A visit with the baby nephews

I've just returned from visiting my sister and her twin sons, aged 20 months. Despite my being ill with some wierd fever-inducing, yukky-feeling lurgy for the first two days and the one baby having a nasty tummy bug, then the other, then my sister, it was fabulous. My poor sister has lost 3kg in as many days and was looking positively green. The boys, however, are delicious and delightful and interested in everything and trying very hard to speak.

I have never before been so intimately involved with babies and small children and observed how they grow. It is incredible and enlightening to watch how something as small as a little flying insect can inspire such wonder. They honestly are at such a fun age and to see my parents soak up grandparenthood is such a treat.

And to feel the love for those little boys as they grow up too fast is inspiring too. I was discussing it with my sister - the temptation to wrap them in cotton wool and keep them safely in a cupboard, to protect them from any harm, to shield them from The Big Bad World is almost overpowering.

Lucky for them, though, they are WAY too fast on those little feet and WAY too curious to be wrapped in cotton wool and, I suppose, they will have to get hurt, see things we don't want them to see, learn things the hard way. Sometimes. Then, hopefully, they can wrap themselves in the love of their family, and still be okay.

There is honestly nothing like seeing those four dark little eyes look around the door in the early morning light (now that they've learnt how to climb out of their cots) and see their little smiles break through when they see you're awake. Delicious. Delicious. Delicious.

The 40th surprise

I had to shush, it's not like I had a choice. I was keeping a secret and I knew that if I wrote a blog post I would (inadvertently, mind) let something slip out and then it wouldn't be a secret anymore and the surprise would be spoilt and I'd feel horrible and bad and possibly even give myself a stomach ulcer. I'll stop, I'm taking it too far, aren't I?

It was my lovely sister's 40th birthday and her fabulous wife, N, organised a surprise party to celebrate, up there in The Big Smoke, and I went up, also as a surprise. I love surprises very much. I struggle to keep secrets because I get oh-so-excited about it all and want to talk about it, but I was good this time.

I speak to my sister daily, sometimes twice a day, but usually daily. On Saturday, the day I flew up, she called me four times, I kid you not. Firstly, at 5am, I got a picture sent to me. They were going in a hot air balloon. Admittedly, a very exciting thing, but, in her mind (not knowing I was getting ready to head to the airport) I had no reason to be awake at that time on a Saturday. I called her to exclaim my wonderment, and my (fake) horror at her early communications.

Then, as I was getting on the plane. To discuss the excitement of the hot air balloon (fair enough.) I lied. I hate lying, but it was necessary. I said it was a scorcher of a day and we were in the queue for the 9am movie, I'd phone her later. Phone off, 2 hour flight. Very pleasurable Gautrain experience then met by an old varsity friend, T, with whom we were staying. I phoned my sister back in the car, thinking that'd be it for the day.

Back to T's house where her husband and very boisterous 4-year old son live too. Another call from my sister, mid-afternoon, necessitating gagging both husband and 4-year old, in case of voice recognition. And, boy, was she in a chatty mood. Poor husband and son were positively blue in the face.

And that wasn't it. One more, just before we were to leave to the party, of course. She informed me they were going out for dinner, I told her she should really stay home and watch the cricket, which she suggested to N, just to mess with poor N's mind. I am a mean sister-in-law.

It was fabulous, she was completely surprised and it was a lovely, Argentinian party with yummy food and yummier people and I was very glad that I'd managed to keep my mouth shut. And I got to see the delicious babies on Sunday.

This is what the babies look like now, Griffin in green, Liam in red with his pyjama pants on his head (I am a cruel aunt too). Okay, they're the ones up there, at the top. I can't figure out how to put them down here, even though I tried my darndest.

You see? Good excuse for silence. It's a bullshit one really, I just haven't felt like writing, I could've written about all manner of things but, as I found out on Saturday, through four sisterly phonecalls, I'm quite a proficient liar.

