Thankful

Earlier this week I had a bit of a minor meltdown. I dropped a glass of orange juice and it shattered all over the kitchen floor. The next minute I was in tears, Madeleine watching on in wide-eyed concern that only poured guilt on my inability to cope. I'm just. So. Tired.

Our family has been sick for months and months. Lately, Mr B has had a bad stomach bug and I have the 'flu, while Madeleine has a viral chest infection following closely on the back of septicaemia (admitted to hospital and on IV drugs for 10 days) on the back of a horrible gastro virus (rushed to hospital in an ambulance at the doctor's behest) on the back of another virus (taken to Emergency by us because we couldn't get her fever down), all mixed in with her heart condition which makes her at once more prone to picking up these illnesses, and in more danger when they occur. When Madeleine is sick she doesn't sleep which means we don't sleep, which makes it a lot harder to get healthy, let alone... cope.

Even the dog is sick, with a torn tendon, a heart murmur and bad teeth (with accompanying Biblical bad-breath); and each separate condition will cost us literally thousands of dollars to treat - thousands that we don't have - so we're working on pain management and comfort instead. The healthiest member of our family is Ruby the cat, who has been referred to a weight clinic for her obesity problem (I'm not even kidding and yes, we think that's as funny as you do).

I don't talk about this kind of family stuff all that often on here, because this blog is supposed to be my happy place. It is where I like to document and uncover beautiful things: things that make me smile and inspire me to create, and hopefully do the same for you. But, honestly, there's a reason why there have been long sessions of silence on here periodically since... March? Have we really been sick for that long? Yes, we have!

Anyhoo, on Meltdown Morning, I had only managed to get about two or three hours of sleep. My little baby had been so sick and congested that she could barely breathe, and was panting and sweating (one of the key warning signs we'd been told to watch out for with her heart). Eventually in the early hours of the morning when I'd had precisely NO sleep so far, Mr B took her out onto the couch so she could sleep in a more upright position. So he didn't get much sleep either. We were both subdued, tetchy, worried and generally unpleasant by morning.

[Warning: the next paragraph is a bit gross. Skip it if you have a weak stomach.]

Madeleine agreed to take some milk and a tiny bit of toast for breakfast, which felt like progress until an hour later when she projectile vomited it up all over the carpet in the direction of Playschool. (A critique on the fruit-salad dinosaurs they were making? Only Madeleine can answer that, and she doesn't say much other than "Gak" which means "Cat.") I cleaned up my poor baby while she sobbed. She's like her mother, she cries when she vomits. Then I tried to clean up the main event. Problem was there was so much phlegm in the mess that nothing would soak it up - it just moved around under the damp sponges I was using like ball-bearings. Particularly slimy, smelly, offensive ball-bearings, speckled with chunks of Vegemite toast.

I made the decision that the rug had to go: it was getting old and hard to clean anyway. But it was trapped under heavy furniture, so I would have to wait for Mr B to get home before I could remove it. So I covered the disgusting mess with a couple of cloths and a big towel to stop Madeleine from digging into it (which she was already trying to do), then dragged an armchair over on top of the towel and that's where the phlegmy vomit stayed, all day, until Mr B and I were able to remove the carpet that night.*

There wasn't much room for Madeleine to play in our tiny living room once a vomit-towel and armchair were dragged smack into the middle of it, so I opened things up for her to crawl around in the kitchen while I packed up for our day. Until I smashed the orange juice all over the kitchen floor, mercifully managing NOT to cut my baby with flying shards of glass.

I was already running late to get Madeleine to the hospital for a check-up following the septicaemia, and what with the broken glass and vomit debacle there was no floorspace left to put her down while I cleaned it up, so I cried instead. Then I gathered up my bags and my baby and walked out the door, leaving the glass where it was and the juice to grow sticky and the vomit still on the carpet and TOO BAD, I was over it.

