The maisonette, licked clean from top to bottom.
Heady fuzz similar to that of the first day of a period.
Thick grease on kitchen cupboard tops scrubbed away.
Growing your lovely bones, elbows nudging stomach.
Feet protruding and kicking up into rib cage making it hard to breath.
The smell of lavender detergent.
Head screwing into pelvis.
Plodding like a duck, dazed through lack of sleep from trips to the downstairs loo in the dead of night.
Unfixed, knock down price, poo coloured brown carpet tiles trace a jigsaw puzzle across the concrete of the front room.
Past the Bun in the oven bakery, the hustle and bustle of the Caledonian Road.
Sitting in Barnsbury park, watching the pram parade.
Chewing gum cemented to grey pavements.
I huff n puff.
The steps to reach the flat have become everest.
The metal door is heavy and closes tight.
Rapidly eating my way through a box of 48 wheetabix and a tub of vanilla ice-cream.
Window cases open outwards to the sound of children playing, motorbikes screeching, trains arriving and departing.
Washing, folding, hugging tiny clothes close to my body.
Making up an empty crib.
Packing a bag for the ready.
Siesta on the family sized mattress, the coo of the pigeons that have colonised the balcony.
Its hot, dirty, grimy, sticky.
Caged in waiting for the mucus plug.
Dreaming up your face and eyes.
Another long bath, the water holding my weight.
In the early evening I hear a child roller blading across the floor in the flat above.
Helen Sargeant ©, Pregnancy blur, 21st March 2014