Edit: I wrote this last week Wednesday and was then struck down by a dreaded lurgy that has made me cough and splutter and take to my bed. It is retreating now, I fought it bravely, in my suit of armour, fighting hand-to-hand, using every inch of my strength. It's pretty obvious I'm feeling better isn't it? It was, seriously, just a cold. That made me feel yukky.

Back in the Ivory Tower

I am back at Real Work, up high in my Ivory Tower. I have much to say, but I don’t know where to start. It’s been a whirly-gig couple of days with some big thoughts washing about in my head, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, making me dizzy and tired.

I swing from those pits of despair where it all just seems too much and I can’t be bothered to joy, like a bipolar patient who has thrown their medication down the toilet. I am eternally grateful that I’m not bipolar. I’m not, am I? Snigger. No, life is just a bit rough sometimes.

I miss the baby boys, my nephews. I was awake this morning at 5am. This was not unusual during my holiday either. They wake early, those who are only 17-months old. From the time they wake it is a journey filled with fascination, peek-a-boo, emotions that change with the slightest breeze – a bit like their aunt? And those giggles I mentioned before. And squeals. Literally. Squeals of delight.

I was amazed, once again, by my sister and her partner, N. So much controversy involved in having two mothers but, yet, there it is, in your face… a parental unit that really works. I’m not saying heterosexual parental units don’t work. Some do. Just as some homosexual ones do too. These two make an incredible team and those boys are content and happy and growing and learning and loved. Oh, they bicker, they get tetchy (both parents and mini’s) but, at the end of each day, when the boys go down to sleep, they sit together on the couch and are still as much in love. Something to aspire to.

But now they’re all back in The Big Smoke and I am up in the Ivory Tower and I’m trying my hardest to grin and bear/bare it. More thoughts later, perhaps?

New Year's delight

I have ten minutes, then C, G and I are off to catch the train into the city to meet Pop and Shuzie for lunch, a New Year's Eve lunch. I have never been an NYE fan - the searching for the best party, the feigned excitement, the slobbery kisses from strangers at midnight. Sometimes I have a braai at my house, last year I had something resembling a party, with people I love. This year, it's a DVD, and sleep, probably way before midnight, and a fresh, clear, 1st of January 2011.

I have a feeling about 2011, I'm not sure if it's good or bad, but it's expectant. I don't think I've had that before. What I wish for, for us all, is happiness. Happiness like that I have seen in my 17-month old little nephews over the last ten days - undaunted, unstoppable, crazy-shit happiness that makes them giggle amd squeal at small things. What a treat to have them here, they are delicious.

So, yes, a quick note. I have much to tell of those squeals, of the fascination of one nephew with his grandfather, of watching the bond develop, tight as tight can be, of Christmas lunches and family, of friends, and love, and a little tinge of sadness, but mainly of those delighted squeals. I'll be back soon, as soon as I have time. Right now, peak-a-boo, buzzing like a bee and pointing at the butterflies that hang from my roof, all to elicit that delight, is way more important.

Wishing you all out there a delight-filled 2011. Remember to giggle and see the joy in everything.

Shiny x

I. Can. Not. Wait.

Wowee, time flies this time of the year. It is my last day of Real Work today, thank goodness, and as we speak, my sister, N, and the two baby nephews are winging their way towards The City Beneath the Mountain. I. Can. Not. Wait.

I have been desperately baby-proofing The House in the Middle of the Street. This is far from an easy feat as I am, to put it politely, a hoarder. Luckily, though, I am not a hoarder of extremely valuable or extremely breakable goods. My taste lies in the cheap and shiny section. Therefore, my house is Child Heaven and Parent Hell, despite my constant reassurances that little hands are welcome to touch/play/move all treasures found. This applies to friend’s children. My sister, on the other hand, knows that I am not just saying it, so my nephews’ four little hands will be everywhere. I. Can. Not. Wait.