In the car on the way to the hospital (which honestly feels like a second home because we have been there so often, I mean, the guys in the cafe know my coffee order and greet Madeleine by name!), I kept thinking, we can't catch a break. It's one thing after the next, after the next. Mr B wanted me to ask the specialist if there was anything wrong with her immune system, that she just couldn't seem to get healthy.

But somewhere around my second coffee ("The usual love? How's Maddy?"), and around-abouts the reassurances that Madeleine's heart was yet-again unaffected by this latest infection, and that her immune system was fine, reality began to seep in.

I have a beautiful, happy, affectionate and intelligent little girl. Yes, she has been plagued by illnesses lately, but we are so lucky that they are mostly minor illnesses, and even the serious ones have been quickly and effectively treated. Here I was feeling sorry for myself because my child had a virus and I broke a glass, when there were families next to me in the cafe who were genuinely suffering. Brave little children facing trials that no child - or parent - should ever have to face. Some of them, with very little hope.

That afternoon I went from victim to victor, in my head. I am so thankful for all I have, particularly for my loving, healthy family. So if things continue to go quiet on this blog from time to time, well, it just means I'm prioritising my little family to give us the best chance of staying victorious.

Right now, Madeleine's breath is rattling around like old bones in her young chest while she plays. But that's the point, isn't it? While she plays. Even during our recent stay in hospital, Madeleine took every opportunity when they allowed her off the drip to crawl around the ward and play chasings with the nurses, squealing with laughter.

I am truly lucky. And I am truly thankful.

*I will call Council Pick-up and put the rug out the front of our place as rubbish. However, I am hoping that the scabby neighbours who have stolen Mr B's Lite & Easy food delivery TWICE from our front porch will help themselves to the Vomit Rug. That's karma, friends.

Meals on Wheels - food truck for kids

In a quest to eat my way through the menus of all the food trucks in Melbourne, I've brought you Po' boys, organic frozen yoghurt, pulled pork, classic burgers, chipotle chicken and loads more, with even more to come. But I've been neglecting a decent-sized portion of our food-truck-eating population: the kids! Enter the Famous OTO. It is a little further afield than most of the food trucks I've been visiting (it's in New York, to be exact), but OH MAN wouldn't you buy ice cream from one of these cute little food vendors pictured above?

Illustrator and animator Måns Swanberg (look for his other work under the name Pistachios) has designed a sturdy playtime food truck for kids, made out of biodegradable, recyclable cardboard. The vintage-style ice cream truck pictured here is his prototype, but Swanberg has plans to develop any number of other food trucks (including tacos, noodles, BBQ, churros, hot dogs, hot rods and lemonade).

This will completely revolutionise the lemonade stall, you mark my words.

After a successful Indiegogo campaign, Swanberg now has the funds to get into production, so look out for these little beauties soon.

Can you imagine if there were a few different kid-run food trucks in play at a kindergarten fete, serving up cupcakes and lemonade and fairy bread? The school would make a KILLING (even if the rest of us had to crouch down on hands and knees to make a purchase).

All photographs here used with Swanberg's kind permission, from the Famous OTO Facebook page

ps. You can personalise the number plates, too

Back yards

When in the back yard, here is what you must do: Roll down hills of newly-mown lawn, gathering green and fragrant debris on your clothes and face along the way. Adjust your pink hat. Cuddle a cousin. Cuddle another cousin. Feed the goats. Relish in the glories of the swing-set, again and again and again.

We love living in the city, but sometimes it does our souls good to drive out to the country and spend time in the winter sunshine of Nanna's back yard.

How about you? What did you do on the weekend?

ps. Do me a favour and LOOK AT THAT FACE. Have you ever seen anything like it?

First birthdays

First birthdays are for waking up to a room full of balloons. They are for giggles, smiles, and squeals of glee. They are for daffodils, and boxes covered in homemade, polka-dot wrapping paper, made by Mama late last night using potatoes and paint. First birthdays are stay-in-your-PJs-until-lunch, they are wear-a-silly-hat-if-you-want-to, they are tear-the-paper-off-your-presents as if there were no greater joy in the world.

