RESERVATIONS

From time to time, people ask me why I don't blog anymore. I usually give a reflex answer about not having enough time (a convenient fabrication). The other day, a dear friend made me stop and think about the real reason why - he asked whether I had any hobbies that I did regularly, and when I replied that I don't really have any hobbies (another reflex, and another fabrication), he said "What about your blog?".

Honestly, I had completely forgotten it existed. Further to that, I had never seen it as a hobby, more as an outlet (cheap therapy?). But the more I thought about it, the more I realised he was right - the process had become a hobby, a nice one, and it made me consider why I stopped.

I seem to fall into a pattern with hobbies. I start off full of enthusiasm, ideas and naivety, which affords me the space to participate unbridled and uninhibited. But then over time, I start to become more critical of my output, of my creative process, and of why I'm even doing it in the first place. Reservations start creeping in and take over to the point where it's easier to just stop creating altogether. You wouldn't believe how many draft blog posts I have on this thing that are complete but never saw the light of day because I doubted myself too much.

I wonder what these reservations are about. The aim of this blog was never to create an end product but to experience the process. It was never intended for (many) others to read. Yet the way I approach it is with the old schoolgirl Catholicism fear that I used to view life with: whatever you do better be good, because in the end you're going to be judged for it. Judgement is surely one of the biggest stiflers of creativity.

So after some time wondering if I should just delete this thing and be done with it, I thought I'd take the slightly more painful but interesting road and keep plugging away. I still have things I want to write about and thoughts I want to explore. And maybe over the coming weeks, those dormant drafts will get a second chance at life. Sometimes it's easier to just close your eyes and jump.

26/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

A few extras this week, to mark the halfway point in the year. Can't believe we're here already. These photos pretty much sum up our year so far - a lot of indoor play (due to inordinately long bouts of sickness) that, although a bit tedious and claustrophobic after a long while, has enabled me to witness some genuinely beautiful moments of interaction, cooperation, imagination and love.

RAISING BABIES VS. RAISING CHILDREN

The thing about parenting is that everything changes, all the time. It keeps you on your toes because just as soon as you've gotten used to things being a certain way and think you have it all figured out, a new challenge arises and you're back to square one. The beauty of it is that it forces you to constantly evolve to be more creative, more patient, more resourceful.

With two kids of significantly different ages, I've come to appreciate that raising babies and raising children are two very distinct challenges, neither easier than the other, just different. The way I see it, it can be summed up as follows: raising babies is hard, but simple. Raising children is easy, but complicated.

This article has been circulating among my friends, and illustrates what I mean about babies being hard but simple. Dealing with sleep deprivation, constant monitoring, endless feeding, and total dependence are by no means small feats; they have a way of gradually eroding your general wellbeing and sanity in a way that can make you a stranger to yourself. But by the same token, the job is not overly complex. You are dealing with someone's basic needs, the purely physiological requirements of being fed, cleaned and sheltered.

By the time they reach school age, children can pretty much fend for themselves in that regard. You no longer have to worry about them accidentally killing themselves with everyday household objects, or wonder whether you've dressed them in enough layers, or deal with hours of unexplainable crying (hopefully). You'll be able to sleep through the night and wake up at a civilised hour. You'll be able to reason with them. You can engage in detailed conversations with them about current affairs or whether Masterchef is rigged.

But although things may be a lot easier in terms of the daily grind of domestic routine, it starts getting really complicated in terms of the emotional and psychological challenges they present. What do you do when your 8 year old is looking you in the eye and lying to you? How do you explain why their best friend has started ignoring them overnight, or what to do if they're being bullied, or why they have to do their homework even if it's completely irrelevant? How do you reconcile the values you're trying to instil with the sometimes questionable behaviour of those around them, including yourself?

I'm not sure whether I find raising babies or raising children more challenging. I recently mused to my partner that after a day with our toddler, I find myself reaching for a bottle of wine, while after a day with the 8 year old, I find myself reaching for a therapist. I can't imagine what raising a teenager will be like; presumably, it will involve a lot of drunk therapy sessions. But hopefully I'll still have it in me to keep evolving.

25/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

Raisin toast for lunch with Dad. What could be better?

24/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

Spots on spots at the local bus stop. Reminded me of one of my favourite artists.

23/52

 A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

No caption this week; those eyes speak for themselves.

22/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

The cat obsession continues. It's a shame that most cats don't seem to be as keen for cuddles as she is...

21/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week in 2014.

