JOURNAL

documenting
&
discovering joyful things

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Let's have a little talk

I have been listening to Of Monsters and Men's My Head is an Animal album all week. It makes me so happy. And I just love this track, "Little Talks." When I hear it, I feel like somebody has handed me a shining gift and, when I open it, the gift is freedom. Maybe that's what I'm craving. [vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/35965795 w=525&h=295]

WeWereMonkeys : Of Monsters and Men - Little Talks from WeWereMonkeys on Vimeo.

It seems like the closer my beautiful Baby B is to arriving, and the more exhausted my body feels from carrying and nurturing her, the busier I get.

I am swamped with work. Literally swamped, with towers of notes and briefings spilling over my desk and into the lounge room and onto the sweet little rocking chair that Mr B bought for me to nurse baby, not laptop.

We've had weeks upon weeks of house guests and dinner guests and travel plans and outings and shopping trips to try to prepare for baby's birth. So much housework! How does our home get so messy and so dirty so quickly?

I'm trying to write my next book, get started on an exciting new creative, collaborative project that will launch next year, and keep up with my blog.

This is all fun and I feel deeply loved by my friends and family, but I am also in somewhat of a spin. I'm prone to sudden bouts of dizziness and moments of "I must lie down, NOW," which do not work well with deadlines.

And I am not sleeping. What with the kicks (not that I'm complaining about those, oh how I love those kicks), the cramps (I WILL complain about the cramps), the carpal tunnel syndrome I've had in my hands and wrists since the start of my pregnancy, the back spasms when I roll the wrong way, and the stuffy nose, very little sleep goes on during those long night hours.

I wish I knew how other people did it. I don't see other pregnant women looking as done-in as I feel. They have that glow everyone talks about.

And of course I'm nervous. I know that this is just the beginning of sleepless nights and incessant demands on my time. That I am about to enter a whole new realm of indentured service to a tiny, beloved dictator. We don't have the financial luxury of me being able to be the stay-at-home mum I long to be, so I will need to juggle the dictator with deadlines, too.

But when all is said and done, I'm doing ok. I will figure it all out, somehow. From what I hear I've had a very easy road in this pregnancy, and I truly am grateful. Just tired.

Oh, and another thing that is cheering me this week, alongside "Little Talks," is my memory of France last year: of being there with my friends, of exploring Paris and basking in the heat of the south, and of little Baby B beginning to grow inside me, although I didn't know about that yet.

So in my guest post on English Muse today, I'm bringing you a visual treat from two great cities: Paris and New York. Come travel with me, won't you?

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Sydney weekend

In which I woke up at 4am because my body knew I had to get up at 5am. I flew from Melbourne to Sydney and, when I arrived, the sun was high just like I remember it always being in Sydney and I thought all those Wettest Season Ever claims must have been imagined. In which I had toast and tea with my parents in a cafe in my old neighbourhood of Surry Hills, and it was oh so familiar but also not. I realised that yet another place no longer felt like home, but that I was ok with that.

In which my dad and I roamed around The Rocks taking photographs, and my mother exercised the patience of a saint. Also, on seeing the photograph of myself at the top of this post, I realised I really should invest in some actual maternity clothes.

My parents have just returned from China and they brought back a bounty of cute outfits for Baby B, and a hand-engraved ink stamp with Mr B's and my name and the symbol for 'love' to celebrate our first anniversary. While opening these presents I devoured a Thai lemongrass and basil stir-fry for lunch, and the chilli gave Baby B the hiccups.

In the evening my friend Sarah and I met up in Chinatown for noodles and dumplings and green tea ice-cream. The owner of the noodles and dumpling place came outside and played his violin for the crowd while we waited for a table. Once inside, Sarah and I had one of those brilliant creative brainstorms during which everything fit into place. Don't you love it when that happens?

Later that night I watched incredibly bad reality TV in bed in my hotel room, and it was an unspeakable luxury. Morning. In which I caught a taxi out to Rozelle to meet my friend Cara, and the driver was friendly and actually knew the way. This being such a short visit, Cara and I sipped chai tea and fresh juice and shared our lives on fast-forward. It is amazing what you can get through in just an hour when you have to.

Cara and Sarah had booked a private room for all my friends at the 3 Weeds, but we arrived early and I had to submit to the indignity of being a pregnant woman loitering on a pub stoop until it opened. Once indoors, I proceeded to sit like a fat, round queen bee for the next five hours while my friends dropped in as the afternoon suited them, to say hi.

My mum made a black forest cake for Baby B and it was sublime (and very cute). I was thankful, not for the first time or even the 100th time, for the wonderful friendships I have, and that love trumps distance.

How was your weekend?

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The case of the nesting bonanza

I don't have a regular 'favourite things Friday' post for you today. Nor did I come even close to getting through the mountain of work on my desk. Something happened this morning, and I don't know how to explain it except to say that I guess my body released a massive hit of hormones around about breakfast time, because all of a sudden I started nesting in the biggest possible way.