Madeleine spent the morning of her first birthday with her parents and grandparents, playing, kissing, laughing, opening presents, playing with her new toys.

In the afternoon some friends came over and there was more laughter, more exciting new presents, a song, a loving kiss for a new doll, a first taste of chocolate cake, a chance to stay up late.

Her joy was so infectious, she made her first birthday the most special day possible, for all of us.

I just came to say hello

I think my last post may have been a tad negative. I should add that there have been plenty more things we have been doing, besides working, walking and not sleeping, that have made life rather lovely. Like... * Dancing crazily around the living room: me, Mr B, Madeleine, Emily and Oliver the dog; to Hello by Martin Solveig and Dragonette (because who can NOT dance when this song comes on? And also, do you remember the hilarious tennis video with Bob Sinclar? Oh Martin, I love your pasty white legs, they put mine to shame!)

* Giving Madeleine her first taste of mac 'n cheese, and seeing her declare (in baby language) this dish God's Gift to baby bellies.

* Ripening olives in the tree in our courtyard.

* A visit from my Mum and Dad, at the end of a train holiday they took to the middle of Australia and back. As usual I think we wore them out. We tried to go out one night while Mum and Dad babysat, the first time since Madeleine was born (!), but my little baby woke up and cried so much we had to cut the dinner short. Every time we see Mum and Dad I think my little family adds about 10 years to their lives (not that you look it, Mum!). But it is still wonderful to see them.

* A reunion picnic for Mr B in Carlton Gardens, with all the friends he lived with on campus in his uni days. I have never seen him laugh so loud for so long (and Mr B likes to laugh a LOT). There were some really, really bad photos, complete with incriminating hair and cross-dressing. There were stories that even I hadn't heard before. And there was a 'time capsule' they'd made in the 90s, which had remained sealed and in the bottom of a box in our house up until last weekend. Sadly the hilarious contents, mostly written late at night and after a few too many drinks, are not to be shared on this PG blog!

* We took a trip to the Werribee Open Range Zoo with a bunch of old folks from Mr B's work. This was so much fun, and I do promise to blog about it soon.

* Playing UNO on cold nights, with the heater on and a cup of tea in the other hand.

* Instagramming my little heart out while walking Madeleine through our town.

* Madeleine graduating from the commando crawl to a proper, turbo-speed hands-and-knees technique; Madeleine climbing up on everything and thinking she is ALL THAT every time she stands up. Madeleine identifying her foot, and presenting it proudly at the dinner table every time I ask "Where's your foot?" (as if I didn't know, honestly child). Madeleine initiating peek-a-boo games all by herself. Madeleine learning to throw the tennis ball for Oliver. Madeleine laughing whenever we laugh, even though she doesn't get the joke. Madeleine making "tsk tsk" noises, replicating the sound of licking fingers, whenever she sees me with food. It is baby-language for "I'll have some of that!" Madeleine's face lighting up every time she sees me, even if it's just waking up from a nap. Madeleine, Madeleine, Madeleine...

ps. Photos are recent instagrams from around Melbourne. Who else is SO HAPPY that autumn is here?

Sweet dreams

Sweet dreams are what I'm longing for. Honestly, I'd even settle for bland dreams, perhaps even bad dreams, if they meant I'd get some sleep. I love my precious cherub. I love her even when she wakes me up only an hour after I get to bed, because she is hungry. And again at 1am because she wants a cuddle, an hour and a half later because she's hungry again, and at 4am because she wants to play. And I love her even through all the tears and screams and back-arching-thrashing that follow "No darling, it's sleepy-time not play-time," which last for TWO HOURS, causing Mr B and me to spend the rest of the morning feeling nauseous from exhaustion and trying not to be unreasonably snippy with each other.

