Boombox is born

It's strange how one piece of news can change the filters on everything you see. How finding out that you are going to have a baby, immediately and permanently alters the colours of everything - including the person you are having a baby with. 

They are now not just your partner, friend, lover, husband, wife etc, and someone you know so so well you are PART of them, but now, they are also a brand new person to you:

the PARENT OF YOUR CHILD.
Your co-parent.
Your child's carer, nurturer, friend, and role model. Forever.
 

It changes the whole dynamic and relationship between the two of you, and it takes a little time to slowly meet this new 'you', as parents, and adjust your eyes to the new filters. 👀

After another long London day of photo shoots preparing for the imminent launch of Headcase - and numerous trips to various café toilets to throw my guts up again. WHOOP - we decided to miss the next train and take an hour to just....BE. Together. 
Him with new his dad-to-be vibe and face and boots and beard. 
Me with my new old-mum-to-be nausea.
The new us.

We got a takeaway coffee from @caravanroastery at Kings Cross and sat by the river, him and me - now him, me and our kidney bean holding hands, looking at this newly coloured world, the newly coloured us, not needing to say anything; just feeling everything. 
And loving the change we felt.👫❤️

There was a group of Young People on the river bank having a party; drinking, laughing, and listening to music on a . . . . .

"Is that a boombox?"

"A WHAT?"

"That thing they're listening to music on. Isn't that a boombox thingy?"

"Yes. If this were 1987. Jesus, you ARE ancient."

"Fuck off, cheeky git."


I watched them talking and laughing, being young and boombox-y, and suddenly felt sad. Cut off from the world, a bit.

"Do you think we'll ever hang out like that, now that we'll have a baby, and be stuck at home because we have no parents to help us out, and I'll be bleeding and have mastitis and saggy boobs and I'm so bloody old I'll be drinking my Horlicks by 8 o'clock?"

"Of course we will. We'll be PARTY PARENTS. Like the cool cool geriatric Horlicks-drinking people we are."

"Good. And until then this baby can be our little party. Out little Boombox. Then I can dance and sing and party any time I like. And go to bed at 8 o'clock and cry because I've just been sick again and my breasts look like slightly rotten cantaloupe melons. It'll be beautiful."


And that was that. Our little party in my tummy. 
In that way that stupid nicknames are assigned and stick forever, our little Boombox was named.
 

And we've called it that ever since ❤️

CRASH

I am growing a kidney bean