pincushions + memories

We recently spent a weekend with all my family on the banks of a river which, I think, possibly makes up part of our DNA.

Thirty years ago we were the children immersed in this river, hunting tadpoles, logging hours of exploratory water therapy, learning to swim and navigate rocks and rapids and the boundaries of our own imaginations.

We know its wide still pools of quiet introspection, the deafening thrills of adrenaline-fueled rapids, the places where the reeds close in and the river fills your ears and you could be all alone on the planet with just the dragonflies and the occasional plopping frog for company.

We remember how just up from the river bank the air instantly warms, the scent changes to that of the heat-baked fynbos and ones ears fill with the buzz of cicadas and the wind through the proteas, the river a distant murmur.

Everything is still just as our childhood selves remembered it, but this time with a few additions.

New members - sisters-in-law and grandchildren - new family dynamics, and new cottages in which to dry out, refuel and suspend time.

My parents realised while we there that it was almost exactly the 40th anniversary of the first time we camped there - under a tarp then. Stories of leopards and friends and fires and floods, 'do you remembers' and 'who was that' and 'no I didn't!!'.

The river remembered us, we remembered each other in a different time. We beamed at each other over cheesecake and pincushions and, again, counted our lucky, lucky stars to have grown up in such a beautiful place. To be here still.

lately

Our new (to us) Flying Dutchman sail boat is moored off the lawn, all the shiny bells and whistles clapping in the wind. Well done, well done.
Husband spent the WHOLE of Sunday rigging it and at 18:30, as the evening drew in, we set off on our maiden voyage - a fast clip around the lake. And this in just a light breeze! We LOVED it!
Nearly 5 yrs on and life at the lake still has adventures in store.

I could do without the tinkling though, we're going to have to do something about that ...

Our little dog Lego is in tatters ... she went under the knife yesterday to have two cancerous growths removed and she looks like she's been in a dog fight with a hatchet :-(
We've not had the pathology results yet but we're hoping the vet got it all and that we still have much more time with this sweet furkid.
She really looks like Frankenweenie now ...

Recovery includes treats with her meds, grated apple served to her in bed and lots and lots of snuggle time on the couch (which means I've been watching a lot of TV!).

There's another new baby!

He's not a blood relation this one, but as close as ... first son to some of our dearest friends.

We're coming to the end of the first school term of the year. It's been a long one and the girls are tired. So am I. Not that there's a holiday in the works for me, I'm got an event on in Joburg in two weeks time, but ... just the not having to wake early on these ever-darkening mornings will bring some relief.

But we did get out of town a couple of weekends back - a short mums and kids camping trip to one of our favourite places. It was hellishly hot and the time flew by in a haze of endlessly refilling juice bottles and reapplying sunscreen but we spent a lot of time in the softest, most delectably gentle and soothing mountain river water I've ever known, which made it all worthwhile.
I took no photos.
We've done this a few times before, no-husband camping trips, and I must say we love it. Not that we don't love camping with our partners, but there is something simpler about girl-camping - feed the kids, eat crackers and cheese, go to bed early with our books. OR feed the kids, eat crackers and cheese, sit up late 'round the fire drinking wine and cackling.
My favourite thing about it is showing my kids that we can. Pitch tents, light a fire, handle a massive thunderstorm and unexpected rain (that happened). That we can drive off-road and jump start a car and you know, be ballsy. Except is it not the most unfeminist thing ever to think you have to prove that you can? I'm so tempted always to tell the girls: Look, look what we're doing, aren't your mum's awesome? But I don't.
Far better to just do it right? To just let this be a normal thing for them.
I do hope they remember though, I hope taking their kids on road trips and camping without waiting for a man to be available to accompany them, I hope this will just be a normal thing for them too.

Oh and one last thing, a Pixies concert.

A throwback to our wild youth on a magnificent summers evening in the most beautiful garden in the world, surrounded by many friends - from then and now - listening to a bunch of aged rockers as tight and magnificent as they were then.

There was magnificent merch too.

sim

My girls have only had one cousin. A great big man of a 21 yr old boy, son of my husband's sister.
He's very sweet, very fond of the girls, but he's also very shy and not a chatter at all. Clearly not from my side of the family.

I grew up with hosts of cousins. None of them lived close by but we would meet up on holidays and special occasions and run in a pack, always feeling that connection that we were related, always knowing that was special.
I've talked about them a little here.

I've always felt a bit sad that my girls haven't known that sense of tribe.

But we're working on it. Well, my youngest brother and wife - them of the magnificent wedding two years ago - are working on it.

On March 14th they gave us Sim. A little boy named for a Great-Grandfather he never met.
A nephew. A boy cousin. A new friend.

Thanks dear people, we love him.

the first night

Tonight is the first one. The first soft, still, warm summers evening. It makes me so happy, but in a calm, almost nostalgic way.

It feels like Sunday night, this last night of September. It feels like a Sunday night at the end of a 2 week weekend. Not just because it's the last night before the 4th term starts tomorrow (back to school is very fucking cool when you're a work-from-home parent), but because the last few weeks have been so full.

I've spent the month writing for a blog project which goes live tomorrow. A blog site dedicated to breast cancer issues for the month of October. It's writing work which has come directly from blogging, and ironically from this one, not C is for Cape Town.

It's been incredibly stimulating and I've enjoyed the process immensely, although the subject matter is hugely sobering.