By day, Madeleine will only sleep in her pram. Not the cot, not the car, not anywhere but the pram. And she won't be fooled by a gentle rocking back and forth, it has to be full-on forward motion for Her Majesty. So I pound the pavement, for at least four hours a day, every single day. I have blisters on my blisters, on my heels and on the balls of my feet and even on the top of my toes, and I barely even feel them any more. The heels of my ankle boots have worn thin. You'd think I'd be super-svelte by now, wouldn't you, with all that exercise? Unfortunately my long walks all-too-often take me past a really great cupcake place, so I suspect we are calorie-neutral.

In between walking and being awake in the middle of the night, I am working a lot. I'm up to my bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyeballs in unmet deadlines.

The point of this rather self-indulgent rant is to say "Hello! I miss you guys!" I miss blogging. I miss reading your blogs. I miss my creative projects and taking photographs and drawing pictures and thinking up stories and writing them down. When you are time-poor and sleep-deprived, creativity is so often the first thing to go. Who has the energy to create when you are putting everything you have into just surviving? And as a writer, my job is to create, so any residual creative energy has to go there (my clients are paying me, my blog isn't).

But I'm really going to try. I'm well aware that my complaint could come from the mouths of thousands of mothers the world over. So I just have to suck it up and BUILD the energy to do a little bit for me. Because giving myself time out is the best thing I can do for me AND my family. Which is why I am here, telling you all about this. And why I will try, TRY to take more photos and tell more stories and read more blogs be present in this little space again. How are you guys going?

Photo by Jochen Spalding from here.

First Easter

Madeleine's first Easter is waking up to a house that smells like cinnamon and hot cross buns. It is long, exploratory walks into the northern suburbs in slanting sunshine. It's wind that, at long last, admits autumn has arrived and freshens the stale old air. Madeleine's first Easter is crawling like a speed-demon through improvised tunnels on the floor of a public lounge; it's discovering the delights of pumpkin and green beans and carrots; it's a first little tooth shyly peeping up beneath drool-damp gums.

Chasing chickens and rabbits and lambs in a petting zoo. Me catching Madeleine's hand and cautioning "Gentle," as she tries to pull the horns off a very patient little black goat. Belly-laughs; pointy-toe bouncing in Dad's arms; a new sound (or is she calling someone we know?): "NAnnnnnaaaaa."

Madeleine's first Easter is picnics on her great-grandmother's crocheted rug, and oft-thwarted attempts to crawl off the rug and eat the grass. It is a golden chocolate egg (forbidden!) and soft, brown bunny-ears (adorable!) from Aunty Tonia. It is infectious joy, and overwhelming love.

And it is only half done.

My mum and the 1957 Blue Mountains bushfire

This is my mother as a child, in a snowball fight with her best friend Lorna (they are still friends). Aren't they delightful? (And can you possibly imagine how cold Mum's bare legs must have been?) She grew up in a tiny mountains town north-west of Sydney, Australia, called Leura. When my mother was 10, her school burned down. You'd think that having your school burn down would be every 10-year-old's dream come true, wouldn't you. But the day my mum's school burned down, it very nearly took the children with it.

The school fell prey to a devastating bushfire that destroyed more than 158 homes (130 of them in Leura), shops, churches and a hospital. Four bushwalkers died while trying to outrun the bushfire up a steep slope at Blackheath.

It is terrifying to think how close those little students came to disaster, back in the days before fire drills and 'orderly exits'. Can you imagine, today, a school principal racing through the halls yelling "Everybody run!" and watching the children scatter?

Recently that same school asked Mum to write down her memories of the fire, to share with the Years 3 and 4 children who attend the school today. This is Mum's story.

A fierce mountains day*

When I was a little girl I lived in Lett Street, Katoomba, with my mother and father. My dad was an electrician. His job was to put electrical wires in houses and buildings, so that the lights and ovens and other electrical things worked. He would have to get up very early to do his job, and I used to eat breakfast with him at five o’clock in the morning. Even though that was many years ago, I still like to get up early.

