Wednesday, October 22, 2014

{Just One Thing} Week Forty Two

Two Hundred and Ninety Eight - 14.10.14


Two tubby hands. She reaches. Carrot shaped fingers. She pulls. Flat palms thumping. She climbs.

Your progressive movement should not be surprising to me, but it is. You are my constant reminder of difference. Of uniqueness. This is foreign my mothering journey. Your sister did.not.move. Until she did. Just like that. But with you? It's constantly disappearing and reappearing and change. It happens quickly, even when I feel like my eyes are permanently fixed on you... which of course, they just can't be. That you see and you want... you do and you get.

It's curiosity and determination and passion. You amaze me. Astound me. Delight me. You, my littlest love, are truly wonderful.

Two Hundred and Ninety Nine - 15.10.14


There are few things I know about toddler, but many I am learning. Parenting you is a journey of discovery. And the path? Twisted. Roundabout. Steep. But following every incline, there is a decent. It's fast paced and equal parts thrilling and terrifying. It's joy and it's frustration, sometimes simultaneously.

Big: "I do switch my listening ears on, Mumma, but sometimes dey just don't wike what dey hearing."

Inhale. Exhale. Today, you've paused for a moment (or twelve) behind the gate marked 'testing'. But part of the journey it is. And it's a road worth travelled, especially with you.

Three Hundred - 16.10.14


When met with resistance, how long to you continue with a single, unchanged method? Do you meet the challenge with persistence? Do you stay and fight, or take flight? No, really?

For you, and for me, it's a juggle. A situation dependant dance, as we find balance together. And today that meant the return of the cot bedside after one short (long) week. But I refuse to see this as a failure. Rather, it is the result of timing that wasn't quite right. For both of us, actually.

We're set to recover from nights of too little sleep, full of too many disturbances snuggled close. Touching distance close. And it'd be dishonest to say that I won't enjoy every sweet second that co-sleeping gifts.

Three Hundred and One - 17.10.14


I was met with a wriggling worm at my feet. It was a happy one, whose face beamed and eyes smiled. She used her hands to move from belly to seated upright, and then to climb my legs and pull herself to a stand. Balancing on her two pudgy feet, she released one hand and placed it in mine. Then the other, both reaching above her little head. Consciousness next moved to her feet. Left, then right. First a wee shuffle, before graduating to full foot lifts - steps - with hands gripped tightly in mine. Every so often, she'd pause for a moment, glancing upward, faced scrunched with delight. How proud she was of herself, and so she should be. While the little worm will remain a while more yet, her transformation has most certainly begun.

Three Hundred and Two - 18.10.14


Through the eyes of a child, the world has no bounds. There's many a thing to be seen, to be touched, to be explored. At times, the demands of the situation push the babe out of their comfort zone. Encourage them to try something new, something untried and untested. For you, the added obstacle of height resulted in you mastering the traditional crawl today. It was shaky at first, but soon turned slow and steady.

However, with you, and most other little beings, I suppose, feelings of curiosity goes beyond the realm of desire. They are instinctual. Most often, a matter of urgency. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and despite the new crawling action you added to your repertoire, there are other, more efficient means of movement. And with that, you stop, drop and worm.

Three Hundred and Three - 19.10.14


Dr Big is in the house today and there's lots of fixing to be done. Broken bones. Sore heads. Scratches and blood. No job too small and certainly none to big to be fixed by a bandaid.

Big: "Knock, knock. I'm at da door, Mumma. You meed to say, 'who's dere?'"

Mumma: "Who's there?"

Big: "It's me. Dr. Big. I'm here to fix all da fings."

Mumma: "Of yes, of course. I have a terrible pain in my back. Can you help me?"

Big: "How 'bout your knee is sore 'cause I onwy hab fings for fixing knees, not backs, okay?"

Three Hundred and Four - 20.10.14


Today you went to see the optometrist for a check up. It's the third time you've been, and it might well be one of the most fun things you've ever done. You get to sit in the big chair all by your very own self. You've mastered the mechanics of the exam chair too; pressing your nose lifts it up and it lowers once your right ear lobe is pulled, if you were wondering. You wear special glasses, locate shapes, play with finger puppets and make funny faces.

Your vision is perfect. Your behaviour exemplary. And our optometrist? Ahh-mazing. Even you think so.

Big: "I weally wike Dr Norm. He's got big eyes so he can see mine and fix dem. He's pretty helpful, I fink."


Sunday, October 19, 2014


"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2014."
Big: "To make triangle feet, you must pwactise berry hard and long."
Tiny: Soft baby skin. Sweet rolls, upon rolls. Perfection.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

{Just One Thing} Week Forty One

Two Hundred and Ninety One - 07.10.14


While I've been out of action, Daddy has been a wonderful help. Handing out extra snuggles here. Making dinner there. It's been such a relief, really. At least I think so. But you? Apparently not.