I mean, I made to-do lists of things I needed to finish before baby arrived (everything from finishing off commissioned work to cooking and freezing meals). I emailed my friends in Sydney to tell them I'd be up for one last pre-baby visit, next weekend.

I made shopping lists of everything I needed to buy before baby arrived, from car-carriers and bassinettes to socks and onesies.

I called my mum: "Will I need this one or that one? How long before baby gets too big for that?"

Then I hit the Internet. First Mothercare, then Babies R Us, and finally Etsy where I made the sweet little vintage and handmade 'wish list' collection below. It was a veritable nesting bonanza.

I promise to do my best to return this blog to normal next week. And in the meantime, have a wonderful weekend!

Etsy baby
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Dear baby, you cheeky monkey

Dear baby, Last night you battered me from the inside with your sweet kicks and wiggles while I sat on the couch and tried to read my new book. Boy do you love playtime, already.

Your father rested his Sunday-stubble cheek against my belly and spoke, just to you. "Hello baby," he said. "It's your dad. I love you."

You stopped kicking. Maybe you were listening?

Your father rubbed my belly, right where you had last kicked. It's the closest he can come to cuddling you, for now. There'll be plenty of real cuddles to come, we can both promise you.

Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and spoke again into my belly. "Baby, this is your father," he said in a funny, deep voice. "If you love me, give me a sign."

Nothing. You were resolutely still. More than you'd been all day, in fact.

You cheeky little monkey. We laughed. Oh baby, you're not even born yet and you're making us laugh. I can't wait to meet you!

Love, your mama

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Easy mod fashion: Emerson Fry + my mum

This weekend, my dad sent me these photos of my mum and me when I was a baby. Isn't my mother absolutely stunning? I just love her easy 70s style.All those mustard tones aside, my mum's mod look is still gorgeous today. Take for example the new spring line from Emerson Fry New York. Have you seen it? There's so much in this that I love. I hope my post-baby body can carry some outfits like these off in time for the next Australian spring. 1. Braid Trim Mod Dress 2. Emerson Navy Dots Blouse 3. Tie Waist Dress 4. Blazer Trench Little Navy Pinstripe 5. Yes Dress Long 6. Tuxedo Shirt 7. U Dress 8. 4 Button Jacket 9. Paper Bag Skirt

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Ruby + the first kick

I was woken in the middle of the night last night by Ruby our little rescue cat, who climbed up onto the bed and snuggled down in the crook under my arm, face to face with me, purring madly. This was very uncharacteristic Ruby behaviour. She does like to visit us on the bed in the night from time to time, but always prefers to sleep at our feet. Her purring woke me up, so I gave her a pat which sent sent her into a frenzied tractor-engine purr-overload.

After a little while, she made a couple of turns then lay down with her head resting on my belly, still purring fit to wake the dead. But the dead stayed resting, as far as I can tell. Instead, she woke the baby.

I guess the sounds and vibrations of her purrs were amplified inside me because I started to feel little movements in my belly. While I was still wondering "Am I imagining this?" I felt the most definite WHAM of a little foot, a hand or an elbow. Not imagined at all.

This was a moment I'd been waiting for for weeks. It was so special: the dark centre of night, lying in bed next to my husband, cat pillowing her head on my belly and purring, and Baby B wanting a piece of the action.

Then I said "Feel this!" to Mr B who reached across to touch my belly, disturbing Ruby who left the room in a huff, and of course Baby B declined to perform a second time on-demand.

The spell was broken, so we all three Bs sank back into sleep, while Ruby chased shadows in the kitchen.

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Love story (in a graphic novel)

I met Mr B when I had been living in New York for just one week. He was there on a conference. He'd spent the past nine years based in Richmond, Virginia, but had moved permanently back to Australia a few months earlier. What were the odds?

Two years later, when I moved back to Australia to live with him, I made him a little graphic novel of our crazy romance, for our first Valentine's Day together. Here is the Reader's Digest-esque condensed version.

(Sorry about the sometimes blurry text. I no longer own a scanner and these were snapped on my iPhone.)

Happy Valentine's Day (week), all you lovers. And if you are searching for love right now, I hope you take heart from my story. You never know what (or who) awaits you in the strangest of places and circumstances!

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Favourite things - oh baby!

Amid the excitement and anticipation of my little stowaway's arrival, I have been indulging my long-term love of all things childlike and whimsical. Truth is, I would love all of these ideas and projects for my very own self sans Baby Bulger, but now I have an iron-clad excuse. 1. An enchanted forest mural Have you seen these wonderful wallpapers and wallpaper-murals from Anthropologie? I think my little one will dream beautiful dreams in this enchanted forest. And if he or she doesn't share my taste? Hello Naomi's study wall! (I also love the children's wallpaper at Hibou Home).

2. A hot air balloon lantern I think I will make several hot air balloon lanterns for Baby Bulger's room. I am thinking red and yellow circus stripes, and of filling the balloon baskets with fun characters and toys. Tutorial on Momtastic.