I was a bit side-tracked a week or so ago by getting sick though. A real nasty flu bug which wiped me out. I'm still coughing, and have just been googling all the kids meds we have in the house seeing if I can self-medicate this one. I do not feel like a GP visit (especially as I'm paying for psychoanalysis right now!) but I must be well by the weekend - I've a rock festival to attend! (I know!)

Then the school holidays hit, just 10 days long and jam packed full of action. We had 4 birthday parties in 4 days - two kiddies and two grown-up (perfect!). I baked and dressed up and sorted out gifts and meals and baby-sitters and schedules and it was all such fun, but how quickly these events recede into the distance in these crazy busy lives of ours.

Maybe it's all receded particularly quickly as I've just spent the weekend with FOUR smalls in tow (fact: being outnumbered by small children will cause brain cells to flee in indignation). My bestie's been here, with her 2.3 yr old and new 4 month old delight.

Charl was away on a bike rally so we borrowed my parent's 7 seater car and played Mormon wives for the weekend. It was completely wonderful, in a totally chaotic, nonsensical, relentless and extremely loud way.

My dear friend is right on the front line of toddler + baby craziness, a state I still remember so very well. It is incomprehensibly intense for anyone who's not been there, and such an eye-opener for me on how far I've come.

In some ways my days with the girls now are a complete walk in the park in comparison to then, although I do remind myself that it's just a new set of challenges really. But there's no doubt the physical demands on me are less, the personal space is broader and the reminder of this has left me feeling so free and, of course - because us parents are always such suckers - a little sad.

To be reminded of the exquisite purity of that moment when your hungry baby latches on to your breast. The happy grunt, the tiny hand patting you appreciatively, the eyes staring at you in gratitude, satisfaction and a little bit of what-the-hell-took-you-so-long.

I'll never feel that again, which is more than okay on every level except the deep thrum of nostalgia.

I lay next to Stella as she fell asleep tonight, my baby who seemed (and acted) like such a big girl these last few days. The night outside was soft and still, the first night, and also one of the last.

Such is life.

Hello summer.

lists of 5: 'cos no other number will do

My fancy Jo'burg manicure is starting to fade and chip, I could poetically say like my memories of the weekend but that wouldn't be true.
My memories are still clear and still fabulous.

My cat is asleep nestled into my neck like a newborn as I type this, making little huffs and snuffles as she cuddles in. Just like a baby.
My friend in Jo'burg will have a baby just like this (though hopefully less hairy) in a few short weeks and while I'm not envious in the slightest of the newborn part, I did get a taste again of that excitement of meeting someone new. Someone new but yet of you in the profoundest sense possible. There can't be anything else much in life which beats that.

My birthday cake is sinking slowly in the kitchen. It's one of a few birthday cakes I've planned actually, as I have more than one (though both little) celebratory events in the pipeline - both involving cake. I've been baking and prepping at a slow and steady pace all week and really enjoying it (I don't allow myself to bake often these days), but I do worry that instead of clever this will prove to have been not clever, and everything will be a little stale and naff.
The carrot cake will definitely, judging by it's current appearance, be a little sunken and naff. But I also trust, delicious.

My children are exposing me to people who are teaching me things about myself. Yes, my children are bringing people into my life. That alone is a strange thought. Stranger still is the notion that they are people through whom I'm being challenged. More on this soon I imagine.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. No, not really. Not really at all, I just think that's such a weird and nonsensically fabulous line. Which I'd never otherwise have a chance to use!

these arms of mine

You have to read it like the original Otis Redding. You have to feel the yearning.

For my arms are feeling it when I hold my small girl close, when I feel the recognition in my muscles, the knowing how to hold this little body, and the sadness these arms feel already, knowing she won't be so little for much longer.
Mah baybee.

It's so ridiculously biological it's almost laughable.
I'm not a big baby fan, both my girls I've enjoyed so much more after their first birthdays. I don't miss breastfeeding (much), I don't miss having that small being ON me all the time, I love being able to communicate with words, I love watching them grow more independent.
But my arms, they refute all of this when I hold my Stella close, especially in her warm and floppy moments, and the muscles sing with yearning, with already full-blown nostalgia, with the shattering knowledge that the next baby, if any, that I'll hold with this kind of kinship, will be a grandchild.
Mah baybeeeeeeeee.

She's becoming such a big girl.

She LOVES a doll. In fact, the more the lovelier. Whereas Frieda's only ever had one doll (the still so named Zeberebareba), and was never particularly into playing dolly, Stella has a host of 'babas' - all of whom get canoodled and paraded around and pushed in the pram/wheelbarrow/random box.

She HATES orange food. Barring cheese, she won't even look twice at butternut, carrot, peach, melon, pawpaw etc.

She LOVES her mummy, and wants to sleep with me every night. I pretend to be mildly annoyed by this and half-heartedly resist, but at some point in the night our love can no longer be denied and we end up together, in her bed or mine. 'Cos, mah baybeee see?

She HATES hats. She LOVES cats. She SCREAMS when outraged and SQUEALS when happy. She LOVES/HATES/LOVES/HATESbutmostlyLOVES her big sister.
She wields a mean bitch-slap, can scratch like a tiger and still likes to bite me.
She's saying the same first proper word as Frieda did: juice.

She LOVES her dad and wanders disconsolately around the house carrying one of his slippers calling 'Daddy?'

She's a big little person, our Stella. I love watching her develop, but I wish she wouldn't grow so fast.

Wish she'd stay my little woman for just a little bit longer.

