Journals She Wrote

You are the little spoon, my hand cradled around your tummy. 

Moments earlier you had mimicked my every move. Sipping at my sleepy tea, spilling it all down your pyjamas. Rubbing hand cream onto your face. Lying on me as I do my bedtime stretches.

I try to breathe normally, deeply, to relax. I tentatively stretch out my legs, roll back my shoulders, nestle my head down into the pillow. 

A puppy dog nesting down for the night, walking around and around until the bed feels just right. That’s you. That’s me.

You shuffle a little and then your soft breathing tells that you are asleep.

We have done this countless times. And I know you will grow. But right now, this feels like forever.

The late-night snacks, the reluctance to sleep alone, the reliance on the breast. Dad’s grumpy startle as your little legs kick him in a tender place.

We all three, tug at the duvet on the queen bed which we seem to have outgrown. 

You wake briefly and crawl around singing, stroking my face, your cheek next to mine, your sweet little breath, before you fall sound asleep horizontally across all the pillows. Hair splayed out, legs tucked underneath, nappy bottom up next to my face.  

I wonder if you will remember these nights when you are grown.


My Son, My Hopes, My Fears

Colourful History and Exquisite Beauty Beneath Table Mountain

Made Up Careers ~ Annalee Muggeridge

Rose Matafeo - The Thorn Within

Health fraud duo stay in jobs

Losing a parent can make you resilient, but resilience can morph into hardness

How New Sexual Violence Courts Could Change Rape Trials for Women

Lost and found

Jono and Ben on Making Radio Waves

Back on the barre

Made Up Careers ~ Jaz Garner