Breaking through

I’m sitting on the concrete, cross legged. My foot falls asleep, but that’s okay, because the music is good and the sun is warm. In front of me are people on beanbags and a stab of jealousy shoots through me, and I tell myself I’m being stupid.

Sitting, listening, I feel like I want to write again. Something new, I’ve had writers block for a month now. The music flows through me and it’s great. My fingers twitch, an iPhone is no good for proper writing. This is unfortunate.

The music is free and the atmosphere is great. I’ve been pushed well out of my comfort zone, but instead of drowning I’m swimming free and loving it. At home my children play and scream for their father, but that’s miles away from where I am now.

Later, we stand in a line tweeting, while someone headbangs to a cello.

‘We must look like nerds’ says Gordon.

I smile, we probably do, with phones in hand and twitter at the ready, but this is what we’re here for.

A moment later, a man in a bright yellow shirt and purple polka dot pants walks past. I laugh.

‘We might look like nerds, but we don’t look anywhere near as bad as he did.’

I drift around, listening to music and people watching. I feel like an adult again, not just a mother, needed only for nappy changes and food distribution and hours of playing with cars on the floor.

I’d forgotten who I was, stuck in domesticity and mired in a sea of autism and meltdowns. This has reminded me that I am someone outside of their mother. That I can be an adult still and hold adult conversations that don’t revolve around screaming and lack of sleep.

The week stretches out in front of me and I am so pleased I came, so pleased I’m here.