Juno

She was born on the same day as Frieda, 4 years later. 3 years, 364 days and 22 and a half hours later.
To be exact.
On the same day as me, 4 years later, my best friend has become a Mum, and I really, honestly couldn't be happier for her.

How can two magnificent people become even greater? By producing a third magnificent being of course!

Juno.
June bug.
Juniper berry.
Dju know mos.

Welcome long-awaited and most deliciously anticipated little thing.
Your whole world welcomes you with open arms.

WARNING: BIRTH STORY! TMI! FOR SERIOUS!

[You know who you are: read at own risk.] 

It was nearly a year ago I got home from waddling round the mall to find my brother playing ball with Frieda in the front yard. I jokingly looked at my (non-existent) watch and told him to stand by for my water's breaking at 5pm.
Ha ha ha.

They did.

At 5pm my water's broke as I was frying sausages for Frieda's supper. I called my husband, on his way to get a haircut. He asked if he had time to get it done anyway, this being our second child of course I said yes.
I called my Mum to come and collect Frieda. Standing there leaking, sausages burning, I looked over to see Frieda standing in a puddle.
'I had a wee Mum.'
This should've been my first clue that I was soon to learn the real meaning of 'multi-tasking'.

By the time my Mum and husband got home I was contracting, seriously enough to be unable to talk while in the middle of one, grinning inanely and trying to pretend everything was dead normal for Frieda's sake.
We kissed and hugged our first baby goodbye, brimful with the knowledge she was completely unaware of, next time we saw her there would be two.

To hospital, contractions close and getting stronger, this much I remembered from last time.

But again, once we got there, the disappointing news that I'd not dilated at all. However this time we knew we wanted to stick it out, and we did.
The next few hours were ... interesting. If I can say that the most uncomfortable experience of my life was also one of the most precious to share with my husband, that I've never been in such pain, but also laughed as much, that I've never been so scared while simultaneously so excited, then I'd be telling a true story, but a weird one.
We worked in 15 minute increments to pass the time until my next examination at 11.30 pm. 15 minutes in the bath, 15 walking, 15 on the labour ball. During contractions I needed to be held, inbetween I wanted to be left the fuck alone. My husband was amazing.
Oy those contractions. The scariest thing about them was the inevitability. With period pains or stomach cramps one sometimes feels one starting, only for it to taper off or not be as bad as you expected. With labour pains the first twinge means it's a-coming, and it's going to be as bad as you anticipate, if not worse.
A rubber mallet swung at full force into your spine while a knife blade is plunged and twisted into your stomach. There's no position you can find to alleviate them, nothing to do but breathe. Breathe and try to find a calm place within the onslaught, relax your shoulders, breathe into the pain. Truer words were never spoken.
And then it stops, and you're totally ok. Like have a chat, have a wine gum, make a joke ok. Crazy shit man.

11.30 pm check up. Nothing happening.
Nothing where it should be that is, plenty was happening outside let me tell you. By now I was losing my sense of humour, spitting wine gums across the room, cursing, whimpering, caught in this thing over which I had no control, no way but forward, no way of knowing what the time-line looked like, the only certainty being we were nowhere near the end.
12.30 am. Nothing happening.
Oh except the vomiting. And the exhaustion. 'Til now I'd been trying new positions for each contraction, trying to stay active in the moment. My husband, my dearest, my light, showing limitless creativity in his suggestions of how we tackle the next one. But now I was done. I couldn't get up, I couldn't spend one more minute on that fucking labour ball, I didn't want a chair, I didn't want a bath, I just. wanted. it. to. stop.
Or start for that matter. Let's move on, let's transition, let's have a frikkin' baby already!

That's when I heard the magic word: epidural. Hallelujah praise baby jesus yes fucking please.

Peace.

A weird peace. I feel nothing but I'm cold. A distant tremor like a train passing far away, a look on the monitor reveals a massive contraction, my toes tingle.
Husband dozes in a chair, I feel ill, disembodied and, inevitably, guilty. I can see from the baby monitor that my girl is in there, now working alone. She's riding those waves while I watch from the shore.
The nurse comes in and puts another blanket over me. 'Try get some rest,' she says, 'we'll check again at 3. Try get some rest my dear.'

I think I must've dozed off for I wake with a start. And a panic. My legs, totally immobile, are flopped together, I need to move. I need to move my legs. I need to move my legs!
Panic rising in my throat, I put all my energy into keeping my voice steady, calling for my husband. Poor guy wakes, totally disorientated, and by the time he gets over to me to adjust my position the nurse has arrived too.
She examines me and grins. 9 cm dilated! Game on! My heart surges anew with adrenalin and enthusiasm. I'm transitioning, my body's caught up, we're going to have this baby!

But then, an ominous beeping from the monitor - she's in distress.. The nurse calls my doctor. It's 4 am. The four of us, him on the other end of the phone line, wait and watch the monitor. Her heartbeat dips again. Doc says he's coming in and through a haze of emotional overload I realise he's asked the nurse to call in the standby theatre team.
He's there in minutes, examines me himself, checks the monitor readings, gives us the news.
I'm well dilated.
But she's not engaged.
And she's not happy.
And as I've had a c-section before, he thinks it's time to call it quits.
Though I'm sure he didn't actually use that word.

5 am by the time we got up to theatre. The hospital was still and quiet. My long-haired anesthetist joked that he thought he'd sorted us out hours before with the epidural. Then he noted, just for interest sake, that my heart seemed to miss every 4th beat. Funny guy. Not.
But they were a nice team, put us at ease and, as is always the case with c-sections, it felt like mere minutes after being wheeled in that they were passing me a funny, creamy, oh so warm little thing with one wild rolling eye-ball and a deeply suspicious expression.
Apparently I turned to my husband and said, 'Aw let's have another one.'

