Monday, November 19, 2007

Vroom vroom

One of the main areas of argument between the Boy and myself has been over what it is and isn't safe for me to do when pregnant. However, due to our slightly insane view of the world as one long sporting endeavour it would appear that he is fine with all manner of sporting activities, but worries a bit about me carrying the shopping.

The largest bone of contention has been my motorbike. After many years of sitting astride the back of the motorbikes of various leather clad boyfriends, when the Boy and I got together he decided it was time for me to get a bike of my own and shoved me down to a freezing cold school car park in Croydon one winter to do my training and get my licence. A good few years later, and I am in love with my motorbike. I love the freedom it gives me, and the fun it brings to someone who has always found driving a chore. I hate cars now, and would rather get too hot, too sweaty, too cold or too wet than get into something with 4 wheels given the choice of something with 2.

However, even I admit that the liklihood of me having a serious accident on the bike it higher than in a car and so since we found out I was pregnant he has not been happy about me riding and has been making strange disapproving noises whenever I grabbed my helmet and left the flat.

Until Bump started to stick out, I carried on riding. She was, I reasoned, well protected and I wore all of my safety gear religiously. However, about 2 months ago the Boy started making stronger noises about me being on the bike and so I struck an agreement with him that if he rode her once a week for me then I would stop.

My beautiful bright blue 400cc motorbike is now sitting, looking forelorn, in our car park at home - having been ignored for 2 months (except when I potter over to stroke her).

This morning, when I was sitting on the bus to work, I was overtaken by two very lovely, shiny looking motorbikes and I realised how much I miss riding my own.

Only 8 weeks until I can...

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