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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (24 months)

We gave you each a copy of Peter Pan for you birthday. A beautiful book and a magical story that I hope will weave it's way through your childhood. When I read the opening paragraph to you on the morning of your birthday I knew it was exactly the gift we were meant to give you - Why can't remain like this forever. 

“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, ‘Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!’ This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.” J.M Barrie, Peter Pan

Happy second birthday darling girls. You are 730 days old. Two full circles around the sun. You have been so excited about your birthday. Florence has been exclaiming "Me's Happy Birthday" (referring to both the day and the cake) the whole week in anticipation. Yesterday we baked your cake at Cheska's house with Honor and we we had the sweetest celebration at our home, complete with candles, party hats, golden balloons, macaroons, and 'Happy Birthday" strung across the door. I love this stage. I love this age. And if possible I love you more each day. I could not possibly have imagined how incredible it is to be your mama. More incredible it is than I ever could have imagined. 

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (23 months), at the bottom of your great grandmother's garden

I love being on the farm with you, a place where I spent many holidays in my childhood. A change of scenery out of the city, different faces as family gathered for my cousins's wedding, and  the warm weather in the lowveld meant that little toes which had been hibernating in socks and stockings for the last few months could bare themselves and run freely outside. It all suited you very well. We spent most of our days outside with your cousins, inventing games as you climbed over rocky beds, blowing bubbles on the lawn, finding giant leaves and popping impatient pods. We had long lazy breakfasts, long lazy naps, and late lunches. You played dolls on the lawn overlooking the Crocodile River. On the last evening, we had our dinner to-go, as we walked along the game fence of the farm following three elephants. So close we could almost touch them. Then home again on the back of a bakkie, through the sugar cane, as the light of the day started to fade.

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (23 months), at home in our garden

"Think for a minute darling: in fairytales it's always the children who have the fine adventures." Audrey  Niffenegger

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (23 months), at Circa Gallery

What do I want to remember about this time of of life? A lot of it is physical, I want to remember the feeling of things. How they felt.

I want to remember the feeling of scooping you up in my arms, big babies with long legs folded over my arms but still perfectly able to curl up on my lap.

I want to remember the weight of you as you fall asleep in my arms every night. Big eyelids like full moons on your faces of sky (my universes).

I want to remember the pitter patter pitter patter of four padded feet running around the apartment, usually accompanied by commentary, excited laugh, and a single arm motoring you along.

I want to remember feeding you. Nursing you. Both squashed up on my lap in our tiny bath. Or both nestled next to me as I bring you into our bed at the crack of dawn. Or each of you on your own. One hand usually entwined in my hair. 

I want to remember the feeling of your sweet, heart breaking hands with adult-like fingers grasping mine, or twig arms around my legs, and neck, and hugs from behind.

I want to remember the sound of your voices. So unique but familiar as if I've been listening out for them my whole life. And the words streaming out of them. Continuous. And continuously amazing me and how much you talk and speak and know and learn.

I want to remember the physical feeling of running my hands over your perfect bodies as I dress you. Or kissing your cute bums. Your flawless skin.

Lifting you up. Comforting you. Dancing with you, upon your request, after meals.

Your laugh, your cry, your voice.

Your words.

The way you see the world.

(And I realise these aren't all physical yet you're so tied up with me and my world and me in yours that the non physical becomes physical).

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (23 months)

A evening power outage in Johannesburg means bedtime stories by headlight.