“What language does this kid speak anyway?” –
Random 5-year-old at the park to Mr P in response to J’s conversation skills.
Valid question random kid, valid question. I often ask myself the same question as J points and earnestly tries to tell me something that seems urgent and important. New words would crop up and my heart would soar, telling my brain there wasn’t a problem afterall. But the words were never ones that we really needed to hear, ‘turtle’ and ‘owl’ became common, whereas ‘hi’, ‘bye’ and ‘please’ remained elusive.
His peers demonstrated their ability to string more than one word together, some forming sentences to express their needs and wants, while J developed a system of ever-more intricate hand gestures coupled with unintelligable babbling. If that didn’t work, he’d resort to tantrums.
I started to own my concerns and that of his day care teachers – it was well and truly time to get J assessed by a speech therapist. Continue reading
Last Saturday Mr P and I headed out for a fancy dinner – just the two of us. It was a combined my birthday/valentines day/last chance before baby arrives type affair so we splurged on a six-course tasting menu at the gorgeous Figtree Restaurant at Ewingsdale, just outside of Byron Bay.
We were here in November for our lovely friends’ Kate and Larry’s nuptials and the scenery and food was divine so we thought it would be the perfect spot for a relaxed dinner for two. It also helps that Grandma and Grandpa only live a 15 minute drive away, so J was happy and spoilt back at their place. Continue reading
On Thursday I turned 33. The day before heralded a new week of pregnancy – week 33.
Never one to be too excited by birthdays, I was surprised that I felt light and free – not 33 in either sense.
An old friend was staying with us all the way from Dublin. We worked together for a short time in Sydney and caught up briefly a year later in Dublin and London and kept in touch somewhat sporadically in the intervening years. The last time we saw each other I was just 23.
When I heard he was coming to Australia, I admit I had a few fretful moments – so much time had passed and my life now bore no resemblence to my life then. Our whole friendship had been a blur of happy hours and hungover workplace camaraderie, I wondered if we’d still share the same bond we did then. I worried he would find me boring and a pregnant party pooper. Continue reading
I’ve been thinking alot lately about my inner fears, those tip-tapping thoughts that have kept me awake some nights during this pregnancy.
The fears that probably stop me writing about my hopes and dreams for this pregnancy and the baby boy I’ll be welcoming in around eight weeks time.
You see, last pregnancy I felt like a goddess. I was blooming, full of hope and wonder about what my body was doing and was capable of. I went to yoga weekly and got in touch with my baby from early on in the pregnancy, I read about pregnancy and birth and I felt educated and in awe of this life-changing event that was taking place.
This time, not so much. Sure, I’ve felt well for the majority of the time and at 32 weeks I don’t yet feel too massive and have been taking walks around my neighbourhood, while work and running after the boy keeps me busy.
But the fear, it’s always there. The fear, not of the birth itself – though that is sometimes there too – but of the aftermath … replaying in my head the moment that I found out that my perfect baby boy that I’d held in my arms for a few hours at that point wasn’t as perfect as I thought.