As fascinated with the mechanics of bicycle wheels as her dad is. I love how much expression she conveys with just those two little hands.

20/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

One of the toughest weeks of the year so far. Sickness upon sickness, looming deadlines, missed work, no pay. I needed a little light to shine through. Walking in today to see this, asleep with a pillow pulled on top of her instead of the doona... There it was.

19/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

There are so many things I took for granted before having kids. My mum was one of them. My humble family home in the 'burbs was another. It's funny how motherhood connects you in such a profound way to your own childhood and upbringing. Today I spent Mother's Day back home with four generations of family, all of whom have taught me everything I know about being a mum - the joys, struggles, and everything in between. Things come full circle and it makes you see things in a whole new light. 

18/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

These have been her favourite "toys" since Easter and have also solved the problem of what to do with all our excess chocolate...

17/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

Little friends and toy trains in the dappled afternoon light.

16/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

Tiny toes sinking into sand at the beach.

15/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

Sweet little fawn in the back seat.

14/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week*, in 2014.

Spots, stripes, green. Even the weeds look beautiful in their emerald vibrancy. We can't help but be happy.

*Except for last week - M and I were both dreadfully sick for an unusually long time, and we were having a miserable time of it. Suffice to say, both the inclination to post and any photos fit for posting were very much absent.

But this week, while still not fully recovered, we are feeling significantly better. We have managed to leave the house for some of the first times in weeks, and boy does it feel good. Recent rain has caused everything to bloom; the air is slightly cooler and there seems to be new life in our surroundings, and indeed in ourselves. 

12/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

A girl and her pig.

11/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

No trip to the park is complete without playing with the bubbler - little drinking, lots of splashing.

10/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

"Hiiiiiii........ hiiiiiiiiii............. Bye". Standard phone convo.

9/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

She sure knows how to rock a cheongsam.

8/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

An accidental shot of a fleeting sideways glance that somehow perfectly captures her cheeky, inquisitive personality.

7/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

That look when she is just on the brink of sleep...

This week's portrait, unlike the ones so far, was difficult to select as there were barely any to choose from (and none from my SLR). Certainly, this has been reflective of my mood this week - uninspired, languid, unfocused. Perhaps it was the ordinary weather, perhaps not. I have never felt that it was so keenly important to bring my very best, in spite of whatever mood I may be in, to any domain in my life than parenting. On days when I simply lack the capacity to be creative, energetic, inspiring, I feel terrible pangs of guilt as I see how this manifests - more whinging and tantrums, more frustration, more mess and chaos throughout the house, that awful feeling of just wanting the day to be over so not making any effort to make the best of the present... It can be really emotionally draining.

But this week, the weather forecast is looking up. I've caught up on sleep this weekend and feeling a renewed energy and enthusiasm. Tomorrow is a new day, and a new week.

I ended up choosing this photo because it wasn't one that I remembered taking until I saw it, but it captures such a beautiful and fleeting moment in time that serves to remind me, this too shall pass... 

6/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

First trip to the zoo. Her favourite thing was not an animal; it was the waterfall in the snow leopard enclosure. Always marching to the beat of her own drum.

RETURNING HOME

I haven't been back home - to my childhood home, the house my parents still live in - for the best part of a year, which is strange considering it's only about fifteen minutes' drive away from where I live. Today I went back to retrieve some stuff, and in the process got caught up in a giant wave of nostalgia. Browsing through the hundreds of CDs in my room, there were more than a handful that I literally had no idea I even owned, let alone have ever listened to; funny that at a time in my life when I had pretty much zero responsibility and all the free time in the world, I couldn't even make the time to listen to all my music.

But what to do with all the sentimental, but otherwise obsolete, relics of the past? I could never bring myself to throw all those hundreds of CDs away (despite having copied all the files to my computer long ago). Not to mention the compilations made by friends, the old handwritten letters (remember when you used to do that?), the various knick-knacks, diaries, sketch books. I have always been sentimental but have become even more so since becoming a parent - entering that phase seemed to push my childhood and adolescence even further into the past, and those souvenirs of a more carefree, hedonistic time in my life have become affirmations of my identity at times when it seems to be lost to the throes of motherhood.

On the other hand, there is something quietly heartwarming about revisiting your childhood in the context of having a child yourself. Toys, baby clothes and picture books all get new life breathed into them, and through the joy that they bring your child, you also experience a renewed passion for all those once-beloved childhood relics. It's nice to see things come full circle in a very tangible way.

