week gone by, I breathe a rather big sigh of relief. And not because I won’t be consuming any dairy this morning.

It’s highly possible I’ve turned into one of those fucktards who omits dairy from her diet in the name of ‘inner health and well-being’…well until tomorrow at least when I return to my wicked ways of indulging in dairy, gluten, sugar and actual real-life bacon.

Unbeknownst to me I’ve entered a non animal Bi-product eatery because I liked the look of it. Pardon me but what on god’s fucking earth is ‘facon’?! There are two things certain in life – death and nothing ever comes close to tasting as good as bacon. But nonetheless I attempt to suck it up and make like I belong here among all the other free-spirited yoga junkies sipping their vegan smoothies. Namaste to the almond latte lovers on my left who ironically look like they could hold together the cracks in the brick walls with the fillers pumped into their noggins. At least you’re not eating any animal bi-products, loves.

The reason I’ve come to this weirdly wonderful little possie is because I’m early for my acupuncture session so need to kill a bit of time after the madness that is our new school drop off. It’s been an entire week since I actually thought I’d vomit from nerves watching the 13 y o, school blazer fifty sizes too big because I refuse to buy a new one every year n’ all, walk through the gates of his new school. Fuck me I don’t even remember being that afraid for him when, as a giant schoolbag with a teeny pair of feet and hat sticking out beneath, my boy started his first day of prep.

Starting a new school, halfway through the year when you know a grand total of three other kids and you’ve spent your entire prior schooling at the one place, has to be right up there with delivering an inauguration speech naked on the fear level scale. But bless the champ, he strapped his new bag to his back, flicked his stiff new akubra on his head and darted off toward the grounds (that look just like a scene out of Harry Potter) without so much as a look back. Off he goes. Not a care in the world.


Proud much? Hells to the motherfucken yes I was and and still am, just quietly. A few hours after drop off, my nerves getting the better of me, I text to ask how his first day was going. The response not indifferent to any typical of my 13 y o, a simple one-word reply but enough to settle what was fast turning into a severe case of neurotic mother syndrome. ‘Awesome’. That’ll do me thank-you-please.

Over the past week he’s gained a few new mates, picked up a spot on the basketball team, scored a great mark on his first assignment and slotted right into his new school as though he’s been there since the beginning. Every day now, he’s happy about something and as a mum that’s all you really ask for. I’ve got my boy back, unscathed. And shit it feels good.  

The kid’s resilience is nothing short of fucking stupendous. He’s faced some pretty hard shit storms in his life, been dealt a fair share of heavy blows but he picks himself up and plants the smile right back on his face. As if you didn’t know already but boy, you make my heart sing like Julie Andrews how darn proud I am of the wonderful small human you are. It’s my job to look out for you and sometimes I worry so much I think I can feel the wrinkles come out in my face but even though there’s haters who will try and break you down, destroy your spirit, always know there only needs to be room in your heart for the good.

My vegan hot chocolate – which I’m not gonna lie, actually tastes a shittonne better than it sounds – has come to an end so I thank my tattooed hipster waiter and head for the door, quietly fairy clapping myself for joining the ‘movement’. My needle lady, also a non-dairy consumer tells me I look thin and drawn out. Must be the vegan shit I just ate, I tell her. No you’re just very stressed you need to relax and not worry she says. Hmmm, I silently eye-roll to myself, yeah sure.

We agree to boil up some more of her ‘compost herbs’ of which I must dutifully take daily (but very rarely do) in the form of dirt-coloured tea for the purpose of diminishing the stress in my life. Good luck with that.

We are just about to embark on our 14th – yes Ma peoples’ fourteen – round over the next few days and something in me says I have to keep going even though my resilience has all but faded into non-existence. We’re back to the choices of medicated or non-medicated round. One embryo or two embryo transfers. Do we start now or hold off until the stress dies down? Who the fuck we kidding that ain’t never gonna happen. They’re decisions we can never know will actually make one blind bit of differenc but we still have to believe one day, might.

So I must be the little engine that could. Take some of my own advice I seem to dish out but not always be able to follow. Get up and try again, not be scared, keep climbing and maybe one day I’ll eventually make it to the top, well I sure as fuck hope so. Lov, luck n’ wonder, Lady Mama G xox

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