Jump cut
It’s crazy how fast time passes. I used to think a week lasted forever. That was before kids of course. These days I can hardly wrap my head around a month.
It’s been three months since we welcomed our new daughter, Arya, into the world. Three months. And I haven’t even managed to write her birth announcement on the blog. Writing has always been a release for me but at the end of the day now all I want to do is to sink into the sofa and hope I am lucky enough to get an hour without anyone needing me. And honestly in that hour all I want to do is to stare blankly at a screen before I get up and resume my parenting.
They say better late than never so here she is, our Arya. Born at home on November 27th, 2016. Caught by her dad in the bathtub. Perfection.
Dear Baby,
I don’t write much anymore. Not because I don’t want to but because time is never on my side. There is always something or someone demanding my attention. I must have written you a hundred letters in my mind already. That’s where I write these days while I juggle your siblings, work, house and the scraps of time that are left over for myself.
I swore I would cherish every moment of carrying you but time has gone by so fast and now we are on the brink of locking eyes for the very first time. I’m not quite ready. I’ve still so much to prepare, to process and to memorize about you right where you are. I already know I’ll miss feeling you move inside me, the way you start up as soon as your siblings wake in the morning as if to say “hi”. You’re the last one. The very last seed I’ll grow and there is a great sadness in that. I already know the double-edged sword I’ll walk when you’re finally in my arms. The indescribable joy of every first and the gut wrenching sense of loss for every last. I’ve been there before. I thought your sister was our last but fate had other ideas. And as terrifying as that has been (and is) at times I am nothing but thankful.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. I’m still finding my feet from last time and I worry that two arms will never be quite enough. I worry about the heartbreak that will follow for your siblings as they find me stretched even further. But I know we will have love abundance. I know there will be more smiles than ever before, more laughter and that my heart will positively burst with love for you all. I know that you will complete us and that there will never be any regrets. There are no regrets.
In a few weeks we will embark on a journey that will mark us for life. I trust you to know what to do. I trust myself to know what to do and this time I have placed that trust right where it needs to be. Right here, in the safety of our haven. We will be right here waiting, ready to catch you as you take your first breath of air.
Lots of love,
Mamma xx
You are worth loving.
I’m going to tell you a secret. As good as I am at taking care of other people (and I am damn good at it), I am absolute rubbish at taking care of myself. I will happily bend over backwards for people I love, I will go above and beyond to do nice things even for strangers to the point of stupidity, like working for free. (I mean seriously? What the hell? In what universe am I not worth paying for my professional services?) But I somehow just can’t do it for myself. It is as if I am blind to my own needs, or not even that because I see them, I’m just not capable of tending to them. Somehow it is ok for me to not be ok but it is not ok for anyone else to not be ok.
I have been running on empty for almost 2 years now. I live off the fumes from the few drops that somehow make it into my cup. I stumble, I fall on my face and I get back up again. Life has a funny way of piling on the chaos and even when I can do something about it, when I have the power to open my mouth and say “I am not ok with this. This is not good for me.” Or to voice what I need or accept an offer of help, I don’t. My space is not important. My welfare is not important. (But of course it is.) Somehow I have lost myself along the way or perhaps I was lost some time ago.
I remember when I was a little girl, or even when I was a teenager, I would come home shattered because someone I considered a good friend had done/said/or neglected to do something. My mother would ask me time and time again why I let these so-called friends walk all over me and treat me like rubbish. She would say “these people are not your friends. This is not what friends do to each other.” I would curl up and hurt for a bit and then find my feet again. I would patch myself up and open my arms back up to the very same people. Time and time again. Someone I used to know told me “You see the world through rose-tinted glasses.” I knew even then that this wasn’t true. I’ve never seen the world through rose-tinted glasses, I’m a harsh realist but I’ve somehow been able to cling onto this hope that people will do for me what I would do for them. “Do onto others” right?
I could tell you a long and heartbreaking story about how and why I became this person convinced that I am not worthy of the care I give others but I’ll let the details be and just give you the bigger picture. Just know that I know why. To that I am not blind.