The tree is up, there’s tinsel scattered about the place, two stockings hang from the mantelpiece. They’re ancient family heirlooms at this point, having existed since my sister and I were tiny tots. The boys are still a bit small for Father Christmas but they’re there, waiting. Did I tell you, they’ll be there, in The House in the Middle of The Street, today when I get home from Real Work? I. Can. Not. Wait.

In other news, I received a parcel in the post yesterday from a country way over the seas that is covered in snow. It was just a plain, brown, envelope but as I ripped it open I smelt the sweet scent of chocolate. I tipped it on the kitchen table – three slabs of chocolate, deliciously wrapped in wrappers with a foreign language (how exotic), a little bag of Christmas chocolates, and a decoration for the tree. What a wonderful treat, sent from Angela, over at Letters from Usedom. Thank you! This blog world is so wonderful, isn’t it?

Oh, did I tell you that I. Can. Not. Wait?

Absence due to jollification

Oh bugger, how did that happen? I’m trying to be a good blogger and write lots and lots. Not daily, mind, but often. Like in maybe everyday and then, all of a sardine, it’s been five days since my last post. Five? Surely not. That time flies thing? I think it might be true.

I’ve been busy you see. This entails not so many hours type-typing away on my computer and many more hours spent doing so many other more fun things. Like drinking cocktails full of crushed mint while the sun sets, turning the sky brilliant pink and The Mountain hazy purple, while seagulls fly above laughing at the ice cream lickers below.

And sitting in a garden that feels like a small oven in the Summer sunshine while a big boy cooks meat on the braai and a little one throws brightly coloured balls into his sandpit-without-sand and then into his pool-without-water. There’s no water in it because otherwise he will never get out. Ever. Not even at bedtime.

Or sitting amongst the warm happiness of a large family, celebrating birthdays in a hidden valley on a stoep next to a very much loved herb garden while the children zoom about, swinging, climbing, and the adults drink wine with lots of ice in it.

Then there’s the taking out of the Christmas lights, checking that they work and getting the box of decorations, old and new, from the top of the cupboard, and persuading my father that he really, really, does want to go and buy a tree from the guys next to the racecourse and put it up in my house. A smaller tree this year, though, not one which reaches the roof like he always gets me, which I love (despite my mother always telling him to get me a smaller one.) No, this year the tree must stand on a table, slightly above 16-month old twin boy height because… THEY’RE ARRIVING, next week, for Christmas! My beautiful nephews, and their mothers.

First though, tomorrow, is my annual Christmas Tree Decorating Party. When people pass through, some stay a half hour, others all night, with their children, their friends. There’ll be food and Christmas songs and everybody who walks through the door has to put at least one decoration on the tree, from the box.

See now, why I’m being a naughty blogger? I’m busy jollifying.

TDoT(28): What would you do if you were pregnant?

Urm, well, that's an interesting one for me. If The Tragedy had never happened, well, then, I would eat well, not drink, take my supplements and grow the little thing as best I could. Then I'd have it and adore it and bring it up to be the best person it could be. If I'd gone along with my youthfully rose-tinted vision of yesteryear, I'd be having four more to join it.

That, however, was not meant to be.

What would I do now? I'd be devastated by having to make that decision. To carry through with a high-risk pregnancy, not knowing if everything was going alright, putting myself and the baby in danger?

I am completely pro-choice when it comes to abortion, this would not be a moral decision from that point-of-view. I think women have the right to choose not to have a baby (preferrably before conceiving, but let's face it, accidents happen) and to make informed decisions on whether or not they are physically/mentally/financially able to bring another child into the world.

Stepping down from the soap box again.

For me? I, honestly, don't have an answer. And I hope to never have to have one.

TDoT(18): Your views on gay marriage

Ooo, I like this one. My views on gay marriage... Let's see. I am completely pro. Luckily, because my sister is married to a woman, so it would've been very hard had I not been. They are one of the most stable, loving, couples I know. This is not an easy feat with 18-month old twin boys, but they're doing it, and I admire them for it. We'd all be so lucky to find love like that. Would I still be pro Gay marriage if my sister wasn't gay? Hell, yes.

