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.

23/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 10 months)

A lot of people upon first meeting you think you are identical. I believe this is a trick of the mind - when some one hears "twins" and sees two little girls of similar colouring and build dressed exactly the same they jump to the conclusion that you are identical. Your faces, are of course markedly different and I don't have a set answer as to what those differences are when people ask how to tell you apart because to me it is the similarities that are harder to see than all the difference. The same applies to everything else about you. The way you fall sleep and how you wake up, your favourite foods, what you remember, things that upset you or ignite joy, the way you run, the way you wrap your arms around my legs or the way you sit upon my hip, the way you get tired, the way you tell stories, what comforts you or concerns you, and how you comfort and show concern, the way you paint and see colour, the way you cry. And yet, within these opposites, there is something so connected between you it creates a sameness - they way you move as each other's shadows, the way you build one another's confidence around other people, the way you fall asleep in the exact same position, the way you feed off each other's moods, the way you reach for the other's hand at exactly the same time.

22/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 10 months)

My mom would often take us to Zoo Lake as children so it's nostalgic for me to walk around here with you, pushing your pram or holding your hand as you balance on the low brick wall or chase after you as you run ahead with arms splayed at the side. My little birds. You squeal in terror, more than delight as flocks of geese run towards us in the hope of a scrap of bread. Every part of Zoo Lake conjures up a different memory and I tell you stories about wading into the water to find lost treasures, and catching ducks in my arms through carefully laid bread trails, to racing bikes around the path, and carols by candlelight picnics on the lawn. Even with the large lake on which boats afloat on summer evenings, it's certainly not the prettiest park - it's grimy, not entirely well kept, and we pass many vagrants during our walk. But it is just around the corner from our home and very much a part of where we live in Johannesburg and right now it's at it's best as the trees are on fire with brown and red and the floor is carpeted in crunchy leaves. 

21/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 10 months)

Autumn is perfect for walks in our neighborhood - cold but not too cold. The backs of your little necks get damp with sweat from  woollen neck warmers and running and your hair starts to curl up with the moisture. The crunchy leaves padding the pavements are so tempting and satisfying to crush in small still-dimpled hands and under no longer tiny feet. You become collectors, picking up sticks, or stones another day, mostly feathers, all handed to me like hidden treasures or newly discovered specimens which I must guard and protect, and return on demand even days later.

You're strong and able, and walk and run the whole way home. I love seeing you walk these roads we walked so often as newborns in prams or carriers. It's such an obvious indicator of growth, just as we've seen houses change, knocked down, and rebuilt along the way. This letting go and running ahead shows a confidence as well, in your surroundings and self.

This particular route is not much in terms of walks, we have to go on a busy road for the last part home, but walks are good, the fresh air, the observations. And it is home, it is where we are, I like being here with you.

20/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 9 months)

"Sweet, crazy conversations full of half sentences, daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be." Toni Morrison

19/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 9 months)

We spent the week with Cheska and Francie at Sun City. It was a real girls' adventure - we hired a van and all drove together, and rented a small chalet. We did all sorts of cheesy resort things, like going on train rides, visiting petting zoos, and we even went on a ride in the Valley of Waves (this was met with mixed emotions from the little ones and everyone had to evacuate before the ride was done. Perhaps three babes and two moms on a tube was a bit ambitious!). We went on long walks through the incredible man-made tropical gardens, we visited the aviary, and we even went for high tea at the Palace. We had lots of fun all staying together, saying hi to the peacocks which came to visit us each morning, sharing meals, and baths, and tears and laughs. Travelling with you, no matter where, is one of my favourite things to do. 

18/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 9 months)

I've always bathed with you. I think I found it easier to manage two babies if I was actually in the bath. Our routine hasn't changed much since then, and the three of us squash into our very small tub. I used to nurse you every night in the bath, but that has almost been entirely replaced with the last course of dinner which your papa gives to you. Hence, I've been ousted from my prime position in the bath and usually end up squeezing in near the tap.  You come up with all sorts of games in the bath, from cake making with sponges and soap, to lining all your bath toys in a row along the edge. Bubble bath, aqueous cream, or any other sort of ingredient you can lay your hands on is an added bonus. Even though there's almost no space for all these limbs which turn pruney in the water, I hope we bath together for a very long time.