_Last week Madeleine and I took a walk with friends to visit the Taco Truck, since it was parked nearby. I confess I fell rather heavily for the fish tacos. Omigod I could have eaten five of those babies. Then on the weekend we embarked on a little family road trip - Madeleine's first proper outing - so that she could spend time with her Nanna, aunts and cousins. They all predictably adored one another, and Madeleine turned on her not-inconsiderable charm for the cousins, smiling and laughing and snuggling like a pro. Livvy, who is five, started crying. "I love Madeleine the most of all my cousins," she wailed. "I want her to be my sister!" Meanwhile, did anyone visit the Melbourne Art Fair last week? We made plans to go on Sunday, but they didn't quite pan out. First, the walk there was glorious and sun-shiney. Madeline was all rugged up against the winter wind in the most adorable knitted Red Riding Hood cape (does dressing your baby in cute outfits ever get old?). We wandered along streets and laneways that had barely changed in more than a hundred years, through a park with trees so wide four people would have to hold hands to hug them, and over to the Exhibition Buildings in Carlton. But when we got there we discovered the tickets were $30 each. Don't you think that's a bit steep, for an exhibition that's also a sale? Anyway, we were cheapskates and blanched at the idea of spending $60 just to look around for such a short time (given Madeleine's tolerance levels), so we strolled across to the museum instead. I'd been to this museum a few times but only for special shows, this was my first time visiting the general galleries. They are wonderful! There's something to be said for purpose-built space, it's all so interactive and engaging. Plus, Mr B revealed a talent for identifying many strange animals in a weird, tiered taxidermy room that was at once creepy and educational. _Madeleine looked super cute in her red knitted poncho. On the other hand, as you can probably tell she most definitely did NOT like being photographed with the hood on.
Oh how I'm loving the early mornings right now. I wake up in the pre-dawn to feed little Madeleine and, most days, the sky starts to turn grey and then pink while while we cuddle together. It is a gentle start to the day, me and M cocooned in our warmth and love, with only the gentle sound of her breathing and swallowing to break an otherwise-silent bubble. Outside, the air carries ice and the wind twists trees bare of leaves into kinetic sculptures, sending pink camellia petals eddying across the road. Right now, the wind is positively howling, ghost story fashion, up and down the disused chimneys of my home, while rain slaps and rattles at the windows. But we are soft and safe and warm together inside. I just made tea and marmalade on toast. This is my favourite time of year, and it is most definitely sweater weather. If I had one sheepish girl's talent with needle and thread, I would carry a sweet embroidered sweater in my journal with me everywhere.
_Dear Madeleine,
When I kiss the top of your head you smell like milk duds, white chocolate, only infinitely sweeter and better.
Every morning when I wake up, I stretch out with my arms and hands above my head and my toes pointing to the ceiling. Then I pick you up and put you on your change mat and before you even open your eyes, you stretch out with your arms and hands above your head and your toes pointing to the ceiling.
Lately you have been crying quite a bit, and all you seem to want through the day is to cuddle in my arms, which makes it difficult to get anything done. But it is oh so special. This is a precious, precious time for you and me. So I sit and we snuggle and all my jobs go undone and my deadlines go unmet and my love swells and swells.
For some strange reason, your new favourite time is when I change your nappies. You always smile and laugh at me then.
Speaking of your smile, it is like a sunburst. A gummy sunburst of joy. I have tears in my eyes as I type this, even thinking of your smile.
And your laugh: oh boy! You don’t giggle or even chuckle, you Ho Ho just like Santa (I’ll tell you about Santa later). When you laugh, you say “a-HOO” and throw back your chin for comedic emphasis. Oh lord, it’d break your heart if you could see your adorable self.
We read together every day. Sometimes we read your books, board books with bright pictures and just one or two words in them. When you’re feeling attentive, you like to look at the pictures. Other times I read out loud to you from whatever I’m reading. Right now that’s Eucalyptus by Murray Bail. You seem to like this a lot and it’s often a good one to read you to sleep. Perhaps because the rhythm of the words is kind of musical and water-like.