Imagine that there’s a person in your life that keeps telling you, in one way or another, that you are not good enough or worth taking care of. You are not worthy of their unconditional love. To this person you are resistance. You are not folding or scraping the floor before them. You are not ‘easy’ because you have thoughts of your own, ideas and opinions. You are different. Though you still take every blow given, you somehow still get back up, limp on and won’t stay down. For years you seek approval and love, time or simply attention but… You are not worth it. You still have people telling you that you are but there is this one constant voice telling you you’re not. If you know anything about how the brain works you’ll know that your brain will latch on to the negative and interpret it as truth. These negative views become your own. You find yourself in relationships with people who treat you the same way, it’s like you seek them out but after a while even your stubborn brain has to admit that something isn’t right. So you start trying to fight it. You figure out that you don’t deserve this but you can’t make it stop. But because your brain is now in conflict you find yourself at war, a war with yourself. It’s an endless battle that will rage on and on, a battle that has many consequences and leaves many scars. And it’s more or less silent and invisible to everyone around you unless they look closely and know exactly what to look for. And all the while this person is still there to lash out under the false pretence of “caring”. And you take it. You say “oh but it might still change.” And you hurt. You cry more than anyone knows that you cry because it just won’t stop.
I bet you’re asking why I’ve held on, why I didn’t just shut the door, cut my losses and walk away and I’ll tell you. In my mind that would make me no better. And I know I am better. I am bigger and better. I am more forgiving, I have the capacity to love above all hurt. I am nothing like them. I believe in second chances, I believe in redemption. I don’t believe in cutting people off and I don’t believe in burning bridges. And I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried so hard to protect myself as well as stay open. And it doesn’t work. It isn’t working.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been talking about taking a time out. Time for me, away from everything. I am tired, no, I am beyond exhausted and soon I will birth another baby who will need everything from me on top of what my other children do. For days I was looking at hotels and saying I was gonna book one. But I didn’t. I tormented myself because I found it more difficult than you can imagine to just do it because it was for me and only me. “It’s too much money. We can’t afford it.” I kept going in circles. “You need this. You need a break. If you don’t do it now it will never happen. But you’ll be lonely. You’ll get depressed. But you’re already depressed.” It was relentless. I sought approval and permission from my husband. Of course when he immediately said “Book it, you deserve this.” I still didn’t do it. After a horrendous half hour one afternoon that had me mopping up a couple of litres of water off the floor, changing a dripping wet toddler and trying to salvage the laundry all the while I had two hungry kids on my hands, dinner was running late, an achy pregnant body and a husband in Korea for a week I finally did it. I booked a hotel. I booked the one I really wanted, the one bedroom apartment in a hotel with a pool. Just for me. And I was immediately struck with guilt. Then a little bit excitement. And then the war began again.
I went to bed that night torn to pieces. I had to face head on why I was struggling so much to just plan a simple weekend away. The first one ever away from my kids. That there was the first hurdle. I’m an attachment parent. It doesn’t feel good or natural for me to leave my children when they are young. And Isis is still a baby in my eyes. Too young to leave. I sleep next to my children every night. It’s where I find my peace and that’s where I belong. But even I have had to admit to myself that I am not being the parent I know I am. They need me to take a time out too. My ghosts came creeping back out. Old ghosts that never stay away long enough to gather dust. Some time long after I went to bed a thought suddenly struck me. It hit me hard, clear as day amongst the raging chaos.
“You are worth loving.”
Suddenly something in me just clicked. Suddenly I realised that I have to close that door and it won’t make me anything like that person. I have to because I am worth loving. I deserve better. And if they really, truly want to know and love me, I am worth breaking down that door for. I am worth fighting for. I am worthy of unconditional love.