Nearly 11 months later I most definitely do not want to have another one, but I can still recall the feeling of each moment of that wild, wild night. The pain, the fear, the excitement and of course, the joy.

And now I've finally gotten it written down for prosperity. Sorry y'all!

second time so lucky

Why is this baby thing easier the second time round?

Ok so you're more confident about actually handling a newborn and you know your boobs worked last time so you're pretty sure they will again (not that this is a guarantee) and it's been years since you slept the sleep of a non-parent so the lack thereof doesn't kick you quite so hard in the gonads. You know that babies make weird noises so you don't jump at the slightest wheeze and croak from the crib. You know their toes won't rot off if they're not bathed everyday so you slack off on that a bit. You know that sometimes they just cry for no reason so you don't over-analyse every wail. You know that their poo is gross and erratic so you don't over-analyse in that department either.

But more than any of the above, the greatest lesson learnt and remembered every day is: This Too Shall Pass.
You know with absolute certainty that this period of little-babyness will fly by, will recede into the past at such a rapid rate you'll be left panting in its wake.
This you remember in the hard times, but also in the good. And there's so much good.

Good which you're free to just wallow in.

To stare at her little face while she feeds. To giggle at her chubby, chubby thighs.
To coo and goo. To love each yawn, all of which end with a satisfied little smirk, more than the last one.
To have her relaxed on my chest, awake but at rest. To lie in bed listening to her snuffling and farting in her cot. To watch her watch her sister, already intrigued, envious, nonchalant.

This time round I know to enjoy every second of this, this precious baby time. The world will still be there when I emerge from this bubble, I'll get back into the swing of things, new challenges will present themselves and new routines will emerge.
But for now there is this, and I'm loving it.

A friend, who has one child and probably won't have more, told me when I was pregnant that I was lucky to be doing this all again. Possibly caught in a moment of apprehension I didn't really take what she said to heart, but now I realise how right she was. I am indeed.

oddities

Cape Town? Coincidence? Hand of Fate? Circle of Life? An unerring ability to over-analyse?

I'm not sure what you could call them, the couple of odd events around Stella's recent birth. Maybe they have different explanations, but some of them were pretty strange. Or I'd have thought them strange had I not lived in Cape Town all my life and gotten used to these kind of weird cross-overs.
Or maybe 'cos I've lived in Cape Town all my life I just don't realise that this is a world-wide phenomenon, not limited to this sleepy city by the sea. That actually there are only 6 degrees of separation between any of us.
But let's not over-analyse: herewith the facts.

As I've described before, the day I went into labour with Frieda I'd spent the whole afternoon trawling a big local mall. The ultimate Babylon of malls I might add, a monolith a good couple of kilometres long. No one who heard that walking up and down that beast induced labour have been at all surprised.
Anyhoo, on Wed 10 March this year I set off to that same mall, one which I usually avoid like the plague, sending a text to my husband to say 'taking drastic action, heading into Canal Walk, stand by for waters breaking'.
A friend has subsequently decided it's all in the name: (Birth) Canal Walk. I got home from that shopping expedition at 4pm, my waters broke at 5.
Weird huh?

Much, much later that night an aneathetist was called to administer a very, very welcome epidural. (Seriously, let's hear it for the epidural!). He had a long ponytail (ok, that is very Cape Town) and looked vaguely familiar. Turns out he used to live in our road.
Of course he did.
Husband and I are also convinced we used to see him on the outdoor rave circuit of our wild youth. What better recreational activity for an aneasthetics med student?

Finally, a week after Stella's birth I took her to my preferred clinic for a weigh-in etc. The usual assistant nurse wasn't there, another woman was standing in for her. She introduced herself and started completing Stella's clinic card. Then she stopped and looked up, 'I was at your c-section' she said. 'Last Thursday morning? 5am?'
Turns out she'd been assisting the attending pediatrician. I hadn't been aware of her presence but she'd been there. And now our paths were crossing here, at a clinic where she helps out max once or twice a month, and happened to be there the day Stella and I went in.
A little strange.

'I didn't see you there' I said, 'and if I didn't see you, how many other people were present that I wasn't aware of?'
'Oh', she said, 'they put up that little screen so you can't see anything and then they open to whole event up to a studio audience.'
Ha. Ha. Ha.

there's something in the way she ...

~ lies on my chest, belly down, still-bent legs folded in under her, nappy bum in the air, already pushing herself up on her forearms to crane her neck and glance blindly around, looking for all the world like a lost tortoise ...

~ then shuffles up until her breath snuffles warmly, but so faintly, in the hollow of my neck, her tiny lips reaching out to taste my skin ...

~ yawns, putting her whole body, fingers to toes, into it, her biggest conscious movement

~ gawps around with her mouth open like a baby bird when she's hungry

~ performs bodily functions audible from the next room, who knew such a small body could expel with such force?

