From the Blog
Heart beating fast. Arms flying. Limbs flailing. Grabbing for breath as I grab for supplies. Frantically pinning down a restless torso with one arm as I reach out quick-as-I-can with the other, only to realise I don’t have what I need. A dart of a glance downwards and I run for it, hoping nothing dangerous will happen while I’m gone…
There’s nothing sweeter than watching a child sleep. Especially your own child. All that fresh, soft innocence stilled and at rest. The curl of their cheeks seem somehow plumper, squishier, under the dimmed, quieted light of night. Their eyelashes become impossibly long and thick, brushing against skin like fairy wings.
A few days ago this happened: I lost my iphone. I’m pretty sure it’s hiding somewhere in the apartment, not lost in the greater world. It’s just that no matter how many beds I look under, I can’t seem to find it. My last recollection of its being with me was a foggy 5am, when I was awake with the sun, and, as is often the case, with an over-active Baby J.
The midwife’s wisdom She said it loud and clear
“Put me down!” she said. “But I just want to look at you.” I squeezed her hard, spun her around to the semi-melancholic soundtrack of her (current) favourite film, Inside Out. She’d woken early, and the boys were still sleeping. I could see she was tired, but too restless to go back to sleep, so as a once off (okay, not that once off, but not an every-day occurrence either) I’d offered her movie-time in the morning.
Like any good (recovering) perfectionist I began 2016 all thirty-six hours ago with plans and intentions. The official, grown-up name: resolutions. Precariously perched on the freshly painted, unsullied doorstep of a new year, I looked back over my shoulder nostalgically at all that had now passed, the beautiful and the baffling, the tried and the trying, the welcome and the woeful of 2015, and I thought to myself — how can I make 2016 better?
Our W. He’s our little charmer, our easy-going one. In a family of introverts, he’s our extrovert. So much so that Dr M and I often pause and look at each other and exclaim: ‘Where did he come from.’
It’s known in the medical world (or at least the patient-doctor version of it) by its cute little nickname: endo. Until fairly recently, it seems, endometriosis has been relatively quiet. But a just released story in The Guardian circulating social media is speaking out. When I read it today in my living room while feeding my third baby I cried.
Trying to tidy with a toddler is like attempting to sweep leaves in the presence of a hurricane… If you pour it, they will spill it; if you change it, they will dirty it; if you find it, they will lose it… Suspect silence..
Before we had kids Dr M and I often wouldn’t eat dinner until at least 8:30pm. Okay, sometimes 10pm. Even when we just had E, we’d call her our little party-baby and take her with us everywhere, anytime. She’d sit beside us in cafes often late into the night in her little capsule, nestled into her blanket, blissfully unaware of time as we worked on study or writing deadlines.
Heart beating fast. Arms flying. Limbs flailing. Grabbing for breath as I grab for supplies. Frantically pinning down a restless torso with one arm as I reach out quick-as-I-can with the other, only to realise I don’t have what I need. A dart of a glance downwards and I run for it, hoping nothing dangerous will happen while I’m gone…
There’s nothing sweeter than watching a child sleep. Especially your own child. All that fresh, soft innocence stilled and at rest. The curl of their cheeks seem somehow plumper, squishier, under the dimmed, quieted light of night. Their eyelashes become impossibly long and thick, brushing against skin like fairy wings.
A few days ago this happened: I lost my iphone. I’m pretty sure it’s hiding somewhere in the apartment, not lost in the greater world. It’s just that no matter how many beds I look under, I can’t seem to find it. My last recollection of its being with me was a foggy 5am, when I was awake with the sun, and, as is often the case, with an over-active Baby J.
The midwife’s wisdom She said it loud and clear as she paced the shiny white hospital floor, her solid black shoes tapping an inarguable beat:
“Put me down!” she said. “But I just want to look at you.” I squeezed her hard, spun her around to the semi-melancholic soundtrack of her (current) favourite film, Inside Out. She’d woken early, and the boys were still sleeping. I could see she was tired, but too restless to go back to sleep, so as a once off (okay, not that once off, but not an every-day occurrence either) I’d offered her movie-time in the morning.
Like any good (recovering) perfectionist I began 2016 all thirty-six hours ago with plans and intentions. The official, grown-up name: resolutions. Precariously perched on the freshly painted, unsullied doorstep of a new year, I looked back over my shoulder nostalgically at all that had now passed, the beautiful and the baffling, the tried and the trying, the welcome and the woeful of 2015, and I thought to myself — how can I make 2016 better?
Our W. He’s our little charmer, our easy-going one. In a family of introverts, he’s our extrovert. So much so that Dr M and I often pause and look at each other and exclaim: ‘Where did he come from.’
It’s known in the medical world (or at least the patient-doctor version of it) by its cute little nickname: endo. Until fairly recently, it seems, endometriosis has been relatively quiet. But a just released story in The Guardian circulating social media is speaking out. When I read it today in my living room while feeding my third baby I cried.
Trying to tidy with a toddler is like attempting to sweep leaves in the presence of a hurricane… If you pour it, they will spill it; if you change it, they will dirty it; if you find it, they will lose it… Suspect silence..
Before we had kids Dr M and I often wouldn’t eat dinner until at least 8:30pm. Okay, sometimes 10pm. Even when we just had E, we’d call her our little party-baby and take her with us everywhere, anytime. She’d sit beside us in cafes often late into the night in her little capsule, nestled into her blanket, blissfully unaware of time as we worked on study or writing deadlines.
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