I won’t lie. I almost cancelled the whole thing. Because we can’t afford it. But I’ve held on. I’ve had to rationalise it all to myself again and again. My kids deserve this. They deserve a mother who can come back and really be present. Perhaps limping a bit less and most likely with a new spark in her eyes. But most importantly I deserve this. Not only the weekend away, but to walk away from years of emotional abuse. It’s about so much more than sleeping in a different bed for two nights. So. Much. More.
It’s time to admit that it’s ok to start loving yourself. I’m doing it for me and I’m doing it for them. Because nothing and no one matters more than the family I have right here, right now with my husband. I owe it to them and I owe it to me.
And it’s ok to say enough is enough.
Made from love, born into love.
Sometimes life throws you a curveball. Sometimes a voice in your head tells you it’s coming even before it’s possible to really know that it is. Sometimes you ignore that voice because you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to hear what it’s saying. But that ball is still soaring through the air headed straight for you. And then it hits.
I could tell you about the doubts, the weighing of options or the long talks. I could tell you about the pure exhaustion and the gut wrenching fear. I could tell you about the paranoia, the chaos or the loneliness. The physical pains, the weight of growing yet another life in an ageing body.
But I’ll tell you about the unconditional love. The quiet excitement, the humble joy I feel for this growing baby. The pride I decide to carry this rounded body with. How i look forward to birthing, to meeting this beautiful, brand new person, to our first touch. But first to cherish these weeks and months ahead. The very last. An unexpected surprise.
Made from love, born into love.
Baby, you are wanted.
Oh hello…
I’ve been a bad blogger. I dropped the ball. Not just fumbling at bit, just dropkicked it way out in the bush somewhere, out of sight. Time has kicked my ass the past 17 months. In all honesty life, the universe and everything has kicked me in the teeth the past 17 months but I’m still here trucking away. I’m like that weed you just can’t kill. Unless I self-destruct I seem to be able to survive just about any shit that comes my way. So much has happened. We built a house, we moved to a new city, my husband became a commuter, our son turned into a prepubescent thunderstorm at 4 and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Oh have I got stories for you… Anyway, I’m not here to whine, just yet… I just thought I’d check in just in case you were still there wondering what the hell happened.
So in short, I now have 2 kids at home full-time, a husband I see on the weekends and sometimes briefly at night. (Except the past 1,5 week when he was at home recovering from surgery. It may sound funny but it was a luxury for us to have so much time together.) I’m still trying to run a handmade business on my own, get some form of freelance photography going, navigate and integrate in a new city as well as take care of my little banshees. I’ve been a snot covered, bug infested wreck for the past 3 weeks but if you’re a mum you’ll know that none of that changes anything. You still get up and do the shit that needs to be done you just do it feeling like you have the plague.
And the 52 project? I suppose it’s still going. The photos are there, unprocessed mostly, just waiting for me to sacrifice something else to get to them.
But the new house is great. There’s a huge difference between having a hard time living in a mold infested shithole (no joke) and having a hard time living in a brand new house that’s yours. Somehow the hard times don’t seem as hard. Transitions are always tough. Once it gets better, once we get the hang of this new life, it will no doubt see sunshine it hasn’t seen in a long time. I can be patient. I can hold out.
Pass me a tissue, I’ve got work to do.
6/52
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
***
Anakin: You’re a natural born entertainer. Your world has no limits (other than when we say no to your wish to watch tv all day). We spent a few hours in a discovery centre for kids and your positively lit up. You were a pirate, a builder, a chess player, a DJ, a singer, you did it all, again and again, and you loved it. And I loved watching you even more.
***
Isis: This was your first meeting with the ocean (well, not counting the day before of course) and our first getaway as a family of 4. Family holidays might not be all relaxing just yet but they are packed with delightful times. You had such a ball. Dipping your face in the water, crawling in the waves, eating copious amounts of sand and doing all the things a baby is supposed to do at the beach and loving it.
48/52 – Sunday
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
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Anakin: Helping out in the kitchen making Sunday pancakes.
***
Isis: Enjoy a bit of nudie time before dinner.