You love having a bath, which is your Daddy’s job. You have been known to splash him with gusto, something you both seem to enjoy.
You think Oliver the dog is very funny, and give him an “a-HOO” whenever he walks into your line of vision.
When you were born your eyes were darkest slate blue. Like a storm. Now they are a deep, deep, romantic blue, fringed with eyelashes so long they sweep your eyebrows.
You are losing some of the hair you had when you were born, but you carry off a receding hairline exceedingly well. Indeed you are divinely beautiful.
Oh and Madeleine, your chubby knees and elbows! I die!
Seven weeks and two days, Madeleine. That’s how long you have been in my world. But I think you were in my heart at the beginning of time.
Love,
Mama
Hidden secrets. Tiny moments. Mysteries, morsels and messages: imagine holding these in your hand. Crafty decorator Jeska of Lobster and Swan has loved old matchboxes, and "secret small things" hidden inside, for years. She even has one with a typewritten message inside it from her great grandfather. How incredibly precious! Earlier this year Jeska started a project called #matchboxaday, creating tiny worlds inside vintage wooden matchboxes every day for a whole month. She then sold the matchboxes on her Etsy shop to help raise money for a charity run that her husband was doing. The very first matchbox (pictured above) was Airmail! If only I had known, I DEFINITELY would have made this tiny world my own to celebrate my book. Then again, I am pretty much coveting ALL of these miniature marvels. (All images used with Jeska's kind permission).
"Sweet dreams and shiny things / decorate the space between / awake and sleeping." (Because sometimes we all need a bit of stop motion in our day).
_The walk into Carlton started out really well. The sun seemed to clarify the icy day into infinite particles, Madeleine was happily rugged up in her pram in front of me, and Oliver the dog was dancing around from one side of us to the other, sniffing everything and just relishing in the verb WALK.
I had my camera around my neck and was indulging in one of those mornings during which you stop and smell the roses, then you photograph them, and then you photograph them again from a different angle. I was noticing everything. Like, “Ooh, just LOOK at the vivid yellow of that leaf against the pale-blue winter sky,” I’d say to myself. And my Self would respond, “Well, what did you bring the camera for?”
_So it took an hour and a half for us to get to the post office (normally a 45 minute walk), and Madeleine was a perfect angel the entire time, even when we bumped over cobblestones that were so lumpy and old (“Ooh, I’ll take a picture of those”) that she almost got whiplash in the pram.
When a soccer ball escaped from a game in the park, I was able to hold onto the pram, hold onto the dog, and kick the ball more or less accurately back to the grinning players. I said to myself, “Self, I am Supermum!” And Self said to me, “Right on, sister.” _ Then we got to Lygon Street, packed with restaurants with tables spilling out onto the pavement and crowds and happy people dining, and THAT’S when Madeleine decided she’d had enough and started to scream. And scream. And scream.
Picture me navigating a pram with one hand, holding onto a dog lead with my little finger, jiggling a screaming baby on my chest with the other hand, and trying to make my way through a narrow path between the restaurant doors and all their outdoor tables and chairs, all with diners and restaurateurs alike giving me the evil eye because my howling child and smelly dog were ruining their peaceful lunch.
I was thinking, if Madeleine would just stop crying for five minutes, I’d be able to pick a restaurant, sit down outside (because of the dog), order my lunch and feed her. But of course she wouldn’t stop crying for five seconds let alone five minutes, and the waiters who stand in the doorways and normally try everything bar physically dragging you indoors to get you to eat at their tables wouldn’t even catch my eye on this day.
_Oh, I am so green as a mother. Why did I not think ahead? From now on, if there is not a guaranteed place to feed or change my baby along the way and at the destination, I refuse to walk more than 20 minutes away from home in any direction. And I definitely won’t take the dog with me. Poor Oliver.
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