Books for my baby girl

IT STILL amazes me how quickly our little baby girl is growing. It seems she changes in some small special way every few days and getting to know her that little bit more becomes more enjoyable each day. 


Lila is a gorgeous baby, so placid and calm most of the time, not including when she's hungry or grumpy in the evening when it's time to don the ear muffs or just settle for repetitive rhythmic ringing in the ears, a mild headache or both. But those moments are quickly forgotten.


Yesterday, with her daddy working from home to take care of his girls (helping me get over a cold and hangover from three months of broken sleep), the three of us braved the cool crisp winter wind, rugged-up in warm clothes and went for a walk to our local library. 


I can't remember the last time I visited a local library, but it really was a hidden treasure. Warm and cosy inside, the friendly librarian took the time to walk over to the bookshelf with us and made recommendations about which books would be best for baby Lila, who turns three months next week, including books with: 

• bright colours and large shapes
• lots of big pictures
• thick cardboard pages
• lots of rhyme and repetition, and
• different textures for her to touch.

We left with 12 picture books of different sizes, three music CDs and three DVDs, including a great French film, The beat my heart skipped, that Lila's dad and I watched last night as she slept soundly, giving us a rare evening without the need for ear muffs. 

I dream that one day

YES, I am a dreamer. I have been ever since I was a little girl. Dreams are there for inspiration, motivation and change. I like to dream and to imagine something will become possible even if it may not seem so in this life, then perhaps it will come true in another. 


But I dream these things will happen in this life because who knows where or who I'll be in the next one. And I dream more today than I did yesterday because the world I dream about is one in which my daughter will grow and learn, alongside your daughters and sons. 


I dream that one day the people of our world will stop being so damn angry, that we will all live in harmony together regardless of our differences, religions or claims on land. That there be no more wars or conflicts and that instead, humankind becomes whole again. 


I dream that one day no child, woman or man has to endure a life in poverty, hunger and without clean water. That there be enough food in every family's house, that it is not thrown away in one while it is desperately longed for in another. That all men and women are able to keep their homes warm in winter and their children clothed, well fed, healthy and happy. 


I dream that one day we live in a world without violence of any kind. That all children can be children throughout their childhoods and not live in fear, ever. That women around the world can feel truly safe in their own homes, when they walk the streets day or night and that they may walk freely. 


I dream that one day we will all be treated as equals regardless of our gender. That women have the same rights as men in every country, not just the one in which we live. That they be given the same opportunities and that we may all live equally. 


I dream that one day all children, women and men will have access to education and that study is open to everyone regardless of whether they have money or not. That we all learn how to read and write, and more mothers and fathers have the time to read to their children, and that their children may one day read to them when they are elderly.  


I dream one day that all communities around the world are equipped with schools and hospitals and all people have access to vital medicine they may need to care for themselves, their families and neighbours who may be ill. That like education, medical treatment is not something that improves with money, but we are all treated equally.  


I dream that one day we all do more to care for our environment so that our children may grow-up in a world with clean air, lush green forests, rich flowing water, full oceans, rivers and lakes. That our children may experience a world where wildlife can co-exist with humankind peacefully.  


I dream that one day we will all wake to a world where love and forgiveness overpowers hate and revenge every time, where war is never the answer when looking for the road to peace, where we give more than we take, where we are all able to live with respect and dignity, where we believe more than we rationalise, where social justice always prevails and where we begin to dream, again.


I dream that one day my daughter lives in a world where these dreams are there when she is awake.  

How to be a good mother ... or not

WHAT makes a woman a good mother? Is a woman a super mum when despite having a young baby always manages to have clean washing and a spotless kitchen and bathroom and still puts on a MasterChef type dinner for her family (today I couldn't even manage to defrost the steaks before B came home, bugger). 


Perhaps she is a woman who takes her young baby to baby-gym classes once a week (something I didn't even know about until I heard another mother talking about it today), as well as other super-dooper baby development accelerator activities: baby sign language anyone? No really, wow. I wish I could be that woman. 


Or even the woman with a baby who is on time at least some of the time. Nope, that's not me either. I haven't even worked out how to breastfeed in public without feeling like I have my clothes on inside-out (thinking people are gawking at my inability or just noticing my discomfort at revealing my breasts in a public place. I've braved or should I write 'bared' it before and have found that people do look at you as though you're some kind of quasi-exhibitionist rather than someone who is trying to feed her hungry baby). 


But even with my clothes on inside-out I would feel like I knew what I was doing more (that is, making a quick dash to the car to get home to change pronto). Also, is it just me or have you ever wondered whether nursing bras were made by men as for some reason I still can't get those clips undone with one hand, damn it.   


But stubborn bra clips, shy bare breasts and baby gym aside, I love my baby girl. I have loved her since I first found out she was growing in my uterus when B was waiting anxiously on the other side of the bathroom door... is she, isn't she? Two pretty pink lines and the rest, well you know, it's a beautiful story, the journey of life.


I'll never be a super mum because between you and me my house was never spotless even before having a baby, but if my baby girl ever asks me one day why I didn't do all those things I should be doing, being a super mum and all that, I will tell her it's only because I was too busy loving her.  

Changes

ONE of the many things I love about becoming a mum is the small changes I'm noticing in myself every day. For instance, I always thought of myself as a morning person and as someone who could only write in the mornings. By the time the afternoon came along, my mind was often too exhausted to conjure up sensible thoughts let alone to bring them to paper or screen. 


But since becoming a mum, this has changed. I no longer wait for a perfect time to write (and let's face it, getting out of bed in the morning is more difficult each day, it's like asking me to not vote for the carbon tax, I'd rather keep my eyes closed).


Instead, I'm grateful if I have a few precious minutes to write whether that be:

• in the morning (instead of jumping in the shower when baby Lilia is sleeping after her morning feed)
• the afternoon (instead of catching-up on sleep, reading, going outside or catching-up with a friend or the rare afternoon of not having to attend a medical/baby-related appointment), or 
• the evening (instead of ... well, let's take this very moment in time: I could be peeling the potatoes for dinner right now instead of writing or rambling rather, but they still taste pretty good boiled and mashed with the skin, no?).    

Surprisingly, it's liberating not to have the time to write. That sounds a little strange, right? 


Gone are the days of toiling over each word and rearranging them like too many candles on a birthday cake in a perfect line (please, just forget it, they just don't fit and remember with age comes wisdom). 


Also gone is the self-critic that seeks perfection and doesn't consider any line, let alone paragraph worthy enough to publish (is this why I worked as an editor for years, but gave up a paid role as a writer after a couple of months, feeling I wasn't skilled enough (even though I was offered an extension on my contract?). Ah... yes, paid and writer in the same line, you read it here first, folks.  


I have changed but not just physically (yes, I'm still amazed at my changing body from kaleidoscopic hormones to dropping a dress size thanks to my shrinking uterus... well almost a size down, I can almost fit into my size 12 jeans, hooray). 


Oh yeah baby, it's the kind of change that feels good: welcome to motherhood. 

Art on a Sunday

TODAY we're off to see the 2011 Archibald Prize portraits at the TarraWarra Museum of Art in Healseville. The sky is grey and cloudy in Melbourne but Sundays with my little family always brighten the day. Of course, there's nothing like a lovely glass of red wino to warm a crisp winter's day and what better place to have it than the Yarra Valley. Cheers to that!