There were five in the bed...

(and the little one said…

rollover, rollover

so they all rolled over

and one fell out..)

Well, not quite, but nearly.

We have four of us in two beds, however the Poppet’s cot is flush with our queen bed and we’ve taken down the dividing rail so it acts as one big bed.

At present as I type my Sprocket is curled sleeping in the crook of my arm while my Poppet is sleeping on her back on the other side. My husband is reading his ipad at the bottom of the bed.

Before lights out we’ll move the Poppet into her cot, carefully making that sure she is well away from any pillows and our doona. During the night she will wake repeatedly, searching me out for milk. Luckily, the Sprocket no longer does that, although he will want mummy milk in the morning and will have to be distracted if I am to escape his industrial strength sucking.

I love having my little ones close. I love being able to wake in the night and listen to their breathing and reach out and touch them, to feel the rise and fall of their chests, the way their tiny chubby fingers curl around mine in automatic response. I love the feeling of them curled warm and amazingly them to either side of me.

I love the extra time of drinking in the curve of their cheeks, their full lips, the sheer perfection of them.

One day they will not want to be curled up beside us, will not want to wake to see us and smile and giggle with delight that we are there, will not coorie into us. While they do, I’ll make the most of it.

But…

I miss spooning with my husband. Finding ‘us’ time is a bit of an art.

I’m not so keen on waking to find the Sprocket’s feet in my face. He has a decided preference for sleeping horizontally. Not sure why. But there it is. My partner and I are used to waking with little feet firmly pressed against our ribs or neck. I haven’t checked it out, but I think he might have some magnetic component too him that he has to sleep facing due north.

However careful I am to make sure the Poppet is well away from any pillow or quilt, I am always a little bit afraid and wake many times during the night to check her breathing and make sure that she hasn’t moved too far.

And although the Sprocket is almost three… I check him too.

I dream of sleep…

The Poppet wakes around o – 3.30 and starts sleep feeding – on and off till I get out of bed around 7. Sucked dry, I wake on a sugar low, cranky as all get out until I get food food more food.

There are many, many different ways families organize their sleeping. Right now, this is ours, and I know the day will come when I will sniff and sigh and tear up and say ‘Do you remember when we had both our little munchkins curled up with us.’

And my husband will snort and say “Yup. My back’s never been the same since.”

But he will miss them as much as I do. 

Five years

Five years. That’s how long it is since my husband and I met and shortly afterwards started going out. That’s not too long ago. It's not a historic time period, but when I think of all that’s happened in those five years...

Well.

We’ve crammed in a lot. Anyway, five years ago today my husband and I were volunteers in the Solomon Islands and he was plying me with red wine in an effort to induce me to go out with him.

Obviously successful.

I’m having sudden flashbacks as we’ve just had a lovely weekend with friends who were volunteers with us in the Solomon Islands.

Bizarre and lovely and full of deep sighs thinking back to that time now.

First times.

First time I met my husband.(Inauspicious)

First time we went out together.(Inauspicious)

First time we moved in together. (He started sleeping on the couch where I was staying – I suspect it still has the massive dip)

First time we were evacuated together.

First time we got gastro together

First time we were in lock-down together.

Sigh.

Although it’s hard to imagine a pre-Sprocket and Poppet existence I do remember dancing till the early morning to Siseva and Litle Raskals and… and swimming through underwater landscapes, buying great armfuls of flowers at the market, crawling through the hole in the fence to get to work as the only person with the key to the gate hadn’t turned up… swimming in a green and silver sea as the rain fell and frangipani floated around us…

Sigh. 

Enforced Shopping...

The Poppet and I had enforced shopping today.

Honestly.

No one held a gun to our heads, but we had to drop the car in for a service and then wait in the nearest convenient walkable place, which – tah-dah – was the shopping centre.

So we got the boring stuff out of the way first and brought the dog food and bones and all and then we went s-h-o-p-p-i-n-g.

There’s only so much playing in the kid area a little girl can do, especially if everything is designed for a kid 3 times your size.

