How weird is this: the Brit is in Johannesburg right now.
Now I know he went there once before without me (then we met, and forever after he has come with me or to me in South Africa), but now that he's taken on a project there, he is flying there a few times this year sans moi.
It's all quite weird. It's not like I am gagging to go right this instant (it's warmer here, from what I hear), and besides, my passport is sitting in the Home Office, but still.
Two new beginnings for me at the moment: Britizenship and a new very special mums group.
Tomorrow I go to Croydon to sit in five different queues to five different little windows, where I take a ticket, and amongst refugees, working people, spouses and everyone else, apply for my Indefinite Leave to Remain. And hope the jobsworth who has been there for 35 years with the chip on his shoulder doesn't give me a hard time.
Getting the paperwork has caused a motherlode of stress (How many times can one person ask one bank for the right bank statements? Thrice. That's how many.)
But I can hardly believe it - I can see my Britizenship. It's the dot that has sat on a five year horizon, which is now suddenly loomingly close. After my trip to the US in June, I will apply for my passport, and if all goes to plan (although, what plan ever has?), I should be a British citizen by August.
Anyway, one has to deal with the bureaucracy, paperwork and cost in chunks, otherwise one might lose their minds, and for now, the next step is sitting in the Home Office for nine hours tomorrow. If I get out early, I will go to the pub and drink a massive glass of wine. Because I took the day off. And I'm sure by then I'll need it.
In other news, I met the most inspiring woman last week. She lost one of her twin boys eight months ago. Hearing her story made me sob endlessly. It's amazing how something like losing a twin can connect you to someone who has been through the same thing, immediately. I know nothing about her life, but for the fact that she has been through hell and back with losing a child that most people seem to forget about.
She has also connected me to a group here in the UK who meet regularly. This is huge. To be able to meet other people who I can tell my story to, speak about Molly, hear their stories, every detail, and know that I am definitely not alone! This is massive. Our pain, grief and situation is so unique - to feel like I actually belong somewhere has been what's missing in my lonely little journey.
South West London is full of [smug - oh, I was one of them once] twin mummies. So to find other mummies nearby who have lost, is really a massive lifeline. There was a time where I belonged to twins groups, and after I lost Molly, my exclusive little clubs fell away. I couldn't belong to it anymore. I wasn't "special" like them anymore.
Now I have a new group where I can belong when I need to talk about my twins.
And they all just get it. I don't know how many people a year on average lose a twin. Maybe 1 in every 100 000 pregnancies? I don't know. But it's hard to find people that have gone through exactly the same thing, and who fight, just like me, to preserve the memory of their lost twin.