People who love each other and wish to commit to each other, in whatever way or form they so wish, should be allowed to. It makes me seethe when I hear that politician's and religious leaders get to choose who is allowed to love who. Who the fuck do they think they are?

Surely we should be over the moon about anybody who loves somebody enough to want to make a public commitment to another? It is love that'll allow this world to continue, and only love. The moment we start trying to kill that off, we're doomed.

Funnily enough, I'm not that concerned about the actual institution of marriage. I don't see it as a necessity in a relationship at all. Commitment? Yes. Faithfulness? Absolutely and totally. The papers and legality of marriage? Not so much. But, for anyone, be they boy and boy, girl and girl, boy and girl, who wishes to partake in the ceremony of it, they should be allowed to, freely and safely.

We are lucky to live in a country with one of the most progressive and open constitutions in the world but, make no mistake, there is still incredible prejudice amongst it's people. Horrible, dangerous, violently scary prejudice. It is that that we need to fight against, tooth and nail.

So, my views on gay marriage? Happy, lovely, wonderful. Let's clink champagne glasses to happy, loving, couples. All of them.

TDoT(7): Someone who has made your life worth living for

Another tough one. There is no way I could narrow that down to one. I am blessed, I count myself as one of the luckiest girls in the world, honestly, because I am surrounded by people I love and who love me back.

I have a mother and father who gave me everything a child could need, and by that I mean in the emotional sense, not the material. They loved us and nurtured us and didn't force us in any direction but guided us quietly (I see now) toward what they saw we loved. Don't get me wrong, I went through stages (mainly teenage-induced ones) when I despised them... curfews etc, but they certainly made my life worth living for. Well, essentially, they created it. Eeugh, sis, I'm not sure why I brought that up. As previously discussed they have only ever done 'that' twice: once to make my sister, once to make me.

My sister kept me in line. Now we keep each other in line. She is ferocious in her loyalty to me. We loved each other and hated each other when we were younger, now we just love each other. There is four years difference and when I, aged 10 wanted to wear the same clothes as her, aged 14, it didn't go down too well. Now she's a mother herself to two little boys who also now make my life worth living for. And a damn fine mother she's turning out to be. Both of them - her and N, my sister-in-law.

And my friends, the intricately woven group of people who keep each other going. The people who I can cry with, laugh with, love with. The one's who's hearts I hold so carefully in my hand and who do the same for mine. The long Sunday lunches, the quick coffees, the e-mails back-and-forth, the phonecalls and the visits.

That all makes life worth living for.

Blogging and honesty

I have been trying, really hard, to be a better blogger. Like in, one that blogs regularly. My initial plan for April was every day, then I decided perhaps every working day after the first (unsuccessful) week. Then I decided maybe I could make up the 'gaps' by blogging twice in a day a couple of days. Then I gave up. May is a new month, let's see what ideas I come up with for then. My brain just seems to be a barren wasteland when it comes to writing.

In the interest's of becoming a better blogger, I decided to venture out of my usual realm of fabulous bloggers who I read regularly, and find some others to see what other people do.

I spent an entire day reading a woman's blog that I stumbled across and becoming more and more amazed by humans. It was filled with (fascinating) tales of primary-school-type best friend poiltics (e.g. she ran off with my ex-boyfriend so now I'm not talking to her anymore), alcopop and shooter-fuelled nights out in clubs, vomiting in bathrooms and a whole cast of men passing through the blogger's bed. I was horrified to realise as I got deeper and deeper into the back stories that it actually belonged to a woman who is the mother of not only a tweenie/young teenaged daughter, but a 17-year old son too.

Far be it for me to judge, I don't have children and can't even imagine how hard it is to rear them, especially single-handedly, but I must admit to thinking that perhaps it's not a wonder that 16-year old son has 'behavioural problems'. Beside all that, though, her blatant honesty was refreshing and, while her naivete was astounding after reading her history, her soul glowed through it all - clear and beautiful and heart-wrenchingly broken, so many times. Tough cookie.