We looked at bags and shoes and tried on hats.

The Poppet looked very fetching in a black pork-pie hat and was most distressed when I made her put it back. It was just a little big, although yes, I admit, very good for peekaboo.

We ummed and aahed over coats we had no intention of buying and darling little dresses. We swooped down on sales. And then stepped back again after careful reflection.

We stopped for coffee and sang twinkle twinkle little star and then the Poppet did her very clever two-handed wave dance.

And… I can’t help thinking how different our time together is from my time with the Sprocket at the same age.

We were living in the South Pacific then and I didn’t have transport so to go out I’d put on a baby carrier and pop the Sprocket in, often in just a nappy and singlet (not like the Poppet’s lovely purple ensemble of today, tights and cord dress, long sleeved top and fluffy cardie) and then we’d go to the bus stop and hail a bus (a mini-van) and there’d be fake flowers and reggae, tourists and locals all heading into town and the Sprocket would make eyes and gurgle at everyone. We’d wander through the market filling our bilum with whatever was in season and then duck into the super market to groan over the inflated prices of western food. We’d have a brief interlude as the check out girls would ask to ‘kari smal’ and I’d hand the Sprocket over so that they could pass him around. Then we’d wander along the water-front and admire all the boats. We’d go to the bus stop and negotiate which bus was going in roughly our direction and then the bus would drive us home, dropping us at our gate. In the afternoon the Sprocket and I might walk to a nearby resort and go for a swim. We’d buy a banana smoothie to share and play on the sand for a little before getting in the water for a splash.

Every so often I feel bad our little Poppet misses out. But then she giggles as we try on hats and I realize that really as long as she’s with us, she’s pretty happy. 

Goodbye teeny tiny Summer Dresses...

I'm putting away the Poppet's first summer dresses. As it's July now and officially winter I doubt she’s going to get one last wear out of them. Though I might keep a couple out just in case as they are entirely adorable. All doll- size pinks and whites and bows and flowers. 

But hey. I'm a girlie girl. And until the Poppet is old enough to say NO – hey, so is she.

Every time the Poppet outgrows something I swallow.I've been waiting - o at least 27 years to play dress ups with my daughter. And now that time is here it's going so fast. As much as I try to hold onto the time it just seems to slip away.

My little girl has an imperial wave now. She walks her way along the furniture. Recently come dusk Caleb was playing in the garden and I blinked and saw her little backside busily heading into the dark to find him. She claps and points out her desires and smiles beautifully for the camera. She has a good line in putting her head on peoples shoulder and smiling enchantingly. ‘Am I not adorable?’

She loves playing peek-a-boo with the Sprockets Bob the Builder hard hat.

She's growing up. 

Sigh. 

For now though, goodbye teeny tiny candy-cane cottons, he-llo slightly bigger furry boots, woollen hoodies, fluffy boots, velvet, corduroy and tweed. 

Playing Hooky

I’m feeling like I’m playing hooky. At least I think I am. Never having played hooky. This is probably a lot more comfortable. Curled up in lush hotel bed in delicious hotel robe in the soft and ambient light of the tastefully arranged lamps. Drowsy and content.

But of course missing the Poppet and the Sprocket who are with their ever-loving nana and pa.

Feel like I’m playing at being a big person. Out on the loose without little hands clinging to my legs.

The poppets first night away from me. And my first night away from her. Such a strange feeling.

Wake in the night feeling full and tight and sore and no searching little mouth to start guzzling the milk.

Instead have to go and have a bath and express a bottle. Which I had not realized is a very laborious and not particularly comfortable thing to do, even while luxuriating in a delectably hot bath in a marble bathroom…

Have I mentioned how much I really, really. really love hotels?

Thank you Ingrid and Ron for looking after the Poppet and Sprocket. (And Bec!)

Thank you Kate and Ben for being fun and entertaining companions!

Thank you Ian and Lucy for deciding to get married and have this lovely pre-wedding big smoke get together!

Funness.