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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (26 months)

I took you for a haircut this week. While it was not your first cut, it was certainly your biggest. In an instant you transformed from knobbly, wisps of ragamuffins to the sweetest little pixies I've ever laid eyes on. But along with those snips of  soft baby locks, a part of your toddler-ness was cut away, to reveal a stronger glimpse of the little girls emerging from inside. 

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (25 months)

My bush babies on the back of the Landrover.

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (25 months)

We're back in the bush for a week - endless days, silent nights, no cell phone reception, sleeping under mozzie nets, eating breakfast with hornbills and squirrels, and cultivating a love for this special place in you. Sleeping on the platform was one of my greatest adventures growing up. We introduced you to this adventure for the first time and it was magical falling asleep with you under the stars, bundled up against the cold, listening to the sounds of owls and a far-off leopard, and waking up under the leaves with the sunrise outlining them in a startling glow. I hope this is the start of a family tradition for you, the next generation of bush babies.

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (25 months)

Sometimes it's really hard being a twin. But mostly, it's really wonderful.

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A portrait of my babes once a week in 2015 (25 months)

The South Coast immediately conjures up idyllic memories of childhood beach holidays. That damp smell of ripe vegetation, squishy berries underfoot, mixing with sand bought up from the beach and never quite discarded (even months later we find tiny traces of those days at the bottom of beach bags), big banana leaves that make you feel very far away from ordinary life. As I watch you scurry along an overgrown path with lush overhangs of tropical proportions, it's as if I am watching myself many years ago, running with buckets and spades under arms, eager to get to the beach. The destination. The reward for a long walk down. 

Everyday, in the late afternoon, we walk across the golf course, down this overgrown path, and onto a beach, deserted. All ours. Surrounded by nothing but the Indian Ocean and rocks on the one side, and vegetation on the other. It's the end of August so a winter chill is still hanging around in the evenings but this doesn't prevent dips in the sea, and naked bums on the beach. We make our way back up to the house for dinner, tired but exhilarated, and you tastes of salt as I kiss your chilly bodies and wrap you up in whatever warmth we can find. These are the favourite parts of my days.