Epiphany in a cardboard box.

Today I feel like celebrating.
It's the Cardiff marathon, but that's not what's making me jubilant.
It's a year since my sister came to visit, but that's nothing to cheer about either (though the fact that she will be here again soon is).
What it is is that the last time I watched these lunatics run past dressed as Scooby Doo, or cardboard boxes (genius), or as runners (how unimaginative!) I was feeling really ill. My sister had come to visit me, as she was worried about my mental health.
After 5 years of trying unsuccessfully for a baby I was beginning to fall apart.

We went out for a drink on the Saturday night and I had even more cause for misery when I found that none of my clothes fit. I even declared that the only skirt that did fit left me looking 3-months pregnant. I couldn't drink, which was really unlike me and, even though I'd only had about half a pint of lager, the next day I had a terrible hangover that I couldn't shake.
I was more tired, depressed and despondent than I'd ever been in my life yet if I'd had a window into this point in time I'd have been instantly uplifted.
Because my mystery illness was of course an early sign of my pregnancy.

I have frequently cast my mind back to the time before our Harriet came along and the long, miserable years we spent waiting for her. I have thought about the day that the test finally had a + sign on it. I could not believe it then and although I spent 9 months growing ever larger, and even though I gave birth, and despite the fact that I have been looking after Harriet for 4 months now, I've still had trouble believing it.

I think I was waiting for some event like today, when a wormhole (in the guise of a marathon) appeared and the two times were connected.
I got my window in time and it all finally seems real.

I'm usually this slow on the uptake.