My point? Not sure I have one, other than a refreshed desire to write more, and honestly, and openly, and push those privacy issues into a corner (or, preferably, out the door completely).

In the good news, I'm off to the Big Smoke this weekend to go to a wedding of two of the nicest people I know - two boys. It's my first gay boy wedding and I'm terribly excited. As I've discussed before, I believe that love doesn't see gender or colour or religion etc (a post of its own - coming soon), and there is nothing lovelier than seeing two people who have found each other and want to stay together. And I get to see my gorgeous baby nephews, who are crawling and teething, and being generally fabulous. Yippee!

Let's see what May brings, shall we?

Babies, children and weekend bliss

The baby boy is beautiful. His sister is a fair-skinned, strawberry blonde 3-year old bundle of energy. He is tiny, olive-skinned and has a mop of dark hair. She thinks he's a bit noisy. He thinks sleeping and eating are just the perfect way to spend the day. I must admit that I agree with him completely.

I had a very full weekend. The City Beneath the Mountain was sweltering, it was as if The Weatherman was baking biscuits and had left the oven door open. Upper 30 degrees were the order of the day. Now I am very much not a shopping mall person (to put it mildly... I abhor them) but on Saturday morning when we went wedding outfit shopping, I loved it. They have air-conditioning. Say no more.

We shopped, I had house guests - a family with three children aged 7, 5 and 4. The house was filled with squeals of delight and joy. My house is, well, let's just say a bit of a children's paradise because I have lots of 'stuff'. And plenty of it is kid-friendly. I own four dinosaurs for heaven's sake, need I explain more?

I watched rugby. I don't usually do that. It turned out to be quite fun actually. We went to the pub down the road and I drank my new favourite drink (which is, incidentally, fabulous in a heatwave) - icy cold beer shandy made with ginger ale. Yum. The rugby-watching was made extra fun for H and I, as there was a table next to us with one guy and two girls who were vying for his attention. It was like watching birds fluff out their feathers and they used every trick in the book. It was hysterical as the one pushed her boobs out in his direction, and the other looked at him through fluttering eyelashes beneath her fringe. One even did the 'oh-could-you-please-open-my-Appeltiser-for-me-I'm-too fragile' trick. Bimbo. Unfortunately we didn't stay long enough to see who won, but they provided us with hours of entertainment.

After a late night not-so-nice hiccup, Sunday was spent breakfasting, three children on a sugar high after having hot chocolate and chocolate cake for breakfast, stopping in each park on our way home to swing, get dizzy on the roundabout and lose their tummies on the slide and then they chattered off back to their farm and we relaxed the afternoon away in a haze of bliss.

There is a big decision pending, and my love story is bristling and bubbling and wanting to be set free. It is imminent, I can feel it. I need blogsphere advices and discussion to help me, and to get that I guess I’m going to need to blurt it all out.

Watch this space?

An exciting thing

Each day this week I have opened up this little New Post screen and left it open all day, coming back to it every now and then, watching the little cursor flash accusingly at me, the page white and blank. Like my mind. Well, I guess my mind's not quite as white but, oh boy, is it blank. I just couldn't think of anything interesting to write. Which is silly, because there's plenty happening. I have now chained myself to my desk and am forcing myself to write. It is easier today, though, as something VERY exciting is imminent.

I had dinner on Tuesday. This, fact, admittedly, does not sound that interesting. It is, though, because I had dinner with my beloved varsity friends - H (she who has moved back from London) and D. Again, not an unusual occurrence, this happens often. The difference is that this dinner was insistently (by me and H) eaten two blocks down the road from D's house, and a couple more blocks down the road from the hospital. H referred to the dinner as The Last Supper.

The thing is this - D is 9 months pregnant with her second baby, and will be ensconced in nappies and bottles for a while, and unavailable for extended dinners.