37/52 – The two of you
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: Love. (Sometimes a bit reluctant.)
***
Isis: Total adoration.
36/52- Away
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: Lazy days away from home.
***
Isis: Hanging out helping me hang my show.
33/52 – Together
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
***
Anakin: You really do adore her. You’re her number one hero. Guaranteed to make her smile.
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Isis: There is nothing you love more than to be a part of what he does.
30/52 – Family
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
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Anakin: A visit from grandparents is a treat for us all. Every morning you’d wake up at the crack of dawn (like you usually do) and grandma would be the first thing on your mind. You’d get up, run in to where she was sleeping and crawl into bed for a cuddle. She took you swimming, to the zoo, read you books and smothered you in the kind of love only grandmas can. And it was so good! This time grandma brought one of your cousins to your great joy. You were so enthralled by her, always wanting to do what she did and be where she was.
***
Isis: Weekends are easily my favourite. It’s the time when pappa usually has some time to spend with us and with you. He misses so much of everything that goes on with you, it all happens so fast and usually while he’s at work. I adore listening to the two of you chatting on the sofa, catching up and getting some much needed one on one.
28/52- Remember this
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: The day before I took this picture I came across a drawing you’d done while tidying. For the first time it was clear to me what you’d drawn without any explanation, there was no mistaking it for anything other than a car. The day after I asked you if you wanted to draw some pictures with me, curious to see this new skill in action. First I drew a dinosaur for you which you helped me colour in and then I asked you to draw something. You sat in silence while putting carefully calculated lines on the paper. “Is that a T-Rex?” I asked. “Yes, mummy, it’s the skeleton!” And there it was, a fossil of a T-rex clear as day. I asked if you could draw a face and you did. Suddenly you’d mastered the translation of images to paper. It blew me away.
***
Isis: I want to hold on to all those little things about you that I know I’ll forget too soon. The way you kick your legs in excitement, how your body goes all stiff and rigid in anticipation of something funny and the way you fold your hands across your chest when you smile. Or how you rub your legs together when I take your socks off and that cheeky look you get when you go to grab my glasses. The way your face lights up at the sight of my hair as if it holds magical powers, the way you rub your face into my shoulder when you start to get tired and how you turn your head towards me when I rock you to get even closer. How you eagerly open and close your mouth when you know there’s food about to be served or how you burrow your face into my breast as if it will force milk out faster. I want to remember it all.
The long goodbyes
I hate long goodbyes. When I say long I don’t mean goodbyes that drag out but saying goodbye to loved ones you won’t see for a long time and that live far away. Those goodbyes. I’m no good at them. I just can’t get them right. They leave me full of wants, needs and regrets. And usually in tears. Some are definitely worse than others.
So this morning I had to say goodbye to my mum. Again. The mum goodbyes are the worst. She lives in Norway and I live in Australia. It’s not as easy as a Sunday drive to say hello. I always need that last hug or that last kiss we never share. Then there’s that last wave that usually doesn’t happen because goodbyes are killers and none of us want to let the other one have to see the pain so one of us turns away at that critical moment as the car drives out of sight.
It’s marginally easier being the one who leaves. For me at least. If I’m the one leaving I’ll quickly become (or make myself) busy with what needs to happen next. Airports, check ins, kids, all that stuff. But if I’m the one staying… whoa. And this morning was such a time. My husband and son took my mum and my niece to the airport. The baby and I had to stay because there was simply no room in the car. As soon as the car drove off I just kind of tipped.
Our house feels strangely foreign and empty when someone I love leaves it. I walk around aimlessly looking at the places they occupied searching for pieces of them left behind. As if it will miraculously make them reappear. With my mum her smell usually lingers for a while but never long enough. It’s this lotion she uses. It just smells like her, safe and cozy. I make strong connections between people and their smells. Today I have a baby that smells like my mum from those last hugs. She probably won’t get a bath today so I can hold on to that smell for just a little longer.
