I read the words of a wise woman today and it took me a moment to absorb them.
She spoke of the limitations she felt in herself as a mother as she stretched between working, studying and parenting, with the latter taking a sharp decline in attention.
Then I had a small panic because that’s kind of what I’m planning on for the next twelve months at least and for once I would like to finish something because I ALWAYS approach things in the most full on capacity possible* and only occasionally do I come through with the goods so if there’s any kind of cosmic force out there beyond Dan Harmons wit I beg of you to give me even half of this wise woman’s dedication and composure and intelligence and let me know shits gonna turn out all right.

*case in point: I’ve only ever crocheted. Of course I started out with a blanket that’s still a pile of squares in my craft box. Last week I took up knitting and the obvious choice is to pick a cardigan which also happens to be an accomplished knitters pattern and I’m no less than entirely absorbed with finishing it before we go back to Far North Queensland. Though I’m at the halfway point and I’ve been thinking for a couple of days perhaps I should have bought that jumper pattern instead, all the while acknowledging the voice of authority that tells me to see things through. (Yes that’s a cardigan. For a toddler. In the tropics. In wet season.)

The irony is I can see the lunacy of the situation but I’m not less obsessed.
And this example is not a far stretch from the way the rest of my life goes, which is a real concern because I’d like to actually achieve things at some stage.



You know what really grinds my gears?

Not knowing what the damned future holds.

FOMO (fear of missing out – I have to brag about my semester of psychology someplace, dudes) is a very real phenomenon and it kills me. In a figurative sense.
I cannot ever make a decision, and then when I do 98% of the time I’ll change my mind before I actually go through with whatever it is; from buying those shorts or enrolling in an interstate university. Otherwise I’ll have serious remorse and wish I’d just stayed on my comfy fence and never dabbled with the dangerous mistress that is being decisive.

As it turns out, the shorts never came but I have to return the jeans and top that were to come with them because they’re just not quite right. Which is kind of the story of my life.

The interstate university is yet to be determined but I have been offered a place in a distance nursing bachelors degree which means travelling 8 hours by car two-three days a semester.

I’ve booked a flight home for leaf and I but I do wish home was Melbournes inner suburbs and uni was the double degree I dream of.


Till then, my gears continue to be ground by things not going my way. If the universe could figure that out and get back to me with a solution, that’d be peachy.



It is what it is.

I never never ever thought I’d last this long; it was definitely one of the toughest things I have ever pushed through and it paid off in dividends.

This last week leaf hasn’t had one single feed. She didn’t ask, I didn’t offer, and when I realised it broke my heart that I didn’t appreciate the very last time.

Then she had a quick snackeral while we were in the shower to cure the bump on the head blues and I got the chance to make peace with that incredible/painful chapter coming to an end.

Now I just feel sad and nostalgic and blue with love and the very real understanding that my bebe will certainly not be my bebe forever.

The walking and talking should probably have been earlier indicators of that..



I’m not entirely sure how to process the first part of 2015 for us.

Leafy and I will travel 3000+km to stay with my family for the Christmas/New Years/Australia day period and leafs papa will stay here.
I know she’s going to love it and I’m that excited for her to be able to engage with her uncles and cousins and really enjoy what (I think) the summer holidays should be about: family, fun and free time.

But I feel the mama guilt, taking my bebe away from her papa, flipping her from the only home she’s known to my parents to an interstate move for a couple months then back to my parents then back to her tropical home to then move again just weeks later and have a very vague ’till the end of the year’ limit on that.. It hurts my heart to think she won’t be settled, or have a home full of vague memories of toddlerhood, that she hasn’t been anywhere long enough for me to make friends with people who have children her age, that she’s stuck with such a gypsy of a mama, that her family lives so far away, that I might not be able to give her siblings etc etc.
What is initially a very simple gee willickers I’m not looking forward to this flight very swiftly develops into the downward spiral of anxiety that looms ever watchful just beyond the reaches of conscious control, waiting for a moment of doubt to ruthlessly seize upon any infinitesimal opportunity to devour a lacklustre mamas wavering confidence.

Moral of the story; I get motion sick.

Welcome to my mind.


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.




It’s Tuesday.. But the days blur.
This Friday November 21st is Did I Get Into University (Again) day.
I don’t have very high hopes because I kind of applied for an honours program that doesn’t technically have a distance component, but I know the first three years are all classes that DO.
So I’m fairly consumed with thinking about that.
And how I should probably be working cause uni is going to be hard considering how rarely leafs papa is home and it’s a long term thing and I should really be long term-ing the dollar dollar bills y’all.
Even though I need something stimulating, but it won’t start till march so there’s still time but even so I don’t want to leave leaf in day care so with a friend is best but it’s not fair to restrict her with me taking just a night time job… You recognise the crazy.