3. A crocheted playground Once I tried to knit a cardigan. I got about three rows in when my flatmate took over because I had already dropped more stitches than I made. That was more than 10 years ago. As such, I suspect this brilliant crocheted playground may be slightly out of my skill-range. Nanna? Aunty? Instead of a blankey of crocheted squares, could you make one of these for my baby?

4. A birthday piñata I don't know at what age Baby Bulger will be wanting to smash hanging things open to reveal assorted lollies, but I can tell you I have not grown out of that age yet! So I am going to save this tutorial from Oh Happy Day for a birthday party in the (hopefully) not so distant future.

5. Dotty children If all my decorating ideas come to nought (or if it transpires that I lack the talent to realise my own vision), I will resort to Plan B. To whit: paint everything (walls, ceiling, floors, furniture) white, then let Baby Bulger and a host of his or her friends loose with a million coloured stickers, just like in this "obliteration room" at the Gallery of Modern Art in Brisbane, Australia.

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Understanding Thanksgiving

We don't do Thanksgiving in Australia and, before I moved to New York, I simply couldn't understand the appeal. This is because the sum total of my Thanksgiving knowledge came from television sit-coms. To whit: 1. Family members were forced to come together and pretend to be happy, during which old arguments were invariably resurrected 2. Food preparation was exhausting, either resulting in the cook becoming mentally unstable, or frozen turkey being served up for dinner, or both

Then there was the cultural shame that stemmed from the realisation that I would be "giving thanks" for a land that had actually been stolen (a shame with which as an Aussie, I am already all too familiar).

It has been two years and one month since I left New York, although it feels like another lifetime ago. I have plenty to be thankful for and I wouldn't change a thing, but it is true that I miss that place and deeply miss my friends in New York, every day.

And despite all of my misgivings, New York taught me the meaning of Thanksgiving. Or at least a meaning, one that resonated with me.

On Thanksgiving morning, my friend Misha (who I call my sister - she's the one in the black & white apron) and I traipsed up to Wholefoods on Bowery for supplies. Mish could happily spend a day in Wholefoods, if I let her, and on other occasions I had been known to actually sit down in the aisles to take a load off while Mish perused baby beet salads to her heart's content. But after a relatively brief (for Mish) two hours of shopping, balancing paper bags bulging with groceries, we trundled back home to cook up a friendly storm.

Outside the wind really picked up and the first snow was just around the corner, but inside was all warmth and happiness and friendship.

Mish and I lived in the same building, on Thompson Street in SoHo, and we had other friends also in our building, so we shared kitchens. All of us were travel-orphans: blow-ins from the mid-west, the south, the UK, the antipodes... and on that day we became each other's family.

Our apartment doors stayed open and the building filled with our laughter and conversation, the music we played, and the many mingled smells of roasting turkey, mashed potato, sweet corn, green beans, pumpkin soup, cranberries, hot home-made apple cider, cinnamon and pie. My dog Oliver and Misha's cat Mr Lee wove in and out of our legs all day, in food-scrap heaven.

When we finally uncorked our bottles of wine and sat down to eat, it was anywhere you could stake a spot. On the edge of the couch, on the floor, on the window sill, and we ate until bellies bulged and food comas threatened.

There was no bickering, the work and the food were all happily shared, and the thanks we gave were for one another and for our loved ones far away but close in our hearts. I was filled to the brim, as much with thanks as with food.

Thank you, America, for teaching me the absolute beauty of setting aside one day - just one special day - to do nothing but cook and eat and love.

And happy Thanksgiving, from me to you. xo

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Bright vision

This is a guest post from Deborah of Bright and Precious. I am so excited that Deborah has agreed to write a guest post here while I'm off gallivanting in Europe. I have known Deborah for more than 15 years, and she is one of the most passionate, creative and authentic people I have ever met. We lost contact for many years and when we found each other again, lo and behold she was the mother of two adorable children who fill her days (and nights) with more than I can imagine. You mothers will understand. Joy, exhaustion and great love in a glorious, chaotic mix. Am I right? I am thrilled to have Deborah back in my life, and introduce her family into yours.

Bright Vision

There was life in my belly. And I knew her name. I had known her name for as long as I remembered my own heart beating. It whispered to me in my in dreams. It crawled out of pages in books. It blew in with a blossom in the Spring breeze, landing itself on my window sill.

Bright vision.

So we adorned the house with warm and precious things. To signify her history. To herald her future. To celebrate her imminent presence. Texture, colour, smell, and sound. All swirled around us. And filled up our senses.

From my country of birth, the sweet smell of batik.

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And the gentle curve of teak wood.
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From my sister, the softness of a quilt.
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And from another sister, tokens from the sea.
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From my grandmother, a treasured book.
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From our garden, the scent of fresh blooms.
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From her father, a song.
And from me, a little Rose Garden.
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Then we were still. And with the grace of all her brightness, she stepped into the light.

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