30/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 26 July, 3 years)

When you were new and tiny, I would often cast my mind to this day, your third birthday, and I was not be able to imagine what it would be like to have two two year olds, or two three year olds. I could picture two one month olds because we were going through it right then and there. But two three year olds! And now we are here and it is beyond anything I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. How much you amaze me, challenge me, grow me, make me laugh, make me cry, teach me, try me, and let me be an intimate witness to one of the most special relationships between two humans. Your third birthday means I have been a mother for three years (and for no time and for all time). And I can't believe my babies have grown and changed and morphed from newborns to little people who are celebrating their third birthday. 

The day started with balloons and presents in bed, and ended that way too. In between you opened presents - we gave you handmade dolls and you got pink tricycles from Kimmy and Bear, you went for a hair cut, we blew out candles, we ate cake, we went for high tea at The Westcliff with the family, and we sang happy birthday a million times. 

Happy birthday darling girls. You are the brightest lights. 

24/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 10 months), photo by Judith Belle

Breast feeding you has been such a big part of my motherhood journey, physically, emotionally, and mentally. As we approach your third birthday I'm seeing signs that you're starting to wean yourselves. This fills me with mixed emotions - a flood of nostalgia and perhaps a twinge of sadness, but I feel ready if you are. I never want to forget these intimate, quiet moments with you, when I'm feeding you as you wake up in the morning with sunlight visible through cracks between the curtains, or when fall asleep at night. One day, when you are long legged teenagers, I will recall these moments through memory and photographs, and I hope it will trigger an inkling of what I'm feeling right now... how you still feel so small when I nurse you in my arms, even though you are almost three, kissing your forehead at night as you close your eyes, hearing sweet replies to my "I love you's," the ritual of brushing your damp hair after bath, or the way it like three haededas (we joke) had slept in your hair last night when you wake up in the morning with bird nests, the way you either hold hands while I feed you both, or twist my hair between your fingers that look to grown up for three years old hands.

27/52

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).

Hello there, I've missed you

Hello lovely readers - if there are any of you still here. Sorry for the silence. I can't believe I have been away from here for almost two months! I have missed it and will now attempt to play catch up with my weekly portrait posts. (You know how the longer you leave something, the harder it is... Yip, that's where I am right now so I need to just jump in).

I blame it (mostly) on the fact that I have been working on Rock-a-Baby, a fair from moms and babes which took place in Braamfontein at the end of September. Putting this fair together was a full time job, done so with babes on hips and during nap times and night times and basically any free time I could find. I'm pleased to say the fair was a success (people actually came and bought stuff!) and was worth all the effort we put in to it. Here are some pics of the day, taken by Lauren Kim Photography. Follow us on Facebook for more photos and updates.

Nostalgia

I'm also talking about nostalgia. The speed at which babies grow and change means it's always lurking there - fresh nostalgia just beneath the surface of a smile.

{from here}