Sunday 5 September 2021
The Toilet Roll Archives (27): Fizzy water and a four day labour - a "Kerry Anne" Update.
If you couldn’t tell, ‘Clumsy’ is my middle name – but to the point where it’s something that’s no longer funny and is actually downright concerning. 23 and falling like an eight-year-old in the playground? Christ xo
Well, hello there? Remember me!?
That’s a phrase that's become far too familiar on this site – I do apologise, but I suppose
that’s what happens when you’re a bit of a busy bee and restrictions have been
lifted (at least, for the foreseeable. I don’t think we’re done with
those good ol’ lockdowns just yet; partially the reason why I'm including this in the TRA). Anyways, how are we all??? Did we enjoy our
summers?
I’ve not been anywhere special. I’m still a single jabbed
queen and manifesting a walk-in into Vaccination Station any day now. Saying
that, I took a two-day-turned-two-week trip home to dog-sit whilst my double
jabbed family went back to see everyone in Ireland. That could have been a very
sorry time (ik ik it’s brutal out here xo) if it wasn’t for that I could pretend
to be a homeowner and do unlimited amounts of laundry in a tumble dryer I wasn’t
paying for.
Other than that, not much news, nothing all that important
to report. We’re ticking along quite nicely over here. My Spanish swear word collection
is expanding by the day (thank you Ines, here’s the shout-out you requested)
and I still love a good cleaning party, especially now that The Pink Stuff comes in a spray bottle. Revolutionary. No real embarrassing lock-outs to report either –
not to jinx anything.
I did, however, have A Fall recently. Lol, how much of a
Nana do I sound? But, yeah, that was pretty bad. I trip quite a lot in public
but this one was disastrous: I’d say one of the worst to date, if I’m being really
honest. I was running by Tower Hill, on the Thames Path, when I caught my toes
under a slightly loose flag and skyrocketed (Alexa, play Flying Without Wings) a
few feet in the air and landed face first on the ground.
Of course, this is all has to take place on a busy Bank
Holiday weekend: the tourists are there, the families are there, the walking
groups are there. So, when I soar through the air and land anything but
gracefully on my literal face, the families with buggies and puppies dart over to
see if I’m ok. It’s a mad flurry of takeaway coffee cups, concerned mothers and
politely-muffled sniggers. I consider playing dead out of pure humiliation.
As the CEO of Slipping, I can expertly say that the worst
thing anyone can do when I fall is try and help me up. I’d rather them point
and laugh. In this context, I have to act fine because there’s at least
six kids standing with their respective caretakers, baffled that a grown adult can fall over like they
do in the playground. I bounce straight up and tell them all I’m fine, just a few bruises and a
massively bruised ego, nothing to worry about – though the blood pouring out of
my left knee and forehead suggest otherwise (can I get a hoi yah for Thrombocytopenia!?).
I turn my back from the small crowd and thank them, trying-but-failing to disguise
a minor limp as I casually wander into a bustling Pret like the wounded warrior
I am to gather tissues to wipe the blood that’s dripping into
my eye. Rank.
Because I’m a massive weirdo, I pay £2.50 for a bottle of
water because I feel I have to buy something to avoid looking like an attention-seeking
wet wipe running off with a bunch of napkins. I never finish said-bottle, though, because
I accidentally picked up sparkling in blind panic. I repeat: rank. Am considering
making a claim against The City for compensation; the trauma of unintentionally sipping sparkling water is jarring enough to put one off H20 for life, fizzy or otherwise.
If you couldn’t tell, ‘Clumsy’ is my middle name – but to the
point where it’s something that’s no longer funny and is actually downright
concerning. 23 and falling like an eight-year-old in the playground? Christ xo
Wait, that reminds me: we are officially ‘Kerry Anne’
confirmed, courtesy of Ancestry DNA. I’ve spat in a bag and sent my DNA off to
be looked at, though I already know I’m going to be pretty much 92% potato. I’ve
always been really fascinated by names, genealogy, – actually, saying that, I’m currently
hooked on Etymology Tik Tok (but that’s for another day!) – and I’ve finally
started doing a family tree via Ancestry DNA. I’m as horrified as I knew I
would be regarding some of the shite I’ve unearthed but, yeah, the website confirms
that the name on my birth certificate is, indeed //Kerry Anne\\. Not
//Kerry-Anne\\ or //Kerry\\Anne//. First name: Kerry Anne. Surname: Maxwell.
My mam was (is) absolutely fuming. “You had one
job!” she shouted at my Dad. “I was in labour for four days, and
you couldn’t even name her right!?”
Mum never fails to throw in the ‘four day labour’ story whenever anyone brings up childbirth. Is it weird that your own birth story can be a form of birth control? Dad obviously blamed the registrar but, in the same breath, admitted he didn’t even remember registering me. Not that it matters, it’s not that deep; it’s just funny – especially when we all consider that that this is the man who cannot for the life of him remember my birthday (I'll hand it to him, everyone else in the fam has weirdly synchronised birth dates).
As the one who made both of these individuals a parent, I’m
not that offended. It’s actually pretty funny. Those first few weeks of first-time
parenting must be wild. You’re just rolling along, living your best life then, all
of a sudden, you’re responsible for the literal existence of another human
being. Sleep is on the backburner. Hair-washing is a thing of the past. Those
first few weeks must be surreal (and seriously sleep-deprived). Therefore, I think
a slight error in the bureaucracy of birth-giving can easily be forgiven. Love
you J and F, no hard feelings. Love your daughter, Kerry Anne (shudders).
So, I’ve lost a middle name and taken on an extra first one, along with a minor identity crisis. We’re waving goodbye to Kerry Anne Maxwell and welcoming in – lol – Kerry Anne Maxwell. Dawn of a new era and all that.
But yeah, I suppose there's nothing else to really spew on about. Just wanted to update this ol' thing. Like I said, I'm a busy bee at the moment and, unfortunately, regular posting has taken a bit of a hit. Fortnightly-turned-monthly-turned-semi-annual uploads are the way forward for now. But dw, I've not abandoned yous. I'll be sure to offload onto you whenever I need a good old rant (or decide on a Covid-related theme for this year's Xmas Tree - don't judge us in this flat!)
All the love xoxoxo
