I live in a washing machine

My Infant turned one. I don’t know how. Was I there? I have about a million disjointed memories - not many fully clear visions.

I have this hazy half-picture of me eating chips at 3am while doing laps around the kitchen island with tiny Goldie in the carrier - only relaxed when I’m moving fast. Some of my memories whizz past me but I can’t grab at them quickly enough. Slow mo snippets of first giggles, the physical memory of her remarkably strong, tiny body as she arches and writhes in my arms, fighting sleep. Her look of deep pride as she pulls herself up to stand for the first time. Sometimes the memories just manifest as a pang in my gut, or a rush of warmth, or a clenching of my jaw.

I get these flashes of delight remembering all the times I’ve looked into her face and seen nothing but love in it’s absolute purest concentration. I smile at blurred visions of tiny hands making their way inside my mouth during breastfeeds. Wince as I remember the time I clutched her and fell to my knees in the kitchen, sobbing, begging Andy to take her because I couldn’t hear the screaming a moment longer.

I still don’t know which way is up.

I don’t know how long ago last week was. Yesterday? I live inside a washing machine. I am joyful, tense, overwhelmed. I wish away long nights of tending to a sleepless baby and then a toddler who needs a hug and then the baby again and then a toilet trip with the toddler and then the baby again. I ache for morning when this hell will be over, and I ache for time to stop so I can hold their tiny little bodies tight to mine for longer because I’m afraid I’m missing it. I’m scared I’ve been too tired to appreciate it.

I’ve never felt the desire to be alone this intensely before. But I’m pretty sure I’ve also never known loneliness like this before. I miss my friends, but I can’t call them because there’s isn’t time to have any kind of worthwhile, uninterrupted conversation. Yet, as per this world of contradictions I live in, my two little girls are some of the funniest and sweetest mates I’ve ever had, and when I’m not with them I wish I was.

I haven’t had the free hands or the energy to whip out my camera and tripod like I did with my firstborn. I used to set up the self timer so often, so I could be in the photos too. I wish I had more photos with my mum.

But now I’m needed all the time. Always holding a baby in one arm and a something else in the other - a hairbrush, a book, a glass of water for a thirsty kid, some confiscated contraband that the other one would love to get her hands on to inflict maximum damage on herself or the home. My tripod just sits in the cupboard waiting for a family holiday.

I can’t completely trust my memory. Some precious moments are already lost to me - little sounds she’d make, certain phrases we used to rely on to get a smile, firsts… lasts. I look back through my clogged camera roll and I’m so grateful I’m such a photo and video hoarder. I look at the last 12 months of my little Golden girl and lots of those lost memories are waiting for me in there. Thank god.

We also had the absolute pleasure of a family shoot about 9 months back with two of the best in the biz - Emma Wand and Kate Shultz. Look what they gave us!

Professional photos are not a necessity to preserve your memories- but gee whiz, if you can get yourself booked in with a photographer who really takes the time to get to know you, it’s SUCH A SPECIAL TREAT. I treasure these more than I can tell you.

While I’m doing the weirdest, hardest, funniest, loneliest, most fulfilling job I’ve had - while I’m doing the memory making, my camera is doing the memory keeping. The story telling. And I’ve got to say, I find that extremely comforting. For an under-slept, overstimulated lady such as myself, this opportunity to travel back in time (even if only for a peek) is worth more to me than I could’ve ever known. So this year, I’m going to do two things, and writing them down here publicly to remind myself (and maybe anyone reading this who might like a reminder too?).

1: Keep the tripod out of the cupboard in plain sight. Stick it in the nappy bag when we head out. Use it! Self portraits are back in my joint I tell you!

2: Keep making sure Andy and I share the job of documenting equally. Making sure I’m in those pics too! Even when my hair really, really sucks. Even on days when it’s clear I have no respect for the concept of personal presentation or any kind of self care.

That beautiful baby is going to disappear into a toddler any minute now, and I’m so lucky that I get to be her mum. And it’s been playing on me that I don’t get a do-over. I can’t come back to this time.
I want to feel present all the time. Sometimes I do. I really do. And sometimes (lots of times) I am in an overtired, overwhelmed daze. Hanging on by a thread. And in those times I’m going to try to not be too disappointed in myself for not being the breezy, chilled out earth mother that I intended on being.

This was quite a year. Lots of lessons learned, lots of firsts, lots of tears and lots of warm, gooey feelings. Cheers to you little Goldie. You’re a really shit sleeper but a very cute and ambitious baby. The textbook Aries we need to light our fires. You’re going places girl, and we’re stoked to be right there with you.

And cheers to me (downing a juicy red as I write this) for making it here, and to every mum who spends her days shifting, moment to moment, between despair and delight. We’ve got this.