We, of course, were panicking that possibly she'd go into labour on Tuesday evening, thus the proximity of restaurant choice. In fact, we discussed leaving her in the car whilst we ate dinner, just in case. Surprisingly, she objected to this idea.

We had a fabulous dinner filled with the usual chatter, H and I had a glass of wine or two, and D looked longingly at them while sipping on water, and then we dropped her safely at home, kissed the beautiful bump goodbye and told it we look forward to meeting it tomorrow.

You see, she's going in today, as I type in fact, to have the wee thing.

I told you it was exciting, didn't I?

Shimmering gold welcomes

The City Beneath the Mountain has dressed herself up this morning in her Sunday Best. I know, it's Thursday, but I'm with her in that I don't think one's Sunday Best should be kept purely for Sundays. She has bathed herself in gold and is shimmering and gorgeous.

My best friend, K, who lives too far away, down under in Sydney is having her baby tomorrow. Well tomorrow morning in their time, but in the very early hours of the morning, also tomorrow, our time. How confusing this time zone thing is. I try not to think too hard about it because it makes my brain fizzle, jam and get stuck. We share the same sun and moon but not the same hours and it's all too complicated...

Anyway, she's having her baby. I spoke to her husband, H, this morning and am always struck by the feeling of speaking to somebody just before a life-changing event. It just feels wierd to think that the next time I speak to them, the baby'll be here. Mostly I'm sending vast quantities of love over the ocean to them. And I'm assuming that this is why The City Beneath the Mountain has pulled out her finery today - in anticipation of welcoming this precious little being into the world.

Why didn't I put on my Sunday Best? I shall tomorrow.

So much to say, too little time

I have been scarce, I know. I was laid low by those bloody bugs, who swapped their studded soccer boots for fluffy slippers (presumably hungover from too much tequila) which tickled my throat and made me cough. Alot. I shan't go into the details of the phlegm produced as it would be gross. Let's just say - lots, urgh.

Then I was overwhelmingly swamped by a whole lot of deadlines for the Other Work and then, joy of joys, I flew up to The Big Smoke to spend the weekend with my sister (she of the ever-expanding-two-babies-in-her-tummy variety) and sister-in-law. She is now 8 months pregnant and looking gorgeous and I spent a lot of time with my cheek pressed to her beautiful belly, being kicked by the babies inside - wierd, wonderful, incredible. They are so contendedly happy and excited about it all, it's fabulous.

While up there I had lunch with an old varsity friend who I've become reaquainted with via this blogging thing and who lives in Tanzania, but is in The Big Smoke to have her baby too - serendipitous indeed. She, too, is looking gorgeously belly-filled and what a treat to catch up with her. Same lunch was joined by R, my previous office-compadre, who left me the dinosaur of the dinosaur and cow fame. I miss her. She's the mother of twins too, so much baby-talk was had and delicious bread-and-butter pudding was eaten by us non-pregnant ones, and devoured by those with babies in their bellies (pregnant women have a different view on food, seriously).

Saturday morning I ventured forth with my parents to visit my lovely aunt in The Littler Smoke next door to The Big Smoke. She's in hospital having a pacemaker put in because she's been walking around with a pulse of 39 for heaven knows how long - they found out doing a routine check up. She thinks she's going to feel like a million dollars and wonder why she didn't do it before. I hope she's right. I don't like hospitals, but was glad to see her.

Then I met up with Clive and Frank at Cranks for dinner, one of my favourite spots in The Big Smoke. And two of my favourite people. It's always so lovely to meet up with people who you know, and who know you, and, no matter how long the gaps are between seeing them, it's just, well, comfortable.

Sunday was spent with my sister-in-law's family in Small Town, SA (which I love, love, love)
- one of those places with wide streets filled with seventies-style shops and people who know each other, although this particular one is, I fear, not quite in the small town category anymore.

And then there were the people I didn't manage to see - quite a few of them damnit, there's always not enough time. Why is that? I think I need to write a letter to someone about it. Luckily the babies are going to arrive next month, necessitating another trip - yey!

