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This morning I am sitting in one of my new favourite places, a coffee shop near the ocean, contemplating. After a beautifully relaxing early morning at home I headed into town for my baby yoga session.

On the way I called my Dad and we had a long catch-up, talking about names and carrying on traditions. Dad has been unwell and in a way I feel like this baby is a real positive in a negative time for him. He is excited about coming to visit and looking forward to planning the trip. I am glad that this gives him a goal, but as I said to him, if he can’t we will go there just as soon as baby can fly!

Because I had such a wonderful relaxing start to the morning, my baby yoga session was a real treat. Normally I am rushing in there after a long days work, a little but hyped and it takes me a while to relax. Today though I was blissed out before I even stepped in the door. It paid off. In the guided relaxation sessions my mind was completely at ease and I was seeing patterns of grey (not shades of grey!) in front of my eyes. I have a place I call the ‘purple place’ when in deep relaxation. I don’t get there all the time but absolutely love it when I do.

Now, I am treating myself and baby to breakfast in the afore mentioned café. It is my zen time, my alone time, almost like a date with just baby and me.

I can’t help but watch the swirl of people around me. To my right – the backpackers. They are young, exotic and colourful. I drift back to my own time of travel as I listen to their lilting accents. The words are not important it is the feel you get from them, sunkissed and relaxed.

Straight ahead the Chinese tourists are much more animated as they hurriedly snap photos of their food as it appears. A tumbling clipped dialogue ensues amongst shy giggles.

I use my time to make up stories of the others. The regular folk that make up the eclectic mix of my fellow diners. There is the ridiculously loud laugher, who I can certainly hear but only see in my mind’s eye. She has a lie to cover and distraction is her tool. She is out to impress her fellow brunch diners but her suit a fake, the polyester itching and hem tape scratching her ankle.

My favourite of all the café characters. The ‘lip-smacker’. With bubbling irritation I notice once, twice, thrice the noise that escapes the graying teeth as lips and tongue are used to pry food from their position. Again and again the noise resonates. There is no consideration for his dining partner, or those unfortunate to sit around. As he recoils in his chair arrogance slips out from above his unbuttoned shirt. I glance again. He does not stop. Smack, slurp, smack. I look more obviously in his direction. Internally I scream “toothpick” and behind my dark glasses I roll my eyes. Thankfully there is distraction as loud laugher returns, a cackling scream to drown the supercilious smack. I direct my mind to follow her, continue her story of make-believe. Ah, there she is.

Me, I must appear strange myself. I am haphazardly interrupting my mouthfuls of food to scribble down ideas as they come to me. To the others I surely am as perplexing as they to me, but a pregnant lady can not rely on her memory anymore and these characters can’t be left to slip by…

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