And just to illustrate that point, here are some photos of me and Miss S, at around a similar age, both taken at Christmas with our identical favourite toy.

LIFE WILL GET YOU DOWN, IF YOU LET IT

Let me say it again: life will get you down, if you let it. Maybe not if you're an eternal optimist but truth be told, I don't really know people like that. And I don't see any shame in starting to feel your resolve weaken when you're out of work, gaining no tangible or personal sense of accomplishment from your studies, having to deal with petty office politics, wanting more time with your kid then struggling to be patient and engaging when you do, feeling generally tired, unmotivated, listless... only to receive a bill for $3000 during a particularly broke period.

As someone who has a susceptibility to depression, many milder stresses have caused me much greater grief in the past, but these days I am really trying to direct my focus away from the difficulties I'm experiencing (or think I'm experiencing) and more importantly, trying not to inflate and magnify these difficulties into overwhelming and unmanageable proportions. I don't mean for this to turn into some condescending Zen self-help dogma. Life can be really fucking difficult at times.

But I am finding more and more this desire from within to swim against the current, and not just let myself get washed away like I so often used to do.

5/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

They play together more and more these days. The dynamic swings between the big sister - more knowledgeable, more worldly - taking charge and leading the game play, and the little sister - smaller, but the more bossy, opinionated and outgoing of the two - dictating precisely how things should be done. It's a complex, beautiful relationship that seems to deepen each day.

4/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

In anticipation of tickles.

SEEING THE FOREST FOR THE TREES

I have recently revived this blog (albeit in the most basic of ways), and I happened to read through an old draft post that for whatever reason never saw the light of day. It was a timely discovery, coinciding with the very recent and very unexpected realisation that I had postnatal depression in the early months of motherhood.

I had written the skeleton of a post while at a cafe alone with the babe, in the midst of severe sleep deprivation and stormy times on the domestic front. Reflective of my mood at the time, it was rather negative, and reading back I can hear a lost, helpless voice underlying the cynicism, crying out for some help or, more crucially, some understanding. A feeling, I am almost entirely certain, that all mothers experience at one point or another - whether due to an extended bout of little sleep, illness, low mood, or any other affliction that sneaks in with the predominantly joyful exploits of motherhood.

Doctors, nurses, early childhood workers all eagerly thrust copies of the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale toward me at every visit, after I answered in response to, "Is the sleep deprivation you're experiencing interfering with your sense of wellbeing?" a confused, "Well, yes, of course...". I was feeling down - of that I am certain - but I question whether it is possible not to feel down after over a month of surviving on two-hourly snatches of sleep.

I had written this rant on my phone, and when I went to transcribe its contents onto here, I realised that magically, mysteriously and almost imperceptibly, the air had cleared, my mood had lifted, and I no longer felt lost.

It makes me sad to think of how the difficulties I went through warped my perception of things. No one likes to talk of such dark times, but there were times when I longed for my old life, where I thought I regretted decisions I had made, where I looked upon my sweet babe as a terrible burden who I just wanted to get away from for a bit of peace and sanity. It is hard for me to write this and make these thoughts concrete. But I am not ashamed of them.

What is strange about reading this old post is my insistence that this was not actually postnatal depression. And I can tell you honestly that it was not because I was in denial, but because I truly believed this was a normal side effect of sleep deprivation. The irony is that, as someone with a background in psychology, I could not see that what I was going through was clinically significant. Sometimes you really can't see the forest for the trees.

It was only one morning about a week ago, when I was watching a morning chat show, that a woman spoke about her experiences with postnatal depression (and more specifically, the anxiety component of it) that I realised not everyone went through it and that the symptoms she spoke of were an exact reflection of my early motherhood experiences. It is almost laughable to consider how shocked I was at this realisation, a year on from the actual event, and how this realisation had eluded me for so long.

While feeling like a bit of an idiot for not seeing it sooner, I do also understand why. How the hell is one supposed to know what is normal or not normal? So often we only see these things clearly after the event, when it's too late or not really an issue anymore. And is there anything to be gained from this realisation, so far down the track after everything has resolved and life has moved on? I think all along, a small part of me has been looking for a way to absolve myself for something I know I have no logical reason to feel guilty about.

3/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

My little yogi.

2/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

Marvelling at her mastery of the spoon.

THE 52 PROJECT 2014 - 1/52

A portrait of my daughter, once a week, every week, in 2014.

A photo in which I can see the baby still there in my toddler - a rare and precious event.