Goodbyes are awful. Suddenly I’m a child with children of her own desperate for my mother’s embrace. I feel lost and for a couple of days I find myself having to revisit all the choices that created the physical distance between us. But the answer is always the same. I can’t go back. I can’t sacrifice myself to be closer to my loved ones. I have to remember who I was before I left and who I am now, and the battles fought to get to this point. Going back is something I may not survive. It sounds melodramatic, I know, but severe depression is no joke. I came closer than most people know to not surviving the time I lived there and I just can’t put myself in that darkness again. My brain just can’t handle the extremes and I just can’t give up finally being on the way to doing what I want with my life. My children deserve a healthy, happy mum even if it means we have to make big sacrifices. And my mum knows that. I know that. But it’s still heartbreaking. And it still hurts like hell every now and then.
After ten years it would only be natural to assume goodbyes would get easier. They don’t. If anything they’re harder. And I know they will only keep getting harder and in some years they will reach a peak of almost unbearable as my mother at some point will become an old lady unable to travel across the world as much as she does now. (It’s still a long time away, mamma!) Our distance means there are many realities I just can’t think about. The what if’s and the when’s have to be kept far away. It means we have to carry a lot of hurt and longing in our hearts but the distance also shows how strong our love is.
Today was a little harder than it has been. Partly because it’s the first time she’s left me as a new mother of two, partly because this time there was no time for just us and because I’ve been ignoring the fact that the past two years have been an uphill battle and I’m completely depleted. I failed to really acknowledge the ledge I am hanging on to until my safest haven left. Because that’s what most mums are, the safest place there is, a haven between two arms to seek shelter from raging storms. So today the sound of every airplane above has left me in tears. Today has been a battle of its own. Today was full of regrets. Things I wish I’d said, things I wish I’d done (more of).
I love you until eternity, mamma. And I miss you every day.
I’m sorry it has to be this way.
Thank you for coming to see us. Thank you for helping out and for everything you do for us.
Thank you for letting me go, for never holding me back and for always being there when I need you the most.
(Sorry for posting your photo without permission. You’re beautiful.)
All my love, always. xx
14/52- Sharing
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: Sharing one of your favourite stories under the blanket with aunty Leah. You are always excited to see people and even more so these days. You’ve grown louder and more animated as if you feel you need to be to take the attention off your baby sister. It is nice to see you have some quiet time, to see you calm and assured that you are indeed just as important as you’ve always been. How could you not be? If only you knew how amazing we think you are, even on our bad days.
***
Isis: Your first meeting with aunty Leah. You gave her some sweet smiles before falling asleep on her chest. There is something so comforting about seeing you at such ease with the people we love.
9/52- The best sleep
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: Look at you. You’ve grown so tall over the summer. Probably even more so in my eyes. I have to admit I have days where I miss you so much. You’re right here with me but I miss you. I still try my best to let bedtime be all ours, just yours and mine. We sing and we cuddle in the dark. You want me to lie in your arms, you hold me tight and breathe into my hair. It makes me feel so strange to have you comfort me like that, and I wonder for how much longer I’ll be blessed with being wanted so close. Our bed is my favourite place in the house because we all share it. It’s always messy, always full of pillows, blankets, books and toys, but it speaks of love. It speaks of family. And it tells the story of how the best place to be is together and the best sleep is found next to the ones you love. I hope you’ll want to sleep there for a long time yet.
***
Isis: Sweet little baby yawns. I’d forgotten how much life revolves around sleep when you’re so little. Your sleep, my sleep, or lack there of. You’re still just a newborn, you still just want to be held. For every sleep. My arms are sore and my back aches, but I still hold you. Time passes so quickly when you watch someone grow. Every day comes with a new adventure and hopefully brings us a little closer to more rest.
I never seem to learn how to rest. Or to ask for help.
***
7/52- Let me hold on to you
A portrait series of my children, once a week, every week, for the next year.
