27/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 11 months)

We are in the middle of renovating our new apartment. You have been involved in the whole process, from drawing out your plans, to choosing colours, and coming with us to most of the site visits. You get full energy at the new apartment - I think it is because of all the space, and hopefully the feeling you get from the place. As I watch our new home come to life I picture you in all these new spaces - sitting at the counter while I make breakfast, playing in the bath of your very own pink bathroom (although I have no doubt we will all end up in the same bath anyway).

26/52 2016

A portrait of my babes once a week in 2016 ( 2 years 11 months)

On Mondays we meet a group of moms and their babes in our garden. We've been meeting for over a year now, in different shapes and forms, and it has been wonderful to watch you and the other children grow as the seasons change. It is mid-winter now and at the end of the afternoon we take a walk around the gardens, usually ending up at the garden near the golf course, hoping to spot some guinea fowl as you run races, do aeroplane jumps of the steps, chase poor unsuspecting cats, and pick up treasures of feathers and rocks as we go. 

25/52 2016

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

Things I want to remember about now...

Anna

- Your strong, tight hugs as your little arms grip around me

- The way you talk non stop when some one is upset to try and ease the situation

- Your lips curling outward in all sorts of contexts to form, what has become, a trademark expression of yours

Florence

- The way you emphasise your point by stopping after each word in a sentence to build anticipation

- Your distain for threads - loose threads or visible threads - on clothing items (dolls clothes included)

- The way you wake up with a huge smile on face as a little ball of sunshine, no matter how fast asleep you were

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.