~ recognises my movements as I unlatch my bra to feed her and gets an anticipatory leer on her face, uncannily like a dirty old man at a peepshow

~ looks uncannily like a little old man, she's shown resemblances to Jack Nicholson, Anthony Hopkins, Dennis Quaid (may I call him old?) and various British politicians

~ is already louder, chubbier, more assertive and alert than she was at birth, a scant 9 days ago

~ sleeps like a little pink log, still and solid, the occasional whimper, a very rare twitch of the fingers

Conclusion: everyone should have a second child.
To be able to love and learn and observe without all the angst of a first-time parent, without the uncertainty and guilt and tears and drama.
I'm seasoned enough to know this is the 'honeymoon phase', these first few newbie weeks, but I'm enjoying it enough to relish every minute and come what may, she's done the work to ensure we're smitten enough to love her through it.

bac to the v

Warning: birth story ahead.

On the 19 June 2007 I was 37 weeks pregnant with Frieda. I had a scheduled scan with my Obs/Gyn who declared all well and that I was on target for delivery in 3 or so weeks time.

That evening I went to my ante-natal yoga class, led by a wonderfully flaky but warm and, turns out, intuitive woman. I walked into the room and she asked me whether I was in labour. I was astounded. 'No', I said. 'Hmmm,' she declared, 'you look ... ripe'.

I went home, slept as well as a 37 week pregnant woman sleeps and awoke the next day with tons of energy, determined to finish all my last-minute baby preparation errands and then collapse into my confinement (wonderful term) and do nothing but chill and read for the last few weeks.

I missioned all day, had lunch with my husband, made plans to go out to dinner with friends, and finally got home at 6pm just in time to put my feet up for a while before going out.

That's when my waters broke.

And how. Thank fuck that didn't happen while I was still in the mall!

Almost instantly I started feeling contractions, by the time husband got home (with the take-away curry I'd requested - we had a long night ahead, I thought I should get my strength up) I was running on adrenalin, excited, ready to go! go! go!

Alas, this was not to be.

After examining me in hospital my doctor was pretty glum - baby wasn't in position, I'd lost most of my amniotic fluid, waiting for her to turn could take a very long time, she might go into distress, I'd have to be closely monitored, probably wouldn't be very mobile during labour - she didn't push us to chose a c-section, but she didn't really make us feel as if the alternative would be greatly supported, or at all pleasant (inasmuch as it ever would be!).
She left us alone to think about it and I just sagged. It all seemed such a let down after the initial adrenalin surge, I was getting really uncomfortable, with painful contractions 2 minutes apart and the knowledge that this could continue for '8-10 hours' before I even started active labour. My incredibly full and busy day was taking its toll on my energy and we both felt we didn't want to do anything to compromise our daughter's safety.
We decided to caeser.

Things happened really fast from there and Frieda was born at 11.40pm, 20 June 2007.

While never regretting our decision as such, I've more and more over the last couple of years wondered how necessary a c-section really was. Turns out the hospital I was at has a reputation for doing mainly c-sections, I've heard rumours about my then Obs/Gyn and her business partner being very pro-caesereans, she doesn't work with midwifes ...

So this time I'm trying something a little different. I'm hoping to VBAC. That's Vaginal Birth After Caeserean. Or as a (male) friend declared: Bac to the V.

I've switched doctors to a guy who's very pro-natural and supportive of attempting to VBAC (under all the right circumstances of course), I've moved to a hospital whose maternity staff are apparently better motivated to deliver babies naturally, but most importantly I'm keeping an open mind, informing myself of the risks and rewards and trying to find my zen place for this birth.

Which, as it turns out, may happen sooner than we thought. A scan today, at 35 weeks, reveals that my baby is the same size as Frieda was at birth. She's turned, she's dropped, she's facing left.
According to my doctor, we're to 'be ready'.

Yikes.

crumbs

When someone once asked me what our strategy was with regards to conceiving a second child I, not very politely or tactfully, joked that we'd decided that on Frieda's 2nd birthday, when we'd waved goodbye to the last guests and gotten the birthday girl to bed, we'd drop and conceive the 'duty sibling' right there on the carpet amongst the cake crumbs and discarded wrapping paper.

And, um, not to overshare or anything, but it seems that's kinda what happened ... I'm sure we packed the dishwasher and put the dog out first (and frankly I'm really astounded we had the energy - those penguin cupcakes were hard work), but ja, looks like it all went down that weekend.

I'm not an events coordinator for nothing see.

And so from cake crumbs to cracker crumbs, in our bed, first thing in the morning, as I staved off some very mild morning queasiness. To the crumbs of energy that I mustered to write the pathetic handful of entries I've made here the last couple of months. To the crumb(ling) emotional moments I've had when The Reality of it all has seemed overwhelming. To the first crumbs of excitement and wonder as my belly's swelled (astoundingly quickly this time round!).

To the little crumb of a thing we met this morning at our first scan. 12 weeks and 3 days old, 7 cm long, waving hands and kicking legs, opening and closing its little teeny-weeny mouth. Hello you, here beginith a story indeed ...

Oh and PS, I hereby banish the phrase 'duty sibling' and will from now on vehemently deny ever having coined it or used it. 'Cos it's my blog so I can see : )

a chilled weekend

The cottage where we spent a simply divine weekend. It's a big old farmhouse with a kitchen, complete with massive Aga (and all the mod cons too), on one end, and a big lounge room with a fireplace and about 12 sofa's on the other. Inbetween, down a long passage, 6 bedrooms, all with wall heaters (ne-cess-ary!) and 3 bathrooms. The perfect size for the inordinately large group of people we were!

4 babies! Did I mention those?

We awoke on Saturday morning to a world covered in frost ~ exquisite.

(disclaimer: underclad loon in the background is not my husband!)

Did I mention there were lots of babies?

