Pretty

So here it is.  My baby girl is 18 months old today.  A year and a half.  It feels like a giant milestone.  

And so it should.  She is becoming more and more human every day.  She knows what she likes and doesn't.  She is becoming more and more vocal.  The little miss late-bloomer is even close to walking.  

The thing is, it's too late now.  It didn't take long, but at 18 months, she is already so woven into my life.  Into every morning and every night.  When she goes to bed, I still long to wake her at least once a night.  To hold her.  Just to be with her.  How wonderfully lucky am I?

Weird things happen in your heart when you have a child.  All the space for shoes or outfits or other beautiful things seems to get cleared out to make space for one little piece of pretty.  And this little piece of pretty expands like that weird builders sealant foam.  And pretty soon, that pretty is all you have.  

My husband has been away for nearly a week now.  On business.  And we have 11 more days (yes, I am absolutely counting) before we can get him back.  Strangely,  even though I miss him so much, I am enjoying this alone time with my little big girl.  We get to bond and do silly things and have long walks and share our hearts.  Obviously she mainly says that she'd like another biscuit (or grape, or other sweet thing).  She tries on my necklaces.  She climbs on me.  She is happy to share my body with her rapidly growing sister.  

She is pretty.  And pretty amazing.

Kit Kat?

I. need. a. break.*

Have you ever found yourself feeling like the people you usually rely on for support have become so busy with their own lives that you are left alone.  Suddenly life feels like a series of ice creams dropping on the pavement.  You just feel alone and overwhelmed.  Even if you can afford more ice cream.  As many ice creams as you'd like.

But thats just it about life, isn't it?  Whats the use having ice creams or a new dress or exciting news if you have everyone but no one to share it with?  I'm not talking about the silly day-to-day things.  I do my dishes and I pick my little girls toys up (at least a thousand times a day) and I try to make sure that there is dinner available.  Everyone does these things.  Sometimes life is full of big moments, made big because they are built out of the little ones.  These are what need to be shared.

Before the all encompassing "housewife" moments become too big, maybe just find someone to share with that you finally managed to find that specific cloth or nappy you've been searching for.  Someone who, maybe has been searching for the same thing.  Someone who will, with gusto, declare that your seemingly mundane life is only as mundane as their own.

And then you will celebrate.  And buy two extra packs.

Husbands don't always understand the hormone driven psyche of a mom.  And a pregnant one, please. One moment I find said stupid micro fibre cloth and rejoice.  The next I am so consumed with tears and emotion, that even I don't know what is going on.

Life is a funny place.  Sometimes being a grown-up is horrible.  And lonely.

*no children, dishwashers or pets were harmed in the writing of this post.

Floating

You know that moment when you let a helium balloon go and it floats up and up until you cannot see it anymore?  Today I am trying to decide if that for me feels like freedom, or being lost.

Recently some big changes have come about in my life.  Things that I'd always assumed would be there were sold, rather speedily.  And it's not like I needed those things in my life.  It is just that, in the nomadic life that I lead, it feels safe to know that there is a little bit of constant ground.

Anyway.  It lead me to wonder if maybe it wasn't time to figure out where my own constant would be. Home is where the heart is, I know.  But where does my heart want to be?  I have been making list after list.  Using google to make more lists.

As a child we lived in about 5 or 6 houses before I was in fact 5 or 6.  But thereafter, things didn't really change for a while.  Fast track another 20 or so years and I've lived in 3 countries.  Nomadic.  But fun.

Yet inside of me there is a deep desire to let my roots grow further than a pots depth.  I want to paint my house.  And break down walls.  And build garden sheds and paint those.  I want my own.

Maybe children have something to do with it.  Possibly the fact that all my friends with children have already decided what school they'd attend.  Before their first birthdays.  The thought fills be with dread.  How do I decide?  And commit, and pay deposits.  I came from a small pond.  With one school.

Anyway.  It seems the string to my own balloon has been clipped.  Just hoping the tree I end up in is the right one.

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Are you happy?

Bam!  Those three words (not, "I love you", as per popular demand) have punch-in-the-face capabilities like no other.  Not, "are you happy with...".  That suggests a single item.  You can change that latte to a cappuccino in under 5 minutes.  And you will be happy with your coffee.  Or with the service.  Or with the item you paid for.

My question is a (brace yourself) are YOU happy.  As a whole.  Sure you could loose a bit of weight or have your hair done.  But those things will never make you complete or completely happy.  Gosh.  For a Tuesday morning, I realise that this is a heavy.  Is happy a state of mind? A place? A lifestyle?

I feel happy with family.  All together, washing dishes or feeding the baby. The mundane tasks have nothing to do with it really.  It's the company.  The nonsense chit chat and banter.

I think we were designed to function in packs.  And if half your pack is missing for too long a time at a time, don't question your seemingly speedy dwindle into the land of the lesser-happy.

Am I happy?  Most of the time.

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Feeling sleepy

My daughter loves to sleep.  Who doesn't.  Recently though - and I am certainly playing the timeline down - I have welcomed her into my bed.  My husband travels a lot.  He is often away for 2 or 4 weeks.  So I told myself that a bit of company was allowed.

When was the last time you slept with a baby in your bed?  They roll and thrash about like fish out of water.  They wake you in the middle of the night with fears of them falling off the bed.  But mostly, they cuddle.  They love.  They make wonderfully uncomfortable sleeping companions.

The problem is that now, my daughter prefers to sleep with me.  And dad.  And that doesn't work so well.  In comes the super scary sleep training.  I suspect that this is where nerves of steel come into play.  Or wine.  Or ice-cream. Whatever you need.  Because listening to a crying baba for 10minutes at a time feels like 10 hours.  Torture.  Madness.

Today is day 5.  Watch this space!

debunking the top bunk

Yes, it's a mouthful.  And, if I'm honest, a headfull.  My head is full of swirling advice and timelines and calendars.

By 10 months, your baby should be able to...........WHAT?  And what if she is not.  I was a late bloomer.  So what if she doesn't walk at 9 months like the neighbours' kid.  So what if she still wobbles when she stands, or doesn't have 7 teeth yet?  Have you met my daughter, mr yardstick?  She is friendly, makes brilliant conversation, sleeps through the night and is able to entertain herself for long stretches of time.  And she loves.  She loves with big eyes and a (5tooth bearing) smile that can melt any heart.

She is healthy and tall and happy.  So what if she doesn't leg it across the room.  Yet?

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Anybody out there?

I recently read a blog.  I love to read blogs.  This particular one generally makes my day.  It covers at least 2 of my favourite topics.  Food and babies.

This post asked a question.  It made me think.  It asked how many children you'd like to have.  Wow.  Seems a bit loaded, don't you think?  Well, maybe.  But it also suggested that the answer was more of a heart decision than a head one.  You know how 2 kids fit in a car.  It makes sense.  The author, a mom of 2, then carries on and says that she still feels like there is another baby out there.  A part of her that is still missing.

It had me analysing - how many babies would I like to have?  Who decides?  I have many girlfriends who would love more children, but their husbands disagree.  Sometimes I feel like I'd have a thousand more children, just so I can have those first magical moments with them.  I love being a mom.  I love carrying babies under my heart, as my mom says.   I love nursing.  It feels like I finally know what I want to do.  And whilst being a mom is often not enough (I absolutely have days of self-doubting pity), for now, I find myself thinking and searching for the other ones.  The ones that are still out there.