Wednesday, March 28, 2007


Ivy has fleas. At least, somewhere in the house is a rogue flea that feasted on her tiny, beautiful face. It's now marred with a cluster of little bites, like when Heather Graham played a Dickensian prostitute with the pox. They are getting better by the minute though, and the mummy-guilt is fading. A flea, not a funnel-web, right? Bah! I tell myself she won't get allergies when she's older (the modern mums mantra).

At this moment she is sleeping in her new cot, in her own room. Shes had all her day sleeps there, since yesterday, and has coped fine so far. Fingers crossed. Soon she'll transfer from the bedroom bassinet into her own space. At five months she's becoming much more alert. In bed she cranes her head around, checking out her new space, chewing her fist and singing to herself, in a tonal, clicking language somewhere between Bantu and Mandarin.

Keith is in Canberra on a long week so we didn't sleep very well last night. Ivy was in the big bed and woke me at 3 for a feed, then squiggled and fought her swadddle for ages before dropping off again. Today I feel tired. Yesterday I had a burst of insane energy - worked on 3 paintings; cooked, cleaned and washed the house and contents with determined madness; couldn't quite relax. Every time I sat down on the couch my toes would start tapping anxiously as I scanned the room for what to do next. Not today though. Today I'm feeling it.

I can't wait for tomorrow, when Mum, Sam and I are going to meet up at Miranda Fair (the Jewel of the Shire) to inspect each other's babies and talk enthusiastically over the top of each other. We hope it will be a mid-point between all three houses and take us all less than a hour to drive. It could be a great solution to the distance problem.

1 comment:

  1. I love you and your fleas, Daddy.


Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.