I’ve taken my preggers legs from a march down to the city this afternoon.
Call it an act of faith.
For we are finally going to market. Actual markets. Those delightful almost-festivals that champion, celebrate and commercialise (i.e. make viable) everything local, bespoke and handmade.
And I’m sitting here watching them set themselves up for the Twilight Markets.
There are a couple of random marquees (like mine will be, a hire-to-be I suppose). They sit dotted about like happy little islands in the late lunch crowds.
The matching monochrome sprinkles of King George Square..!
The Livlette is luckily (thank sweet God!) all lights out in her pram – so I can indulge in my little snoop – and write this blog I seemed to excited to start three months ago.
Goldie’s impatient kicks in my tum are a ominous reminder of her arrival any day. Which is what flung me out on my feet today.
A couple of weeks ago, a friend asked me “why do you need to do markets now?”…
Because I’ve wanted this for so long. It consumes my thoughts at night when sleep won’t come.
Because I’ve planned, researched, dreamt.
I’m wriggling in so much frustration that I’m not doing it already, I know that now is just the perfect time. Perfectly inconvenient too, I’m sure – but if I don’t fling myself headfirst into this right now, when will I ever start?
These days before my second baby arrives are the last days I have to get everything ready.
The last moments I have to take that leap while I’m only holding one child (on the outside, anyway).
These also my last days with this precious child I hold in my arms right now. I know this so well, and I don’t want to waste it. I can’t bear to miss a fraction of a second… and so I’m flickering about like a flaky sprite after a triple espresso – to be present and awake for each tiny experience of this compressed period of time.
“Hyped up” would be putting it mildly.
I can’t imagine what it will be like with Goldie here. I can’t imagine what she will be like. I can’t imagine myself as the same person I was when I had my first little girl and got thrown head first into bedlam.
Everything is different.
Which is perhaps why it’s time to bury myself in Pure Cute business – something stable and grounded. I can hold tight to it as a constant in my life, something that is just my own.
I think that’s what I answered when my friend asked what she did. That this creative outlet/ “grown up stuff” was the one piece of my life that I felt I owned.
I get to call the shots. I can express myself and make things that mean something to me. These pretty things can communicate everything I love about my life and the world around me to other people.
At a time when I feel like my voice is lost, drowned out in the din of yowls, squarks and shrieks, getting my voice out there – anywhere – is precious and priceless.
I’ve always loved markets. They’re such an event. Like a party, only you don’t have to make chitchat with strangers or update acquaintances with how fabulous your life has become since you last saw them. Which is just damn awkward when absolutely nothing in it’s changed.
You get dolled up (or leave on your track pants, who cares?). You could paint your face and wear pjs, because that’s what you can do when you go roaming through markets. It’s the freedom to shop with the reckless abandon and shameless fashion choices you would at home, online, at midnight. But you’re there. Where it’s happening.
A spectator, a participant, part of the scenery and part-time director of the show.
I love it!!!
The tricky bit is, does everyone feel the same way about markets?
I take for granted they like them – after all, they keep rocking up every weekend all over town.
What do you want from a market? What are you looking for? What do you hope to find?
Is it something you want to buy, see, eat, or just take in and let wash over you? Hhhh… these are the things I keep asking and checking in my mind as I snoop about every row of stalls I can scurry to.
The hustle has started. This is getting real. There are dates, bump-ins and pack-downs, dresses to sew, clay to bake, flyers and pricing and PayPal readers – oh my!
(And the baby. Yes, the baby will be here then.)
There’s so much to do, so little time to think. Secretly (my hubby is a nervous passenger), I’m surprised I haven’t had a car accident yet while my mind has wandered.
Let’s just hope I arrive at the markets in one piece!