Tortillas at Midnight

Yesterday, I almost said, “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” to a bunch of people in the doctor's waiting room. Okay, so we both had know I’d never actually say that, I’m awful at conflict, but my goodness it would have been satisfying. We were having a real time and a half, let me tell you. The baby was getting her immunizations and our toddler was also along for the ride and I’m just going to make the blanket statement that having two small children in a very quiet, confined space which is designated for their least favorite thing - waiting - was about as fun as getting a tooth pulled. Or maybe three teeth pulled. One was crying because she was tired and we’d just gotten out of the car and she hates the car, so it was all too much really. The other was crying because she wanted to run onto the road and I stopped her. I’ll let you decipher who was who. Anyway, to cut a long, painful story very short, there was a lot of crying on both their parts, both in the waiting room and out...

Dear my second child, You arrived straight crash bang into the hustle and bustle. There was no ease into it, no cosy afternoons spent together, no having us all to yourself, spending hours just gazing at you. In absolute awe. To just watch you now is a rarity. Even though these nights are long, I do enjoy them because it’s our time together. A time that we don’t get the luxury of spending in any other moment. My days are split and torn, running between you and your sister, trying to weigh up who needs me more in that second and I always feel heavy with the strain of guilt, of not being there fully with either of you. But these nights are ours. Even though every fibre of my being wants to sleep and then sleep some more, I’m so happy that if I can’t, that I get to spend the time with you. I love your snuffles and soft, fluffy hair. The way you calm as soon as I pick you up and your arms wrap about me. How we cuddle for a bit until I can transfer you to your bed. Your baby smell and your ...

The weird thing is, is that there’s no singular really hard part of it all. Just one thing that if you could solve, then everything would magically get easier. It’s more an accumulation of lots of little things that wear you down. They pile up and up each day, getting more towering and making you lose your balance. Then as you tend to one thing to stop it crumbling, everything else rises to fill in the space. I guess what I’m trying to say is that parenting is basically Tetris. A version without a pause button or an off switch. And that the reason you break down over the overflowing washing basket or some spilt cereal actually has nothing to do with the washing or the cereal. It’s because you haven’t gotten more than a few broken hours of sleep for months. It’s because cleaning the house is an endless chore that can be undone in seconds. It’s because you can’t have an uninterrupted conversation. It’s because little people have big feelings. It’s because it’s so hard to find a moment to...

I swear that it was just yesterday that we met our second daughter, and now here she is, booked in for her six-week old immunisations, a smiling bundle of long limbs. I just wanted to write a little about who she is at this moment in time, or at least who we know her as. In short, she’s absolutely lovely and we fall more and more in love with her each day. At first it was strange not having that familiar loving with her that we do with our oldest. The knowing type of love that grows with time and snippets and experiences. The type of love that only develops as your relationship together expands. But we are getting to know her and it’s the best feeling, learning about who this little human is and building a relationship with them. Somehow you love them a bit more each day, even though today the love already feels like SO MUCH that your heart might burst. So, here she is. These past few days she’s started smiling; a deliciously sweet grin. She loves it when you lay on the ground next to ...

Aren’t open homes just wonderful?  Said nobody ever. Well, nobody whose house is the one with the door open and the sign out front. Open homes can be kind of fun to go to if it’s not your house. Preparing for a viewing can be a lot of work. You have to make it look like nobody lives in your house, all the while you obviously do live there. At the same time, you must make sure that your house looks just a bit inhabited so that it doesn’t look unloved. Yet, hold it back enough so that there’s not enough livingness to look too real. It’s a pretty fine line and you just have to hope to get the balance right so that some stranger can imagine themselves living their best life in your home. You want them to picture themselves happily making a lasagna or something warm and carby, but without any evidence that you just made a lasagna last night and there might be a splotch of it lingering on the stovetop. You want them to see their clothes in your closet and their car in your driveway. You ...

One of the parts I was the most worried about before the arrival of our second babe, was how on earth I would cope with two. I mean, I felt like having one and “coping” was already a fairly generous term. I’d base a day’s success off remembering to pack spare clothes and not ending up in urgent care because our toddler had managed to wallop her poor head yet again. It’s the small wins that count, right? So it’s unsurprising that the thought of having two small people, totally dependent on me, was a bit daunting. What do I do if they’re both crying? How do I ensure they both feel loved, even if I have to let one be for a bit while I tend to the other? And most crucially, how on earth do I get them both into the car without all three of us in tears? It’s safe to say that four weeks on, I really have no answers. I don’t feel that I’m anymore knowledgeable now than I was, and we just kind of muddle through each day. The thing is though, I’m not worried about it anymore. Okay, let’s be real...

I’ve written the word January so many times now that it doesn’t look like a real word, but rather an imposter word like pyjamas does (it gets weirder the more you think about it). I also keep accidentally spelling it with an H instead of a J; the measures one must go to when you have a small babe on you and have to rely on a singular, uncoordinated thumb to type the fake word January one too many times. Sorry if you keep saying Hanuary in your head now. Anyway, where were we, January? It’s the 31st today and to be honest, I’m very happy to see February arrive. In the four weeks that were Hanuary/January, we had a baby, finished renovating our house, got our conditional offer on a section accepted, and put our house on the market. Yikes, Hanuary, you got us good. January is known for being the month of fresh starts and new beginnings all that whatnot, and so I feel that we well and truly got Januaried this time around.  Last night, my husband finished the house renovations. It’s not...