Category: Spawn

This time of year is challenging. We should be putting up three Christmas stockings, but we are determined to find the joy in the one.

Again, thanks to the lovely Kate, we had to cut Inigo’s last day of preschool short to take him to the Doctor Who Symphony Spectacular. It was spectacularly awesome!

We also were sitting right beside Alex Kingston as she met a man (whose name escapes me now) who had worked on the original series in London back in the day – he had come to the show for one night only, and we were there for the meeting. I almost got a picture of Inigo with River Song, but I thought it was a bit rude to ask when she was about to go outside to sign autographs for the faithful to have her molested inside the house as well, but Inigo did give her a big smile and get a little pat.

And he just crawled into bed three hours after bedtime. Tomorrow will be tough!

 

To make up for a dearth of pictures recently, I am making up for lost time!

Lunch is more exciting in a new lunchbox with tiny compartments!

It even comes with it’s own carry bag in school colours!

On the rivercat with mama.  Kate kindly arranged for us to see The Baby Proms Christmas show, so we went in to have brunch with Tina and Cadel who were in town briefly.  Amazingly, Kate was able to get them in to the show too, and an amazing time was had by all.  Inigo and Mr C. got on like a house on fire, which is lovely, since their mamas have been friends since we were both pregnant with them 🙂

On the rivercat with daddy.

Waiting at the stage door after charming security.

A pre show dance.

Meeting the cellist.

A running race of one.

Our gorgeous graduate.

I’m so powerfully sad about this ending. Playgroup has been such an amazing lifeline for for Inigo and I. Every Wednesday, rain or shine, we have had a safe place to connect with friends, to paint and play and craft. To get support, with parenting, and with the other crazy stuff that life throws at us.

Five years ago we moved to a new place that was completely foreign to me, I had no friends, no connections, and no idea how tough those early months of parenting would be. Amazingly, a friend told me about the SACC supported playgroup, and I haven’t looked back.

A huge thank you to Julie, who runs this group. It’s a tough, tough gig, some days like herding feral cats, and on others, completely heartbreaking.

I still have a lot to learn about being a stay at home mum living in the ‘burbs in an area with a low SES. But most of what I learned, I learned at playgroup.

Mama, what does praying mean?
It means talking to god baby.
But we don’t believe in god, do we?
Well, your father and I don’t, but you can make up your own mind.
I think I believe in god.
OK, what does god mean to you?
I think god is a bit like Alan Jones.
(trying very hard to keep breathing) And why do you say that? Alan Jones isn’t a particularly kind person, is he?
No. Just like god.

Now, mindful that some people I love very much do believe in god, I am hoping you will give me the benefit of the doubt when I assure you that I have never knowingly planted the idea that god was like a shock jock. Although we are atheists, I have always tried to talk about belief in respectful and positive terms, about the comfort that people get from spirituality and community, and the strength that can be drawn from faith. The Alan Jones thing is a bolt from the blue.

Any ideas? Ideally I would like him to have an objective overview of religion so that he can choose his own path, but clearly something is missing!

This morning our dear friends Bonnie and Zenia brought us breakfast, and a surprise. A white nectarine, and a peach tree to plant in our garden.

As we watch each season go by without our boys, we can care for these trees, and help them to grow and bear fruit. Such a beautiful and meaningful gift.

I love you guys.

Aunty Kerry rang this afternoon to remember the boys, and I was reminded of how parents of children who die before or close to the time of birth are rarely afforded congratulations, expressions of joy about how the baby is gorgeous, has a beautiful name, or a head full of gorgeous curls.

Parents who lose a baby (or two) are still parents. We are still passionately in love with our children, we are still proud and enraptured with our offspring.

I hope that this image illustrates that a little.

One final thought for the night. When a parent loses a baby, it is not just an ephemeral potential that is lost. What we lose when a baby dies is the world of possibility, a thousand losses, day by day as we watch others grow, take first steps, hear first words. In another three years their cohort will go to school, and on, and on.

To a parent, that potential is not ephemeral, but rather very concrete indeed.