Meanwhile leaf is particularly fond of pooping her pants, loosening her nappy just enough that her tin chubby fingers fit inside it to reach aforementioned poo and just kinda flick it around. Maybe rub it in her hair, the tile grout, maybe the couch. Essentially just going with the feels.


By the book or by the feels?

I guess first time mothers are all going to be the same whether they’re pregnant by plan and execution or just as surprised as I was: scared witless and devouring any information they can get their hands on.

The problem posed here, however, is that it is literally impossible to a) absorb all the tripe that’s produced as reliable literature, b) separate the quality tips from from unrealistic propaganda and c) function at all with a newborn (you just wing that shit and if you’re both still alive at the end of the day that’s cause for celebration yo!).

Initially as is my nature I read the crap out of books, articles, scientific journals and online forums to be certain I was doing the exact right combination of Things To Grow A Human. After a few weeks (as is also my nature, hello third attempt at university 2015) I threw in the towel and decided I’d play it by ear because what right for one person is abhorrent to another – case in point: cry-it-out (that’s CIO on the forums, savvy?).

ALL I want is for Leaf to reach old age happy and healthy.
But also kind, conscientious, smart, independent, self aware, confident, polite, determined, and brave.

So I let her run around naked. She’s dirty more often than not. She knows what dirt and sand taste like. She swims around in the pool with floaty rings on her arms unassisted (but supervised. Der). She rolls around on the floor with the dog and fights over a chew toy. Sometimes she has a bit of froth from my latte. She says hello and goodbye and blows kisses to whoever she pleases. She has bruises and scratches of unknown origin. Jams her fingers in doors and cupboards. She eats chocolate, fruit fruit fruit, barely any meat, wipes her own mouth and nose, eats on a rug on the floor, watches tv.

I’d rather worry about the happy and healthy things than 4.6 minutes of screen time and sustainable organic wooden age appropriate toys and a perfectly balanced diet.

Hope that’s cool with you, Leaf. Quick, Bing Bunny is on.



I haaaaate when people are condescending, or patronising. Or tossers.

Early 20’s retail girl: I’m not your babe, love, darl, sweetie, gorge or hun. IM NOBODYS THOSE THINGS but I’m especially not yours.

Aspiring bloggers: framing every piece like you’re Carrie and New York is holding its collective breath is such a snore I could just die. “I’m here to tell you,” that your prose lacks depth and originality.

Parents of children older than leaf: I get it. You are winning the eternal race of time and therefore your experience is far more valid and well informed. Rub my face in it yo, lets solidify my derision.

Real estate agent: I am aware that the owner of the house we rent will be unwilling to pay for our broadband. I am aware you take great, lengthy, and superior pleasure in informing me. I am also aware that the words that came out of my mouth were not “when will they start paying my bills?” But rather, “are you able to find out when the telephone outlet was last active.”

Bambi: you’re far too conceited for your own good, and your previously harmless self destructive behaviour that is a product of a lack of mental stimulation is turning outward in an unnecessarily aggressive fashion. Get over yourself.



I surpassed my internet quota for the month in two weeks… So this week’s post is late – but no less poignant.

Does it speak of a persons love for another when they’re willing to accept their loves 400% increase in shower poop propensity?
Or is it merely a reflection of one’s lack of regard for the privacy and inadvertent distasteful nature of bodily functions?

My life in a partially digested mandarin and rehydrated sultana nutshell.


Posted from WordPress for Android

well spent.


In trying to make a life out of what is – more likely than not – temporary, I’ve begun taking on various calmly themed mantras, with hopes that I manage to convince myself that right now is a-okay.

Contentment is the current name of the game; a state of peaceful happiness. Entirely coincidentally (and in efforts to slough away baby baking insulation) I’ve been doing yoga for two weeks now, excluding two rest days, and today was the best yet. It’s hatha, a bit of yin, kundalini, plus a modified bikram, and they’re all excellent but I have the hardest time switching my brain off and focusing on the self awareness and respect that underlies yogic philosophy. This morning though, I saw some actual progress. As in, I can now do something that just last week was not do-able.

Personally that’s a huge deal, because one of my greatest pitfalls with self motivated anything exercise is I give up in .05 of a second because there’s no improvement. Because #slothlife. Incidentally I blame technology and gen y and mtv and fitspo.

Of course it’s much easier now because I have Leafs papa home in the mornings to watch her for the singular hour, so I’m not worrying about leaving her (that’s a TOTAL lie). Still, I worry about all the other things.

Not today though (again, a lie. But just a wee one)! Today I was calm and focused and listened to my body and had mental and physical breakthroughs.
I’m shamefully ridiculously embarrassingly proud of this so I’m making a point of carrying this feeling through the rest of the week (not sure if this one’s a lie. I suspect yes but is that just shooting it down before I even give Yogi Bambi a chance?).

To a week of content then!