The living room is comfy, cosy & warm in every way. I am sat in an ancient saggy armchair which has a rip in the vile terracotta fabric on the arm. My knees squish up to the rip & soothe it with the good mood that is currently oozing from every part of me. Daughter climbs up, knocking wheaty-filled Bagpuss from the arm (I imagine him to cry out “MOW!”) & sits, using my hip as a seat & my feet, which are tucked under my bum as a leg rest. She is interrupting my flow, but I don’t mind.
She is tired of dancing to our current soundtrack & is instead opting for pestering me, her second favourite thing to do. My right ear feels hot, I’m not sure this is relevant, but you never know.
I have 11 days until I am due to give birth. It could happen any time now. What I am most concerned about, other than baby’s health, blah, blah… is in relation to our soundtrack. I am in a state of cosmic calm, inside my woollen cocoon of happiness & the sound that vibrates into my ears from said cosmic-cocoon is the album ‘I’m With You’ by a band I love, love, love – the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The Chilis albums are all related to various times in my life & memories of people, places & emotions, as is inevitable with any well-loved & oft-played collections of music. My confession, however, is that though this is probably my favourite band we’re talking about this is the first time I have actually, properly, really sat down to listen to this album, despite having pre-ordered it. Usually I’m in there like a ferret up your trouser-leg (yes, your trouser-leg) but I’m all grown up now & suffering all the shite that comes with being an adult, a mother & a member of this messed up society. The last album was released when I was in college; before I was a Mummy & when my only angst was that of the teenage variety.
To be entirely truthful I was a little scared of disappointment but even more worried of associating something by a band who I connect with ‘glory days’ with the way I feel now. I was scared that all the difficulty of depression & the anxiety I feel about the baby & my risk of PND would ruin one of the few things that remind me of who I really am, beneath all this.
Daughter is dancing again.
I wasn’t disappointed – in any way. The album is bloody good. Bloody good. It feels rosy, warm, funky, dirty & strangely familiar all at once. I feel as though it could fill the void caused by the lack of flaming log fire (due to Man-useless-at-collecting-firewood-ugg) & I can’t wait to get to know it’s ins & outs; for its sounds, harmonies, flaws, quirks & individuality to wash over me & become familiar to my brain & I can’t wait to decorate my Christmas tree & wrap the family’s presents in my own perfect space with this resonating around the room, into my brain & out again as I shuffle & wrap, groove & wrap, sing [wail] & wrap.
Most of all I cannot wait for the indescribable excitement & joy of hearing these songs played live & seeing exactly what is made of them by their masters. Since I was 14, there hasn’t been a Chilis tour that I haven’t been to. I have our tickets for this Monday – five days before my due date. I am praying that baby does not decide to come before or on Monday. There is a very insensible part of me that thinks it would be entirely wonderful for the psychedelic wonder-vibes to send me into labour but this is not, I realise, entirely practical. I am also wondering if it’s acceptable to take your child to its first gig at less than a week old, should baby decide to show up early. Daughter went to her first festival at age three months… I’ll think on it. Either way, keep your fingers crossed I make it to Monday (& I’ll keep my legs crossed…).
Peace, from your local cosmic-cocoon lady.