I really have so much more to say about all of these things but this post is getting a bit rambling. And I have things to say about the movie, Milk, which I watched recently, and about people's behaviour on planes, and... and... oh, too much! Real Work calls though.

My main thing now, though, is a feeling of terrible displacement. I really feel that there is less and less holding me here, and more and more pulling me toward The Big Smoke, even just temporarily. I just need to find a way to earn a living there (or, alternatively, marry rich, or even just shack-up-rich, seeing as it'll be temporary).

I wonder if there's a speed-dating Facebook site for Temporary Shack-Up-Rich candidates?

Shopping for babies

I went baby shopping on Saturday. That sounds wrong. I didn't go shopping for babies, but for very tiny clothes that you put on babies. Although there did seem to be a lot of babies around - on peoples hips, in little prams, toddling around on the floor. I don't think they were for sale though... they each seemed to be attached to an adult of some kind (honestly though, some of the adults looked very young). So, yes, I went looking for tiny articles of clothing to put on little beings. Because, as I've mentioned before, I am to be a double aunty soon and it's terribly exciting!

I thought it'd be simple. I was wrong - it's confusing. I was amazed by the whole thing - did you know that buying clothes for tiny babies is an exceedingly complicated process? Who'd have thought? Certainly not me. I had a list of things from my sister, I even printed it out, in case (thank god). It had things like body vests, sleep suits and rompers on it. I paid it little attention until I got into the shop filled with rows and rows of tiny articles of clothing.

I'll just use the body vests as an example. Bodyvests, said the list, the one's that close with press studs between the legs. Okay, sounded simple. I'd just go to the newborn section and take four off the rack. Well, not so - bodyvests are divided, firstly into long- or short-sleeved. Easy enough - babies born in July need long-sleeved. So I reached for those. But wait! Some have legs, other's are shorties. Again, July - long-legged. Right, we're on the money now. Nope - green, white, pink, yellow, little aliens or little cars? Good grief.

And then - rompers and sleep suits - what? There's a difference? Needless to say, I oohed and aahed at the cuteness of everything and bought a whole little clothing line basically, including socks which look like finger puppets they're so small (and I mean finger puppets for children-sized fingers). I left the shop fully expecting to have bags and bags of stuff. It all fitted in one - it's incredible to think that there will be two little enough creatures to fit into them. Amazing.

And that was just the first shop.

Heavy heart but happy belly

I've had the day from hell. One of those where you just lose faith in humans. It's most unlike me because I have one of those Pollyanna outlooks normally but sometimes, just sometimes mind, too many things crawl under my skin and claw at my heart and the rips are too sore to Pollyanna-over. And then it's just one of those days.

It didn't start well, admittedly. You see, my sister was here with her partner, N, for the weekend from The Big Smoke which was so, so lovely, but too short and her leaving made me feel wretched and hate the fact that The Big Smoke is 1 400km away. The thing is that, not only do I adore my sister but she is also 6 months pregnant. With identical twins. I shall be Aunty Aunty Shiny. And the li'l creatures kicked me on my cheeks as I held my face to her tummy and spoke silly words to them. The fact that it was twins was one of the two fabulous things that happened on my birthday. The other was the fact that my best friend in Australia, K, is also pregnant.

These twin babies are a huge thing for my family. I think my parents had resigned themselves to the fact hat they wouldn't have grandchildren. My sister is gay. And I will never have my own children (yes, yes, I'll eventually tell the story of The Tragedy and it'll all become clear. But not now, not yet, certainly not today, when my heart is already shredded). But then she and her partner N, who is lovely too, decided it was time and, voila! Babies for us. A new generation of us. And twins! Turns out we have them on both sides. My parents couldn't be more thrilled. Me neither.

Anyway, putting this fabulous news in writing has made me feel slightly lighter, if a little more longing to be in the same space as that incredible growing belly and all the happiness that surrounds it.

Anyone know any good Astral Travel teachers?