14 Little Weeks
I apologise for the broken record of my heart…but oh, I love this child.

Earlier, we took the photos for this post and then she began to get fussy. Seeing that time was ticking away, I was busy trying to get this piece done and published before the madness of dinner and bedtime descended on our home.

She wasn't happy in her rocker. She wasn't happy with me holding her as I tried to type one-handed. Irritated and distracted, I took her to her room, wrapped her and closed the blinds. In the rocking chair, she and I went back and forth, back and forth. Still she cried. I patted her little bottom. Still she cried.

My frustration was building, tension in every muscle of my body; the patting and rocking keeping the beat of my growing irritation, a jarring rhythm for a baby to fall asleep to.

What the hell was I doing? 

I stood and paced slowly, shh-shhing as I went and, almost immediately, my baby's cries subsided. I slowed my breathing to match my movement and soon, my mind followed.

And Harlow fell asleep.

The chaos of dinner and bedtime did get in the way of writing this piece, but here I am, writing it now so what does it matter? Who sets this crucial blog deadline? No-one. Me

Blogging about the moment should never be more important than being in the moment. 

And these moments, when I stop and think about it, are the best in my day. 

 

Hello friends

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I’m Angie!  I mum. I write. I wife. My husband would say this is the correct order.  He’s so neeeedy. I live with my family in Melbourne, Australia, where I complain about the weather for 90% of the year – but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Except maybe in Lake Como, waving to my neighbours George and Amal each morning.

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3 Comments

  1. Madeleine

    Oh my goodness. The top right photo of her? Your clone. Truly.

    Bet that thrills you to hear. She’s a beauty. xxx

    Reply
  2. Angie @ The Little Mumma

    You know it does! Especially since the top left photo is so Bren-esque.

    She’s a doll, for sure.

    xx

    Reply

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