Every year in December the owner of Everglades Gardens, Mr Sorenson, held a Christmas party for the children. I think I remember going to that party the weekend before the fire. When I woke up on the morning of the big bushfire in December 1957, I was thinking about how much I had enjoyed that party. I remember that it was a very hot day, even at five o’clock in the morning!

I was 10 years old. After I had breakfast and got dressed for school, I met my friends from next door, Lorna and Allen, and we walked to Leura School together, carrying our school cases. Our school cases were called Globite cases, and you carried them in your hands. They were very heavy. You could buy little leather satchels like the backpacks you have today, but they didn’t hold very much so most of us didn’t use them.

To get to school, Lorna and Allen and I walked up the steep hill to the Mall, then crossed the road and walked past the church. (In autumn, we liked to collect the leaves from the Liquidamber trees outside the church as they changed colour, and use them for art projects.) Next we walked over a wooden bridge to get across the railway lines, and finally crossed the highway, which was not very busy or dangerous back then, to arrive at school. Leura School had been converted from a little house, and each class was in a different room of the house. The stairs to that old house are still in the front garden of the school today.

When the bell rang, we sat down to our lessons with no idea that this was to become one of the most frightening days of our whole lives! We worked until the bell rang for Recess (which we called Play Lunch). No-one had much energy to play because it was so hot, but we still enjoyed the short break from lessons.

Not long after we went back to class, we heard the voice of the Principal (then called the Headmaster), Mr Hartcher, sounding different and a bit panicky. He hurried into our room, saying “Run! There is a fire coming very close to the school!” We could hear him running through the hallway with the same message in all the other rooms. When we ran into the hallway at the entrance of our school, we could smell smoke and the sky looked red and angry.

Some of the parents had realised the fire was heading for the school, and they arrived to pick their children up, but they blocked the doorway of the school so we couldn’t get out! They hadn’t realised that we all had to run away quickly, and they were blocking the only door that faced away from the fire. Mr Hartcher ordered them to move, but many of us children were too shy to push past them. I think I was one of the last to leave, because I did not want to squeeze past a mother who had started to panic.

At last I ran out the door and across the highway without even taking my school case, trying to get home as fast as I could. I ran across the railway bridge and the fire was so close that I could see flames in the grass next to the railway tracks. When I ran down the stairs of the bridge and onto the street, I caught up with a little boy who was only in Kindergarten. I ran with him for a little while, and the flames came closer and closer in the bushes and gardens behind us. Suddenly, the little boy cried out and I turned around to see he had dropped his school case, which he had been clutching tightly all this while. He tried to pick it up, but the fire was almost on top of us by now so I grabbed his hand and told him we needed to get away, and that he could always get a new school case.

By this time, some of the parents had gone to the school to pick up their children, only to discover that we had all left. So they were driving around the streets of Leura and Katoomba, looking for the children. The little boy’s parents arrived in their car, and took him away with them, leaving me alone. I kept running, and was very relieved not long afterwards to see my Dad’s car! Dad and I drove back home without really knowing what was the best plan for escape, as the fire seemed to be moving behind, in front and all around us.

It was a very scary time at our house. My parents packed our car with things like clothing and family photographs and insurance documents, thinking that these were the most important things to keep if our house burned down. We had to evacuate to the theatre in Katoomba Street. A truck stopped by our house and the driver offered to pick up anything large that we wanted to save, but Dad said “No thanks,” the important things like people were his only priority. Then the Principal Mr Hartcher and his wife arrived looking hot, with burns from the fire, to check that all the children had made it to their homes safely. Finally Dad drove us to the theatre. Mum and I waited there with all the others, while Dad went back to help fight the oncoming fire.