Despite the frosty start the days warmed up beautifully so we loaded all the babies (and related paraphenalia), the 5 dogs and a couple of tons of yummy food into the cars and headed out to this majestic spot to lounge around for the afternoon. These rocks are famed in the area, their smooth curves testament to their age - moulded by wind and time - their gorgeous colours the result of sediments and lichens.

It was one of those weekends which feels far longer than its mere 48 hours. Frieda was thoroughly entertained by her new 3 yr old friend and the horde of babies (oh, did I mention those?) to oogle and pat, and our pup, Lego, had hand's down the best time of anyone. She ran and ran for 2 days, playing with the other doggies, her nose afire with all the new smells, progressively getting dirtier and dirtier, until she literally ran herself out and crashed on Sunday afternoon for nigh on 20 hours, awaking to find she'd started her first heat. Our little pup's now a grown up bitch! 

But the very best thing about the weekend? I had lots of little snippets of delicious and most unexpected me-time. Lots of moments of  no child/dog/husband. An extra long shower here, a sit on a log with a cup of coffee there, a little read of my book, a moment in which to bake some chocolate brownies undisturbed. The other girls were all very occupied with their babies, the dads with the dogs and the little girls, and I seemed to just slip off the radar a bit. And that, is priceless.

to be perfectly honest...

One of my new blog buddies tagged me for this 'Honest Scrap' meme some time ago. And as I'm feeling much better but still recouping in bed (can I just pause for a moment's acknowledgement of the universal awesomeness of grandparents, who have happily whisked Child away for the day so I can lie about in bed recouping? Here goes ............ . Moment acknowledged, thanks), I thought I'd play along.

So, herewith my list of 10 honest things about myself (and be warned, they're pretty random):

1. I'm feeling a little blasé about this whole swine 'flu hype. I obviously feel really badly for anyone who has it etc, but living in a country where HIV/AIDS is an actual pandemic, we have 3 or 4 strains of multi-drug resistant Tuberculosis on the loose, cholera recently killed thousands of people, we regularly have (admittedly isolated) cases of Ebola virus and malaria is an illness many of us live with every day ... it's a little hard to get my panties in a knot about swine 'flu. Sorry.

2. There's a big bag of mud and cow-shit bespattered shoes outside my backdoor which I still haven't cleaned after that weekend and I don't expect to get round to until, oh, maybe very late the evening before our next camping trip?

3. Having been a committed cat person my whole life I never expected to love our new doggie as much as I do. Dogs win hands down in the unadulterated adoration stakes. That's her adoration - of me. Love it. But also, and you know who I'm talking to here, I still love my kitties the best.

4. I've never wanted to run away and join the circus. I'm a homebody through and through.

5. I'm more nervous of having a 2nd child than I care to admit. I'm completely convinced that we should have one, but the reality scares the bejesus out of me.

6. Sometimes I go to bed without brushing my teeth. I find the minty taste of toothpaste too jarring if it's really late and I'm really tired.

7. I'm so over this renovation thing. Seriously, can we move into a finished, complete, free-flowing family home already?

8. I really enjoy doing laundry. I find it quite satisfying and find it gives me a sense of order. Weird huh.

9. I have a base and compulsive addiction to Survivor and The Amazing Race.

10. I still like to believe I'll have dreadlocks one day - stylish, thin, blond dreadlocks. Just for fun.

I'm supposed to tag seven five fellow bloggers for this one but you know, I'm just too damn lazy! Play along if you'd like tho', and let me know if you have so I can come snooping.

are you sitting comfortably?

I've been interviewed by Julie from Moments of Perfect Clarity- great questions Julie!

1. you've only just started back to work after having #1 child and now you're contemplating #2. how will this impact your career possibilities in the long term if at all? (what i'm meaning to ask is how it's seen in south african society--the whole question of maternity leave and such.)

Oooo, kicking it off with the big ones. This question made me examine Career and Child#2 - neither of which are simple issues for me...

Firstly, in some ways I'm starting to think of Child#2 as the Duty Sibling. Obviously there's lots of excitement and anticipation about having another child, but I do feel utterly exhausted at the thought and so it's sometimes handy to think of this next one as an obligation, rather than a fun exercise. How's that for a hard-hearted callous view? Take that Earth Mothers! But seriously, our motivation to have another child is for Frieda to have a sibling, and for the joy of watching them grow up together, so it makes sense to try for a reasonable, but close-ish gap, and therefore to do it sooner rather than later.

Career? What career? I've been examining my somewhat ambivalent feelings about my 'career' as such for some time now. I've tried to do an honest assessment of why I don't feel more strongly about it, am I lazy? Unambitious? A friend and I have had long conversations about how our parents did us a great disservice bringing us up to believe 'we can be whatever we want to be', 'cos now we believe them and don't really feel the need to prove this to ourselves or anyone else.

Rocket scientist? Yeah, I could do it. Yawn.

But the realisation I've come to on this is two-fold. 1. I haven't found my 'thing' and 2. my sense of self isn't really related to what I do. My work doesn't define me and I think that's maybe not such a bad thing in this sometimes career-obsessed world. Maybe finding something which totally rocks my world will change this, but in the meantime... maybe I'll just breed some more.

But just to get serious for a mo, obviously I still have to earn something, sometime, and I've been really lucky in that the work that I do is fairly specialised. This doesn't make it particularly well paid, but it does mean I've got a bit of a big fish in a small pond thing happening for me, and have been lucky enough, so far, to stay in the loop and stay in demand even while breast-feeding.

