Monday(ne)/Remember The Time?

For (what felt like) years, leaf would only sleep on me or when she was transferred painstakingly, in minuscule increments, on a perfectly even plane, to another equally as cushioned surface as mamas boobies and residual jelly belly.
I tried EVERYTHING you can think of, and nothing helped shift her out from under the undiluted heavy cloud of dependence.

But one day while we were strolling – I on my leaden weary hooves, leaf reclined and slumped to the side of the pram, chin lifted to reveal those delicious neck rolls and the faintest of snores – I had a realisation.

I could literally not remember the last time I had seen her asleep.

I couldn’t stop, obviously, lest I wake the she-devil with sixth sense sonar sensitivity, but I couldn’t keep from staring. Every few steps I slowed down as much as was permissible, and snuck a peek.

That night was the first night I realised we were kind of out of that new born faze. I don’t even remember how old she was, surely more than six months.
But I do remember how much I missed her.

That was the first night I acknowledged that there would come a last time that I’d see her asleep.

That there’d be a time when I would put her down and never pick her up again.

That she wouldn’t always need me.

I still feel that way, despite the large number of days that I wish the kid would cut me some slack.
It’s really a very lonesome thought, and comes closely coupled with the knowledge that our conscious love is probably a long way from being equally reciprocal, if it ever is to be.

Because of this, I miss her even when she’s staring me in the eye and asking me to fix her sore knee by kissing her finger better.
Because of this, I check on her each night before I sleep.
Because of this, sometimes I can’t sleep because I want to be awake in case she cries out.
Because of this, I’m reluctant to give her a brother or sister.
Because of this, I struggle to leave her with anyone.
Because of this, I haven’t pursued my education, employment, or fitness with any respectable gusto.
Because of this, I pick her up and breathe deeply of her while she sleeps and sing to her, or whisper stories, or just tell her I love her over and over again.

She ruins me, but she also completes me, and I think that’s the mark of a great and enduring love story.

And I ALWAYS want to remember that.




not-so-triumphant returns.

I took a bit of a hiatus.
Things got hectic.
My head got foggy.
E got naughty.
E got better.
In-laws visited (no comment..for now).

But I’m back. And full of more words nobody wants to hear than ever!

We battled with sleep deprivation, post natal depression, career indecision, exercise, exhaustion, university, gym inferiority complex, feeling like a stranger in my own home, sweltering Aussie summer, boating, beaching, a miraculous couple of weeks of self settling…
All I’ve got is commas because I’m still so damn tired.

You’d think, given how hard things were in the early days, that the moment tthings started to improve that I’d take it easy.
Believe me, I thought so too.
I even thought that was actually occurring. Here I was, before writing this, thinking “Go back to writing, you’ve got time and you deserve it.”


E doesn’t cry all the time! In hindsight she was an atrocious baby. But so damned cute.
But every inch she’s given I’ve taken a mile. Started a gym membership, enrolled in university, built on my garden, worked HARD on my relationship and somehow I’m happy.
We have good and bad days with the baby but it seems like we’re out of the haze and seeing things clearly. We can’t decide when anything is happening but we’re going to get a house as soon as we’ve saved a deposit, a new car as soon as mine dies, a new baby NEVER (not really but I’m so over how clucky I was now there’s no longer any round ladies around me), and I’ve curbed my shopping habit.

That last ones not entirely true.

I’ll return when I’ve got brain power for more than commas. I do love an Oxford comma, though.