Anakin: You have the sweetest nature, the gentlest soul. I see how hard you battle sometimes with jealously and hurt, but you never linger on the bad for too long. It’s been a strange time for us all. So much has happened the past few months, so many emotions still to process. I’ve cried for you more than once. Cried because my arms aren’t long enough, my lap isn’t big enough to keep you both as close as you need at the same time. I’ve cried because I’ve been too tired to give you my all, cried because for three years it was just you and me and I had all the time in the world just for you. I’ve cried because you’re still too young to understand that my love for you has grown nothing but bigger and stronger since your baby sister arrived. And I’ve cried because sometimes not being able to do everything for you kills me.
***
Isis: I’ve lost track of time since you arrived. Every week is significant because you’re a week older, yet every week flies by in a blur. I so desperately want to hold on to every second before I blink and you’re no longer a newborn. As much as I love this time I am also grieving. Grieving because we will never have this time again, because every first with you is also a last. My last pregnancy (most likely), my last birth, a last first meeting. There are days I just want to sit and stare at you all day, run my fingers across your face, tracing everything before it’s gone, before it slips away and turns into something new.
***
6/52 – Him and Her
A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for his fourth year and her first.
Anakin: I remember hearing your voice in the hallway of the hospital the morning your sister was born. It was full of a special kind of excitement. Today was the day you finally got to meet the mysterious little person that had been growing in my belly for the past nine months. The very same person we’d talked to, sung to and dreamed about. As you entered the room my heart jumped and took me by surprise. How much you’d grown in just a couple of hours. You eagerly climbed into bed asking to hold her. I was shaken by how much I’d missed you in just a few hours, how much my love had grown and how desperately I wanted to hold you close. I picked her up and placed her on your lap. You gently kissed her face and gave her a cuddle. Your hands gentle and your face so full of love and wonder.
***
Isis Indigo: My darling beautiful girl. My daughter. You took us by surprise both at conception and delivery. Your screams are as loud as your nature is soft. I spent the whole night you were born just gazing at your squishy, little sleeping face so in awe of you. I felt my heart expand to make room for the love that exploded within me. From the moment I laid my hands on you, your soft body still warm from being inside me, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. Life as I knew it, love as I knew it, had just grown bigger and more powerful than I could have possibly ever imagined. I held you close and took in that sweet, brand new scent in deep breaths cherishing the hours of darkness still left. Those early hours that were just yours and mine, before the world woke up and before our family reunited for the first meeting as a foursome.
***
For all the squishy baby spam, find us on Instagram @didajenta
SHE
Thursday January 22, 38 weeks +6 days. She was still swimming on the inside.
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Sunday January 25, 39 weeks+2 days. She came rushing out at 00.45 am and we fell head over heels in love again.
Meet our baby girl, Isis Indigo.
1 day old, having her first sleep in the hammock.
***
4 days old. She’s a peach. She’s absolutely perfect in every way.
***
We’re still finding our feet as a foursome and I’ve still got some healing to do, but life is good. I’m still processing the events that brought our baby girl into the world but once I do I will write her birth story and share some photos. In the mean time we’ll be busy enjoying our new family and easing our way into this new life. Posting will still be erratic for a little while as we’re still navigating our way through the early days. My heart is still expanding, my head is still trying to catch up. All I know is that right now I couldn’t possibly be happier. Unless I had a really long sleep.
3/52 – Summer delight
A portrait of my son, once a week, every week, for the fourth year of his life.
Anakin: Such incredible joy from such a simple thing as running naked through the sprinklers on a hot afternoon. You were a bit hesitant at first before throwing yourself head first into the cooling fun. Your grandma and grandpa sat on the porch mesmerised by your delight and laughter. None of us needed anything more than the simple pleasure of watching you.
51/52- Family
A portrait of my son, once a week, every week, for the third year of his life.
Anakin: It’s been a tumultuous time for you for the past few weeks with so many people around. But how much love and how much happiness there has been (and still is)! I see you blossom, but also struggle and sometimes it is hard to be the buffer between you and all the commotion. You are so loved by so many. How lucky are we to have family that flies all the way across the world to be with us and celebrate our wedding?
