Everything Changes But You

The last, say, 15 years of my life have been fairly eventful. To be fair, most people could say the same about themselves between the ages of 16 and 31; it's rarely a boring time. In my own particular case, I've had 14 homes, 10 jobs, two husbands, six hospital admissions, three family bereavements, I've visited 20 new countries, and studied at four universities.

And there's a lot more change in the offing; if everything goes to plan the next six months will see us relocate to Bristol and *gulp* have a baby. So yeah, my life is currently one big festival of trying not to freak out about change.

Despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, I find it comforting to remember the things that haven't changed. So, some things I still have in common with 15 year old Liz:

I love:
Salt and vinegar crisps.


Fruit. All the fruit.
Brushed cotton duvet covers/soft blankets/duvets in general (nothing can hurt you under the duvet, right?)


Camping.
Reading.
Laughing until I can't breathe (usually at animals/people falling over).


Dancing like an idiot.
Making lists (case in point).
Sitcoms.
Christmas.



I hate:
Branston Pickle.
Arrogant men (I guess it was boys back then).


I need:
Validation (although I can sometimes do this for myself now).
At least eight hours sleep a night.


I can:
Sleep through pretty much anything (thunderstorms, earthquakes).
Do some excellent, if slightly niche, impressions (a frozen chicken, Deirdre Barlow, a monkey).


Drop things, spill things, lose things and trip over things with almost unbelievable regularity.



If you need me I'll be in my duvet eating crisps and pretending everything's staying exactly the same and it's not scary at all. Yep. It's all gonna be fine. Completely fine. 


Marmaris: A Holiday Scrapbook

A few weeks ago Pete and I looked at our calendars, took into account expiring passports, annual leave allowances, the unpredictability of third trimester pregnancy, and impeding relocation, and realised the window during which we could go on a child-free holiday together was closing. So after some extensive online searching (seriously, it's like the Thomson website doesn't actually want you to buy a holiday) we booked an all-inclusive week in Turkey. Lounging around a resort for a week isn't usually my bag, but I feel like I'd reached a stage in life/pregnancy/my stress levels where the thought of lying down, eating, reading and swimming for a week was ridiculously appealing.

Said week of lounging means that there isn't really enough physical evidence for one of my usual scrapbooking projects, so you get a blog post instead (you lucky things). Some photos, thoughts and memories:


This was probably the most relaxing holiday I've ever had. Even after the first day I felt completely calm and chilled out. I'm writing this on the last day (view from balcony above) and it's seriously an effort to keep my head up.



One morning I woke up to the sound of Pete's phone vibrating. I obviously jumped to the immediate conclusion that something awful had happened and promptly started freaking out. Turned out I'd actually missed all the drama: in the night I'd apparently open my eyes, looked at Pete, told him not to be silly and gone back to sleep. I am not the person you want by your side during an earthquake (but if you know me, you probably knew that already).



Sunsets and the sea and just beautiful, really, aren't they?



All inclusive slush puppies are almost the one. Obviously air con is the actual one though.


Watching the fish through our epic full-face snorkel.




Pete eating three starters (two were a 'heroic' attempt to save me from banned cheese and raw fish, the other one was...arguably unjustified).

I can't be too smug on the overeating front though; my baklava obsession reached new, syrup-soaked heights.



Spending actual quality time with Pete. It's weird how you can live with someone and still feel like you don't really spend enough time together.

Kicking Pete's ass at cards. Well, at the time of this scorecard I was kicking his ass. I don't think you need to know how it ended.




Sometimes it's important just to be. To listen to yourself and just do what you want to do at that moment.