It is interesting how different people react to dangerous times. There were a few people in the theatre who tried hard to take our minds off worrying, by telling jokes and stories. Other people were quiet, some were agitated, and one or two were crying. Mostly, we were worried about our family members – usually men – who were fighting the fire to save their own and other people’s homes.

Later we heard that one of the teachers, Miss Nelson, had stayed at the school to make sure the children all made it out. That meant she was one of the last to leave and as she crossed the railway bridge, flames licked around the supports. I don’t really remember, but I assume those supports were made of wood.

The school burnt down completely on that day, but my Dad managed to save our house and some others in Lett Street. The fire came so close to our house that our garage wall was black and charcoaled. Mum said that the truck carrying everyone’s belongings was piled high, and there were things like fur coats (which were very expensive) with a goat sitting on top!

I seem to remember we had a very long holiday after Christmas that year, as we had no school to go to when the New Year began. Christmas was always exciting, and I usually thought it was the best thing about the summer holidays. But this year, it was hard to be really excited about Christmas. Some of my friends had lost their houses as well as all their Christmas presents, and it just didn’t feel right to be celebrating. Normally we went to visit my Nanna in Sydney every Christmas, but we didn’t go this year. Everybody was a bit unsure what to do next, and how to reorganise our lives after such a big change to our normally peaceful Mountains lives.

Finally in February 1958, a few days after everyone else, we started school again. But we still had no building to go to, so we had school in the Church of England hall in Leura. We were given pencil cases to carry to school every day, and exercise books and other supplies, but we didn’t have any library books. Since there were no computers in schools in 1958, library books were the only way we could research our projects. Encyclopaedias were very important but they were expensive, and most of us didn’t have them in our homes, so we just had to muddle through until our school library was replaced.

Eventually our new school was built. It was just one building (the one your office is in now), and it seemed very spacious and clean to us. It was wonderful to have desks to store our books in again, and stationery, and a library with exciting new books to read. We missed our little ‘house school’ but soon became used to the new one, and settled in nicely.

As long as I live, I will never forget the day of the 1957 bushfires. That day, the fire burned all the way from Katoomba Hospital right down as far as Springwood. It burned down many houses and buildings and trees.

* When Mum wrote this story for the children at her old school, she called it "A fierce mountains day" because when she recently went back to visit the school, the children sang a song by a local composer called "A mountains kind of day." Mum said, "The song was very evocative and talked about mists and trees. I loved it."

(All photos of the 1957 Blue Mountains Bushfires used here are from the Blue Mountains Library's Flickr stream. The 'before and after' of the school are from an invitation to the official opening of the new school in 1958, that Mum kept.)

ps. This last photo is of a family in front of what used to be their house. The little girl's name is Marion Weiss, and she went to the same school as my mother. In the comments under the photo another of my mother's fellow students, Jean Collins, wrote this:

"I used to play with Marion Weiss when we were pupils at Leura Primary School - also burnt out in the 1957 fire. I remember running from the school that day, up the highway, with fireballs flying through the air and houses exploding. We took shelter in corner store, down past the Baptist Church. The church burned down, so did the corner store. Our house caught fire, but my brother Barrie put it out, and also saved the house next door to ours, in East View Avenue. The owners gave him five pounds reward. I have lots of memories of that dreadful day."

Madeleine's year book

Help! I need your advice! I am creating a book to celebrate Madeleine's first year, something to keep for ourselves as a precious memory, to give to the grandparents, and most of all for Madeleine to look through when she is a little bit older. And I'm finding it more challenging than I thought.

There's certainly no shortage of photographs of my beautiful girl (although photos of the first three months of her life seem to consist almost exclusively of selfie iPhone shots of her sleeping on my chest). But I'm struggling to decide exactly what to include and exactly how to go about it. For example:

Photographs

Do I choose photographs at each age, watching her grow? Do I include all the key events - Christmas; her 'coming home from hospital' outfit; her first meal of solids; her first trip to the zoo - or just pick and choose? Should I include photos of all the relatives? And what if the event or person is significant but the shot is lacklustre?