Formal maternity leave in SA is 4 months, paid or unpaid depending on your contract. I obviously didn't have this benefit not being employed full-time, but was extremely privileged to be able to essentially take a year off with Frieda. I don't think I'll have the luxury of taking as much time with Child#2. But then I won't need to, 'cos he/she will be so busy playing with his/her big sister right?

2. you have a thing about chairs. show/tell us about some of your favorites (i know you have links on the right, but i want more) and why you covet them. 

And so we come to why I must earn - ha ha ha, if only it were that simple.

I really don't know what it is about chairs, maybe my liking of them is another sign of essential slothfulness? It all started with a Red Velvet Rocker (which I still own). My parents used to do fund-raising for a children's charity in our home town and this beauty was donated to the local children's home. I didn't have the cash to buy it (I was 12 or something), but I persuaded my Mum to let me swop the perfectly serviceable and somewhat ugly chair in my bedroom for it, arguing that the orphans wouldn't appreciate its Red Velvet deliciousness. 

The love affair has run its course since then; I once forced a friend to pull over to pick up an abandoned kitchen chair with a broken leg off the pavement in one of CT's upmarket suburbs - I liked the look of it and it lived in our shed, still broken, for years until Husband forced me to chuck it. I have a collection of red kitchen chairs, in perfect nick, in storage for one day when I have space for them. I once clung to a phenomenally ugly pink fabric chair for years 'cos I liked it's wooden form, even painting it black with fabric paint to try and redeem it - I think Husband made me turf that one in one of our moves too. My biggest regret is allowing my parents to get rid of the beautiful, but uncomfortable, brown velvet sofa we had when I was a kid. My mother-in-law has two chairs which are apparently to come to us one day which I'm already excited about and have picked out fabric samples to have them re-covered - which is admittedly a little morbid, and premature...

Of all the chairs I covet the Zulu Mama chair is, for me, the most exquisite. I love that it's modelled on the old 70's style wire garden furniture (of which we have a set rusting away in the back yard), but with such a modern South African twist. But more realistically -budget wise- and more practical, I would seriously donate a small finger or toe for a set of Nguni chairs for the Dining Room of the Future. I have a long standing love for Nguni cattle (which I won't get into here), and these chairs have so exquisitely captured the graceful form of their horns.

3. what's the best thing about living in cape town? the worst?

Easy one.

The best: it's beautiful here. In Cape Town you can see beauty everywhere you turn, every single day. 

Heath Nash Coat Rack

The worst: it's frikkin' far away from anywhere! Southernmost tip of Africa. Think on that. (ok, ok sticklers, it's not the actual southernmost tip, but we're close enough to claim it for all intents and purposes)

4. south african politics seem to be nearly as messed up as US politics (tho' hopefully that's going to straighten out on tuesday), what do you make of it all and does it have an impact on your day-to-day life?

Gosh, there's so much to say one this one - it's such a complex, multi-layered, historically weighty and culturally sensitive issue. Oh wait, that's 'cos it's politics see, no matter where in the world it's playing out.

But I'll try to be brief. Yes, it has an impact on my day-to-day life. It's near impossible to ignore what with it being so exciting and all! In SA the drama hasn't stopped since 1994, we've one of the most dynamic and complex political histories in the world, and it ain't showing any sign of slowing down in the near future!

This does make it unsettling at times, and we've had recent spates of very real concern for the future, but if there's one thing we're learning its that a young democracy is a force to be reckoned with, and an unpredictable force at that. We're writing our history here, day to day, and while that's never going to be a particularly stable place to be, it's never boring!

Obviously there's a part of one which wishes you could tell what the future will hold, for one's children and for one's self as you get older, but if you get too obsessed with that then you'll never be happy in the moment - and I think this applies to anywhere in the world. If you live in a place in which momentous things (good and bad momentous things) happen every day, you will only find happiness if you acknowledge this, and relish it.

The very real concerns of crime, the AIDS pandemic, corruption, xenophobia, those are all the by-products of our politics which worry me, which make me an occasional insomniac, make me sad - but as we face a general election this year which is already looking so incredibly (as in, I'm incredulous) different to how we thought it would play out 6 months ago, I can honestly say: I wouldn't want to live anywhere else in the world!

5. what made you start blogging and what do you feel it gives you?

It's not a new story. My dear Husband got concerned about how much time I was spending reading other people's blogs and encouraged me to start my own. I did, posted 3 times or something and then got blogger's block. I got intimidated by the idea of others reading my words. I lurked some more. I coined the phrase 'blog like nobody's reading' and started again 6 months later. I started it to do something for me. I've never looked back.

My favourite thing about blogging is that it gives me a reason to write. To experiment with different styles and maybe eventually find my own, or gain confidence in my own.

My least favourite thing about blogging is that I don't have the time to do it as much as I'd like to do. But maybe that's also a good thing!

6. bonus frivolous question: when are you going to get that pool boy? ;-)

I'm sorry, I can't answer this one 'cos it just makes me think of this, which makes me laugh too hard to type! ; )

Oh and here are Very Important Rules Which Must be Included, and adhered to if you'd like to be interviewed by me.
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me." 
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions). 
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.  
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post. 
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. 

This was fun!

lists of 5: 5 thoughts for twenty-oh-nine

Just to be clear, these are absolutely, most definitely and certainly not resolutions. I am by no means beholden, possibly not ever and probably extremely unlikely to fulfill or complete them all. I will in no way be held accountable, answerable or even enter into conversation about my completion or non-completion of any of the below listed items.