***
That brings me up to date again with the project and only one week to go. I’ll be continuing this next year too, but have yet to decide wether or not to start on Anakin’s third birthday or to wait until the baby is born to do them both.
There’s much to tell from the past few weeks. It’s been full on to say the least, but love prevails and we did get married despite some very intense drama leading up to it. More on that soon!
50/52 – Digger
A portrait of my son, once a week, every week, for the third year of his life.
Anakin: curious eyes and a finger up the nose. Grandma supplies the haircut while you dig for treasure.
49/52 – Jammin’
A portrait of my son, once a week, every week, for the third year of his life.
Anakin: hanging out with grandpa playing your new guitar. Your favourite song to play so far is the “pizza song” (Turbonegro’s The Age of Pamparius).
45/52 – Big brother
A portrait of my son, once a week, every week, for the 3rd year of his life.
Anakin: In a few short months you’ll no longer be the baby, but a big brother. A big boy, about to turn three and about to have your life turned upside down by the arrival of your little sister. I don’t think you quite get what it involves, but your affection for the baby bump makes my heart explode. I get your apprehension, I’m a bit apprehensive too, but we’ll do fine. We’ll do better than fine. I have no doubt you’ll make the very best big brother.
***
It’s been a turbulent time with big emotions for a little person. For us all really. So many things happening at once; my partner finally returning, wedding preparations, baby preparations, birthday talk and getting ready for two months of overseas visitors. It’s a lot to take on for someone not quite three, it’s a lot to take on for me too. I’m finding myself pulled closer as Anakin has become terrified that I will leave him, even for an hour or two. I’m also receiving a lot of anger and confusion in response to everything going on. It’s becoming clearer to me how carefully we need to navigate the next few months ahead, always making sure that number one stays, and feels like, number one. Keeping routines, slowing down, not taking on too much. And most importantly, never, not even for a second, let Anakin feel as if he is being set aside from us, from me in particular. He is so protective of me these days, perhaps aware in some sense that soon he’ll have to share. After my partner was away it has become even more important for him to know that we are here, that I am here, to take care of him. So whatever is going to happen over the next few months, this is my main focus.
At 28 weeks I get easily tired. Without a rest when Anakin naps I’m not worth a dime come three o’clock. Sleep is broken and allusive, but despite the general forgetfulness and pregnancy brain, I am feeling great and still thankful for the time we have left as just three. I too am finding myself overwhelmed by everything about to happen, perhaps even a bit scared. Scared that I won’t be prepared to be the mother of two, that I’ll be too tired from everything happening before the birth, that there will be no break between visits and birth, that she’ll come early, that she’ll come while we’re away and so on. These kinds of thoughts race through my mind more often these days and I occasionally struggle to keep them in line. I just have to remind myself to keep breathing and that whatever happens I’ll be able to manage. Learning hypnobirthing is really helping as I find I can calm myself quickly if I remind myself just to breathe slow and breathe deep.
As chaotic as our lives will be it will also be a wonderful time shared with family and friends. It may all happen at once, but they’re all good things, the best things. Wedding, birthday, baby… bring it.
Spring
Spring is easily my favourite time of year. Freesias blooming, birds chirping, the works. It’s warm enough to shed some layers, but not yet hot enough to make you head for the air con (if you have it). As it crept up towards 31 today I got a small reminder of what pregnancy was like the first time around in summer. Yep, it’s gonna be one of those summers.
Here’s a bunch of snaps of what we’ve been up to so far this spring. (I’ve been camera lazy. I need to work on that.)
Freesias- our front yard is full of them in early spring. They smell divine and look amazing.
Planting some strawberries.
Hedda loves to hang out outside.
Who needs a sandpit when you can make one yourself (next to your actual sandpit).
We heart Bundoora farm!
Eating parsley under the umbrella.
The season’s first BBQ and some delicious non-alcoholic sparkling wine.
The BBQ chef.
Adventures in Jedi 