Text

How much text should I include? None at all? Just captions? Or should I pepper the book with little stories and anecdotes from Madeleine's first year?

Layout

I have InDesign but I don't know how to use it, other than line editing and copyfitting something that's already been laid out. Do I try to get creative, with collages and illustrations and handwritten notes and deep etched 'items of significance' etc, alongside the more traditional 'bleed to edge' photos of my beautiful girl? And if so, do you know of a publishing software or website that will help me do that, without any design experience? Which leads me to...

Publishing

I've yet to choose a print-on-demand publisher. I'm rather drawn to Artifact Uprising, because the cloth covers and binding and paper quality look rather beautiful, much nicer than anything else I've seen. But I'm not sure how flexible the layout could be.

Have you done this with your child(ren)? I'd love to know how you approached it.

Weekend in the mountains

Honestly it was a relief to get out of bed, even at 4am, because bed was so hot that sleep said "Ha ha, surely you jest!" while the fan droned ineffectually on through the long, dark hours and all I could think was, "When is it time to get up?" (Actually I thought one or two other things, mostly about Melbourne weather and weeks on end of heat and humidity, but those thoughts are not suitable to be shared in polite conversation). On the flip side, there never was a better time to escape to the cool mountain air.

It was a four-day visit with Madeleine's grandparents and, even though they were wonderfully well-prepared for us with a cot, a car seat, multitudinous toys and even a supply of nappies, packing Madeleine's bags still felt like stocking up for the apocalypse. She took the early rise in her stride, laughing with glee as she crawled, commando-style, around the floors of the Qantas lounge at 5am; and entertaining fellow passengers with a very charming rendition of "bouncing not crying" once the plane took off.

Once in the mountains, Madeleine had more Nan and Pa kisses than she will ever be able to count, even if she grows up to become a mathematical genius (which admittedly is not particularly likely, given her genetic heritage). She had at least two baths a day because, unlike us, Nan and Pa actually have a big bath in their home. For Madeleine this was a splashy paradise. Baths were also popular with us because Madeleine has become quite a fan of custard... in her mouth, in her hair, over her hands, feet, arms, legs and anywhere else you can think of to dribble, flick, toss or smear a sticky, eggy substance.

The weekend was mild and verdant, full of apple pies and old-fashioned roses and a giant pumpkin from Mum's garden. There were gentle walks up winding country roads; mountain ranges still and silent and old, just over there; picnics; a fairy garden; country cafes; an old dog wearing a Cone of Shame; and dear friends visiting for food and gossip and wine and table tennis and croquet and laughter.

My dad dug out some old papers that he had never read himself, and we discovered records of our family going back to the 1650s, all in one tiny village in England. So then we Google Street-viewed the village and it is adorable - farms and thatched cottages and Iron Age archaeological sites and all - and I got itchy feet.

Madeleine has discovered how to make a kissing sound, and the only thing she loves more than making the sound is having it reciprocated (same goes for the also-popular eating sound, raspberry sound and tom-tom drumming action). Yesterday morning Mr B reached over to kiss me and suddenly a big baby-head appeared millimetres from ours, making a "kiss, kiss, kiss" sound, accompanied by a massive grin.

My baby was so full of joy and love the whole weekend. It was so wonderful to watch her begin to form a real relationship with her Nan and Pa. She liked them so much that Mr B and I were able to go out for coffee each morning, just us, which is something we hadn't done since she was born. It felt strange and free and lonely and lovely.

This parenting gig is so extreme, and working around a baby's need for sleep and food - as well as the same baby's desperate need to be close to her parents every. single. second - can feel incredibly limiting when it comes to doing anything for us. Not to mention it is colossally exhausting. But I don't think I have known a happier time in my life than the days and weeks and months since Madeleine was born.