I will, however, pledge to revisit this list in 1 year's time - just for laughs.

So here, in no particular order, is a list of things I'd like to think about, or be conscious of, in 2009.

1. My health. (see why these most definitely aren't resolutions? If they were this one would be doomed to failure.)

I had a profoundly happy moment last week when I received a mail to say my beloved Yogafit classes are starting up again this week! I was a lean, mean yoga machine before I got pregnant and I'm determined to regain at least a little of that svelte-ness.

2. My creativity. 2009 will (hopefully) be the Year of Craft. I've been gathering inspiration from all the wonderful crafty blogs I've been lurking on this last year and the time has come to channel all that into producing more handmade stuff myself. I'm very inspired by this, but ja, don't know if I'll even aim for 100!

3. Invest more in old friends. One of the benefits of spending more or less your whole life in one place is the large variety of friends you make, and generally keep, over the years. Husband and I, in the light of the loss of an old friend through circumstance, have been talking about how many wonderful old friends we have close by, and how we'd like to invest more time and effort in strengthening those bonds this year.

4. Getting my head and body ready for another baby. Gasp, I can't believe I'm actually committing these words to er... blog. I'm still wildly oscillating between 'no, no, no, jesus fuck am I mad to even be contemplating this again' and 'hey wow, I wonder what other fascinating little being there is out there, just waiting to be a part of our family'. On the one hand we're determined Frieda should have a sibling, on the other I get virtually paralysed at the thought of having TWO offspring - just the logistics alone are exhausting to think about. So ja, this is a long-term project...

5. Working! I'm SO looking forward to getting manically busy on this next job, so ready to taste the thrill of occupational achievement (is that a phrase? It sounds kinda cool so it should be). Besides, I need to earn some real money to pay for this , the full monty 5 plate gas/electric stove purchased by us yesterday. So excited. And now off to rip out some cupboards in our kitchen to make space for it!

lucky #13

You know you're of a certain age, or in a certain stage, when the population explosion becomes all too real and you feel as if there are babies popping up (out?) all around you.

The 13th baby of 2008 was born this morning, the 13th that we know of personally that is. Cyberly (a new word? Collins? Oxford? Anyone?) I also know of this one, this one and this one in the last month or so, but I'm not counting those as personal friends, although I sure know a lot about them!

But number 13 has a special story. And remember this guy, born about 10 days ago, 11 weeks prem? This story relates to him too. 

Once upon a time, not very long ago, there were 2 good friends. They were both keen to breed, both had histories of conception-related problems, but each had faith in her own way that they would become the mothers they'd always hoped to be.

Time ticked on and neither fell pregnant, but both remained optimistic and calm, staunchly believing their time would come.

And so it came to pass that these 2 friends discovered within 24 hours of each other that they were both pregnant, and both due in the same week in early 2009. Much rejoicing and celebrating ensued, and this continued when a few months later they discovered they were both expecting boys!

(I think you can tell where this is headed....)

10 days ago one of the friends had her boy prematurely, and then this morning, just to make sure these two stories continued in parallel, the other friend had hers. 30 weeks, 1.3 kg.

All mums & babies are doing really well, and the rest of us are all feeling a little weirded out....

babies & birthdays

3 noteworthy birthdays in the last few days. 3 that have held a special significance to me, although none of them have been mine.

First up, an unexpected one. Some friends of ours have been expecting a baby boy in February. However, unexpectedly, due to a calcified placenta, the decision was made to Caesar yesterday, at 29 weeks. 29 weeks. Tiny Luca is 1.1kg, but apparently doing really well in an incubator. His parents are bearing up too, but the whole experience has shaken us all.

1.1kg. I just tear up thinking about how hard that little guy is fighting, how unbelievably hard it must be for his parents to watch his struggle, not being able to hold him, or connect with him, his mum not being able to put him to her breast and gaze at his little face as she guides him from his previous home to this one.

I've been holding this little family so close to my heart the last few days.
And I've been thinking about the notion of prayer and almost envied being able to say 'I'll pray for you', to an audience that take real comfort from the words. It just seems so neat and tidy, and so situationally appropriate. A globally recognised way of expressing your love, concern and support to someone in need. It seems so organised.
And I like organised, generally.
But I like my way of navigating the world too, and when I say to my friends that I'm holding them and Luca close to my heart, I really can feel their presence there like a physical weight on my chest. I'm praying in my own way, and I'm praying that this story will have a happy ending.

The next birthday is a very special one. My first baby turned 10 this week. That's double digits y'all - remember how good that feels!
Of course, she's not actually my baby. But she was the first in our immediate circle of friends, and has literally lived around the corner from us for most of her life, so I like to stake a little claim in her upbringing.

Our friend, her mum, returned from a trip to Australia with a visible bump and a shocked expression. She'd been told some years before that she'd never be able to conceive and so, when she started craving avocado's smeared with Vegemite in Sydney the last thing in the world she expected was this....

But it turns out that while camping on the banks of river in a grove of tea-trees in Queensland ... the unexpected had happened... Later she heard rumours that the Aborigines of old thought that place to be blessed, and more recently we had a nervous semi-cynical giggle on reading this ... stranger things have happened I guess?

And last but not least, my youngest brother celebrated his birthday this week. He's a traveller, an academic, a wonderful cook, a considerate and deeply caring brother and friend, and he's just moved into a house down the road from us! Yay!

Happy Birthday all 3 of you!