Buzz and Babies

There are two flies buzzing around my lounge room

Like it’s an Olympic race

Buzz buzz buzz

And my feet are up and my chair reclined

And I can hear the buzzing and nothing else


And that’s because my small child is not here

She is playing over at the next door neighbours’

On a whim!

And my whole body is relaxing into the couch and maybe even my eyes shutting

And this must be what it’s like to have a child instead of a baby

It’s very nice

It’s very quiet

Except for the buzz

But of course I’m growing a new baby

A fresh baby, a number two baby

So it’s a tiny little fragment of a glimpse

Into child parenting

Before we begin all over again

With a baby

A fresh baby

Buzz buzz buzz


How to have a cheap holiday 101

Short version:

Don’t go anywhere.

Extended version:

Free accomodation! What could be better. Stay at home, but do whatever you usually do on holidays.


Today we drove down to the beach, played in the sand, swam, got burnt, got sand everywhere, did an awkward beach change with a towel that kept slipping down and my husband whispering “there’s people coming!”

Takeaway burgers for lunch, running around in the park trying to convince the little one that it was much more fun playing in the shade than in the 34 degrees celsius sun.

Takeaway Indian food for dinner, sitting on the couch sipping drinks and watching Star Wars Episode VI, my husband having to re-explain the plot up to this point as I hadn’t bothered to remember. Something about I Am Your Father and a Death Star and being in love with your sister.

But the best part was that our little daughter was snoozing away magnificently, in her own bed.

You’re welcome.

Sand For The First Time

For the first time
In her life
In her toes
Wind in her hair
Along the waters edge

It feels different
When it’s dry
To when it’s wet
Oh no
With a rushing sound
The water has left it’s spot
And run up the sand
Onto her feet

She doesn’t know
What it is
What it means
Why it did that
So of course it’s terrifying
Run away

When we don’t understand
Can’t make sense of
We are all her

We don’t know
Why it happened
Or what it is
Or what it means
So of course it’s terrifying

It’s a long beach
Some sand
Is dry
Some sand
Is wet
The water leaves it’s spot
And runs up to her feet
And it’s cold
And she doesn’t know

The Flat Pack Relationship Test

The ultimate relationship test: putting together flat pack furniture.

Everyone should be forced to do it. Preferably an item that takes upwards of two hours to complete. Small room, large piece of furniture a must. Baby crying: optional.

Yesterday the husband and I successfully built a three door 7 foot wardrobe from a flat pack. With a baby who was a bit upset. With a drill that kept needing recharging. And with the worst set of instructions I have ever seen.

We like to think we are relatively competent people, but there was a lot of interpretation and extrapolation required with the minimal instructions. Also there were no written instructions, it was all pictures with ambiguous arrows. Cue Anna turning the instructions round and round in circles.

A snapshot of our conversations over the two hours it took to construct the wardrobe:

“Babe please go and get the baby, I can’t do this while I am listening to her crying”

“We’ve lost half the screws for the doors” “Are they under the 90kg wardrobe??!”

“Kid in the hallway!… maybe just step over her?” “…I am carrying three heavy wooden planks!”

“Where is the Allen key?” “In the laundry somewhere on top of the pile of clothes?”

“Lift!!!” “I can’t! There isn’t enough room here for my bum”

“Where’s the kid?” “I don’t know!”

“…did that break?” “…. yep”.

At the end of the day we had one completed wardrobe, two exhausted adults, one sleeping child, two delicious salmon and veggie dinners, and an assortment of left over screws.

Drink of choice; beer for the husband, baileys for me.

But we survived, with our marriage still intact at the end of it, so test result: pass.

Driving driving baby crying

Radio on
Baby crying
Driving driving
Just keep going

Count the minutes
Then the seconds
They fall asleep
Their tiredness gets the better of them
They can no longer fight it

Driving driving
Crying crying
Bloody traffic lights
Seems like more than a minute

Counting the minutes
Then the seconds
Checking the mirror
The eyelids are fluttering
Just keep going

Driving driving
Crying crying
But the cries are getting weaker
My resolve is stronger

Windscreen wipers
Driving driving
No crying