Big: "I not know what you're doing making in da kitchen, Daddy, but is smells horriful and I fink you should stop."

You certainly do not hold back with the honesty, do you Big? Ha!

Two Hundred and Ninety Two - 08.10.14


Big changes 'round these parts, little lady. Tonight, Daddy detached the cot from the side of our bed. While you (or I?) are not ready to have you sleep in your own room upstairs just yet, the time had come where you could do with a little more of your own space. You've been relocated... to our wardrobe. And before your face cringes with horror at the very thought, it's a walk-in-robe, and it's mighty big'un. So to our first night a few short metre apart, let's do this.

Two Hundred and Ninety  Three - 09.10.14


Recently Mumma made a return to the books because there is really so much free time in the days that boredom was an issue. Except not even close. The truth is that it I felt a pull towards something, and I jumped. As a side note, I'd love you to remember that. Embracing the unknown with a positive, forward action is a wonderful thing.

But I digress.

As a result of said study, Daddy has been forced to fly the solo bedtime routine flag on occasion, last night being on of them. Oh my, how you adore your Daddy. And you certainly aren't afraid to let that little tidbit be known. An excellent example of this is our first exchange on this fine morning.

Big: "Where's Daddy?"

Mumma: "Good morning to you too, Big! Daddy's at work. How did you sleep?"

Big: "At work? But he's apposed to be here and you're apposed to be at work!"

Mumma: "He'll come back home tonight, okay?"

Big: "I know. Maybe you and Daddy can switch up for a widdle while? It might be your turn to work all da time, Mumma!"

What was that I said that other day about your honesty? Hmm...

Two Hundred and Ninety Four - 10.10.14


Le sigh. Not a promising way to start, is it sweets? Change is not always welcomed. I should know that by now. And we sure changed your little world, or at least your sleeping world, so who am I to take issue with you voicing your thoughts on the situation?

Night one was a piece of cake. A dream transition. But night two was nightmare-ish. In fact, it ended up with Daddy on the couch and you in bed with me... although perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I was in bed with you, given that your tiny body easily took over two thirds of the sleep space.

But it's not just the interrupted nights. No, no. It's the no more day naps too. Or maybe it's just no more sleep, period. But then your eyelids become heavy and your breathing slows and you sigh. I do too. Or maybe from me it's more of an introductory snore...

Two Hundred and Ninety  Five - 11.10.14


If I've learned anything about motherhood it's the fact that there's always something new to learn. When there's a new skill that you're trying to master, I've learned to step back and let you figure things out for yourself. When nap times change, or disappear completely, I surrender and adapt. And when you regress... through the frustration, I listen and reflet and learn.

Regressions are one of those things. Part and parcel of this growing up caper. Most often not a pleasant part, but a part nonetheless. Rather than falling into the trap of disheartened wallowing, knowing that we'd have to walk the path already travelled once more, I chose to see something else. Impermanence. What exists today, may well not tomorrow. That misspoken word. That imaginary friend. Your desire for triangle shaped food. The best of times and the not-so great ones. They come and they go. And that, dear Big, makes the light shine brightly even on the darkest of days.

Two Hundred and Ninety Six - 12.10.14


Daddy likes to build things. And fix things. And just generally do stuff and keep busy. You tell me this often, and it is usually with a tale of how wonderful a helper you are. It's a lovely trait of yours, the desire to assist one, until it isn't. Like today.

We were all out in the backyard. You. Me. Daddy. Tiny. Daddy told me that he needed me to watch you both for ten minutes or so while he did something. No problem, right? Wrong.

I was busy removing strange berries in our garden from your sister's mouth. She was putting up quite the fight, you know. Clenched gums and locked jaw and all that jazz. I had my back to you for a moment, or a few short ones. And then you were no where to be seen. Gone. Until you weren't. I saw exactly where you were. On the very top wrung of the ladder, swinging that sweet leg of yours onto the first storey roof... "because I meed to help Daddy do his fixing."

I've said it before many times, and I'll say it once more. This little family of mine is blessed. Everyone and everything is fine and accounted for... except for my nerve. Oh my. How that has been shaken.

Two Hundred and Ninety Seven - 13.10.14


Mumma: "Where's Tiny?"

Palm to face or face to floor in one fell swoop. Body limp. Still. All in a swift and forceful action.

Tiny: "A-boo!"



Sunday, October 12, 2014


"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, for 2014."
Big: "Here you go, caterpiwar. You do your crawly hump, all da way to dese leabes. You can gobble dem up in your tummy, if you like?"
Tiny: As still as a statue, she waits. Concentration leaves high. Biding her time as it flutters on by. But not for long. Fingers at the ready. Hands too, in fact. Oh butterfly, how I want you to be mine...

You might also like: