Number 3

Yesterday a friend emailed "So, the question everyone wants to ask and doesn't want to - or does - are you guys planning another?"

Just in case you are all sitting there politely not asking, this was my answer:

"Right now I feel totally unready. I feel like I’m only just getting back to some semblance of me. From Jan 09 – July 10 I was pregnant (with a brief 1.5 month break mid way – ha! “break” – hardly) and I’m still breastfeeding and only just getting my figure back and and and. Yes, I sounds like a selfish little brat. I do get that. But I think that I will know when I’m ready. I've seen people who have a third and don't even stop to take a breath. Almost like the novelty has worn off and life must just continue. It makes me want to cry every time I see that. When my number 3 comes along I want to savour that little life. Treasure and cherish his or her first months and years on this earth. You know? That been said, I have no doubt that if it had to happen unplanned my heart would open right up and love that little baby immediately. But the thought of another pregnancy.... wow. scary, tiring thought."

Later that afternoon, TheBand, Tandi and I went into a shop. A little girl (presumably the owner's daughter) was sitting drawing at a table. She was very taken by Tandi (who turned on the charm of course).

"Awww she's so cute!"
"thanks"
(pauses. then wistfully) "I always wanted a little brother or sister".
"do you have older brothers or sisters?"
"No. I'm an Only Child. I would have had two younger brothers but they both died in my mom's tummy."

Sucker punch to the gut for so many reasons, and yet also my heart lifted. There was just so much that hit me in that moment.

Had anyone ever said such a thing to me before Sophia? And now it seems I hear such things all to often.

The loneliness of this little girl. Her eagerness for some interaction. Her unussualy polite manner. Her frank way of saying it as it is. The way she labelled herself as "an only child". I could almost see a giant stamp coming down and branding her as such. What a sad and lonely label for this little girl. The very first way she introduced herself. The way she defines herself. Heartbreaking.

But in the same moment, to perfect strangers she honestly and openly acknowledged her little brothers. I loved that. I would want Tandi to answer that same way. Childlike, matter-of-fact honesty. Not seeking sympathy or attention. Not fearing awkwardness. Just telling it how it is.

I told her that Tandi's older sister had died in my tummy too.

As we left, I saw a drawing on the table.
"Did you do this?"
Big proud smile and nod.
"It's really brilliant! WOW! Well done" (and I wasn't being nice. It WAS brilliant).
But as I put it down, I saw in the top corner of the picture in her childlike scrawl:
"TO: me". She spent her afternoon sitting in a shop alone besides the shop steward drawing herself pictures.

And as scared as it makes me, and as content as I am (all things considered) in my life at present, I want a little brother or sister for Tandi.

Motherly advice on being sick

Dear Tandi
First off I must apologize for my previous post in which I very stupidly mentioned that you'd never been sick. Everybody knows that you NEVER state such facts out loud (or the virtual equivalent thereof). Naturally but a day after that bold declaration you became a little snortleby. Filled with sniffs and snorts. Sorry baba.

But since we're here anyway, I though it would be a good chance to impart some motherly wisdom. And so, a few hints, if you will, on being sick:

• sick people sleep a lot. In fact that is really the major perk of it. You get to just chill
• sick people do not wake up continuously like it's a big game
•sick people, when allowed into their parents bed, lie very very still and stay calm and quiet
• sick people do not use objects like water bottles and cellphones to thump their sick and headachy moms on the head
• sick people sometimes cuddle a fluffy toy for a bit of comfort
• sick people do not motor about the house stalking TheGuv and clutching tufts of his fur out

Love you
Mom xxx

1st quarter of 2011

The first quarter of the year is always crazy busy for me. Earth Hour is like the equivalent for me of an accountant's year end multiplied by ten. Now that it's over I can breathe a little again and update you on what's been happening in my life.

Tandia at 8.5 months
This little girl is busy busy busy. Crawling (and speedily at that). Perfecting Xhosa clicks (that even her dad can't do). Standing at every opportunity and itching to walk. Loving her food. Two teeth in, another on the way if last night was anything to go by. She's a socialite who loves being out and about. She sleeps well - from 7 - 6 so no complaints there. She is a delicate thing - probably weighing about 8kg now which is the same as some 4 month olds I know, but she is strong. Very strong. And she hasn't been sick yet. She ADORES The Guv and he is surprisingly patient as she stalks him only to pounce and clutch at his fur. In short she is a delight and I find myself reflecting on how much I love her umpteen times a day.

Church stuff
A while back our church became what's known as a multi-site. It means that we have several meetings happening on a sunday in different locations. In our case, Stellenbosch and Somerset West. The Sunday evening meeting was called Urban Liberty and is a fresh take on doing church. The fundamentals are the same: the gospel is preached and God is glorified, but the style is younger, more chilled. It's aimed at 20s - 30s. The room is set out in a cafe style - some couches, tables and chairs. very sociable and interactive and with great cappucinos. As of January, TheBand and I now lead the Urban Liberty site or congregation. I'm a little surprised to say that I actually love it. It's busy though - we do a lot of pre-marital counselling with couples (which I love) and I meet with a lot of the girls one on one. Tuesday mornings I meet up with a group of the girls for an early walk on the beach to catch up. The Band is also preaching a lot. Anyway, I'd love to do a bit of research soon about people's perceptions of church - mostly the perceptions of non-christians so watch this space for that.

Work
You probably know that since Sophia died I've felt a bit itchy in my job. I've felt like I needed a change. I've felt a little trapped even. I've come up with many business ideas in the interim but none have really gone anywhere until...
Last month BestFriendJosh (who also worked with me for a while) announces that he knows what I Must Do. I must do PR/comms for the small NGOs who can not afford a big agency and don't have internal capacity. I thought it sounded good and forgot about it. But the next morning there was an email from him telling me he'd thought about it all night and it was perfect for me. The email had links to various articles and finally to an advert where a small NGO was looking for just that kind of support. I contacted the NGO in question and voila! First client secured. About a week later I received an email from another NGO asking if I could recommend a comms consultant. ("Why yes, yes I believe that I can). Boom! Client number two. Another organisation (who I spoke to wrt something involving Client No 1) have also asked me to pitch to them (....client No 3 pending). And there you have it. No marketing. Barely any effort and consultancy is happening. My current work contract ends mid-April. I have warned my boss that I am not interested in renewing as is, but with Earth Hour looming we haven't been able to discuss things properly. Hopefully this week. Ideally they would be another client.

I'm really REALLY excited about it. Although it's been hectic managing my current work load while trying to set up shop for going forward. But if all goes well the potential is there for me to work half days and earn double what I'm earning now while doing what I enjoy and working for causes that matter AND working from home with baba nearby.

Ok, well that's my update. Hopefully I will now be a better blogger!! Who knows, maybe one day I'll even finish that meme!

White eyes and sparrows

When I was pregnant with Sophia I was swimming one day when I noticed our dog carrying something in her mouth. Upon closer inspection I realized it was a little bird. This dog (zebu) is very gentle and hadn't harmed it. She had found it on the ground where it must have fallen from its nest and picked it up. I took the little thing from her, very carefully, it was the tiniest, must gorgeous little bird: a baby cape white eye. Tiny and fragile and perfect. It lay on my open palm and breathed it's final breaths.

It was then that I noticed the commotion going on around me. Two adult white eyes were flitting around in a panic, flying up and down and in circles seemingly searching for their baby.

It broke me.

They were searching in vain. Their child was dead and they didn't even know it. Deep down they must have feared it but they still hoped enough to search. I didn't know what to do. I wanted them to be put out of their misery. I carefully placed the baby up close to where I thought their nest was. They didn't seem to notice. Perhaps they didn't want to notice. Perhaps they wanted to cling on to their last bit of futile hope.

I returned to the pool and sobbed. The situation was too sad. This perfectly formed, delicate, beautiful baby dead too soon. The agony of it's parents hoping against any logic that it might not be so. I stood in the pool hiding my face and sobbing for that little bird and for it's parents.

In Matthew Jesus talks of sparrows being a very cheap commodity and yet even sparrows, if they fall to the ground God knows. The implication is that if He cares for sparrows, how much more does He care for people, for Sophia, for me. If it hurt me so much to see this tragedy, how much more must it have hurt God to see ours.

18 months on

Can you believe it's a year and a half since That Day?

I feel a little like the smart girl who plays dumb in class to fit in.
I hide a lot of me and of her to fit in.

On Sunday there was a guy visiting our church. He played a guitar piece. Beautiful. After the service I complimented him on it. He complimented me on Tandi and asked if she was my first. I briefly explained. He wasn't uncomfortable at all. He was sad for me. His wife had miscarried and he knew something of the hurt.

As I was leaving he caught me and gave me his CD. Guitar songs he had recorded after his young teenage son was diagnosed with leukaemia. Songs strummed in hospital halls. Fill of pain and hope and beauty and sorrow.

It is wonderful.

Your turn

5 years ago today I woke up early and walked down to the beach with my bridesmaids. It was The Perfect Day at Nahoon in East London and we had an awesome swim. One of those rare days when the sea is the perfect temperature, the waves aren't lame and are just a little bit scary and you feel like you could stay in forever.

Alas I was dragged out the water because there was much to be done! Hair, make up, The Wedding Dress! what a stunning day all in all. And 5 years married to my best friend have been beautiful. I really can't imagine me minus him. We have grown together, changed together, loved together. We are in sync. We have our own little world. Our own little sense of humour. Our own little random non-sensical songs which we make up and sing (mostly off-key) and they provide the soundtrack to our life.

Hmmm this is turned out mushier than I intended :/

Your turn - any questions about me and The Band (and because of all the confusion last time I'd just like to point out that by Band I mean husBand).

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand GO!

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

It never fails to leave me flabbergasted. How very short our memories are.
People who saw me weekly or even daily throughout my first pregnancy, who even bought gifts for Sophia and attended her baby shower, who saw us living through the devastating aftermath. These very same people will now jovially ask "So? When's it time for number two?"

I stare at them blankly. "You mean number three".

Averted gaze. Awkward moment. "Yes... er... three. Sorry."

I know they mean no harm. Of course I know that. But it's a little punch to the gut each time. A tattoo wasn't enough. Perhaps I should have had it emblazoned on my forehead instead.

The resounding ache of we sorry bunch of parents who've lost babies is that their personhood - and sometimes even their very existence - is not acknowledged. Sophia was here. She lived. She mattered. She's a soul, same as you and I. She's in Heaven. She is not merely an IUD - as the medical charts reduce her to. She was not simply a pregnancy. She was (is) a PERSON, with a character, with preferences. Do you know that babies even DREAM in the womb? As fully formed and decisive and complete as Tandi was at birth, Sophia was a week moreso when she died (37 weeks vs 36 weeks).

I have grace for people. Really I do. I don't set about trying to make people feel awkward. But once in a while it would be great if they honoured my girl. If they acknowledged her. If they asked.

Out with friends the other night - their son was born just days after Sophia - and they asked about number 3. Just like that. So naturally. They asked whether we prefer to speak about Sophia or not. They asked whether Tandi looks like her. They asked if it is hard for me to see their son. As they asked these things my throat closed and tears streamed down my cheeks in the middle of the restaurant and I ached. But I was filled with such gratitude and relief. The dam that fills and fills and fills way past capacity is allowed some respite in these moments as the sluice gate is opened a bit.

If you ask, you are not making me cry, you are allowing me the relief of crying.

Tandi pics!

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Well I can only hang my head in bad-blogger-shame whilst muttering about IT issues, break ins and so on out the corner of the mouth.

Sneakily though, I am preventing all snarky comments with this little blog post, because this post inspires some sucking up in the best of us :)

This is the Pay It Forward meme. As featured on Angel's blog. With this blog post, I promise to send something I have made with my own two hands to the first 5 people who leave a comment on this post saying they would like to take part.

Here’s how it works.

1. The blogger posting the offer must send something to the 5 commenters before the end of 2011.
2. What is sent to the commenters must be handmade by the blogger.
3. The commenters who ask to take part must post the same offer on their blogs, and then send something handmade to the five commenters who ask to take part, and so on and so on.
4. Please link back to this post and Angel's original post as well.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand GO!

Day 18* → Your views on gay marriage.

*of this

Oh and how badly is this one going to go down.
*ducks and braces herself for virtual onslaught of fruit in various stages of decay being thrown at her head*

I've been dreading this topic because my views are not PC and the internet is notorious for vicious anonymous attacks. But then, I suppose it is good to be challenged on such things and for me to have to actual explore what I believe.

I think that this topic is a bit narrow. For the most part I don't think gay marriage is what the issue is about.

It's kind of like everyone tuning the pope about having an issue with contraception. They moan because he is against condoms, they say that his stance contributes to the spread of Aids. What they fail to mention is that the pope also is against sex outside of marriage, promiscuity, etc. If they take his full message then the spread of Aids shouldn't be a result of his stance. (please let's not start a catholic bashing session here, I am not against contraception myself and there's much that I don't necessarily agree with in catholicism, but that is besides the point. the point here is about logic or the lack thereof).

Wow... this really is such a loaded topic. I'm a bit unsure where to start.

My hesitation is this:
In short, I'm not for gay marriage and so I suppose I am against it. But if I left it there, with no context, I'd be grossly misrepresenting myself and my faith.

I believe that homosexuality is sin. I also believe that premarital sex is sin. I believe that lying is sin, that slander is sin, that self righteousness is sin. Obviously I sin too, although I try not to.

The bible doesn't talk much about degrees of sin, but to me one of the most repugnant of all sins is hypocrisy.

I am not going to judge a gay couple, or a couple who are sleeping together outside of marriage, unless they call themselves christian. Does that sound a bit weird? I'll try explain.

Synonymous with being a christian is striving toward a biblical standard for your life, Christ-likeness. It is both an awesome privilege to be able to call yourself christian and a weighty responsibility.

In the bible there is an example of a woman caught in adultery. Jesus' famous response to the crowd who are preparing to stone her is "he who is without sin should cast the first stone". The crowd sheepishly disperses. THEN He goes to the women and tells her to leave her life of sin.

The point is that Jesus is against us judging others, but he is ALSO against her life of sin and tells her to leave it.

The biblical exception is among believers. Believers are expected to keep one another accountable.

“If your brother or sister sins, go and point out their fault, just between the
two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over. But if they will not
listen, take one or two others along, so that ‘every matter may be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses.’If they still refuse to listen, tell it to the church; and if they refuse to listen even to the church, treat them as you would a pagan or a tax collector." (Matthew 18:15 - 18)

I wonder if that sounds controlling, scary, overbearing to you? Actually I see this as one of the gifts of being part of a church community. I couldn't handle being surrounded by a bunch of "Yes-men". Instead I'm surrounded by people who hold me true to my beliefs and values, rather than to my emotions. Emotions are short term and can be fickle - there could, for example, be a colleague of mine who makes me feel special. Perhaps at this time I am feeling particularly down on myself and TheBand is busy, stressed, overlooking me, or whatever. And so I respond to the colleague because he fulfils an emotional need at that time and voila. Disaster.

In such a case I have no doubt that I have plenty of friends who would call me on it before anything had happened and hopefully spare me from a disastrous situation and the same goes for The Band. He is surrounded by people who value us and our marriage and hold us to our vows.

If a christian were to tell me she was gay I'd have to discourage her from pursuing that lifestyle in the same way that I can't agree with my christian friends living with their boyfriends. The reason is that it is hypocritical. You choose to strive toward a biblical standard for your life or you don't. You are christian or you aren't. We all get to choose.

If a non-christian is gay or lives with their boyfriend I have no place to judge because they are not purporting to live by any other standard.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH I hope I've explained this right.

Day 17* → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.

*Of this

(thanks to Lotus07 for the kick up the butt to get back to this meme! :)

After Sophia's death I was floundering. Floundering in my faith. Floundering to find peace. Floundering with where she is now. Floundering with whether I'd ever see her again.

Two books opened my eyes and brought me much peace.

The first is I'll hold you in heaven by Dr Jack Hayford.

It's a little book and a quick read and basically looks at the theology of baby loss and baby salvation. I was astounded at how much the bible actually has to say in this regard. For one thing it explains from a very practical perspective why a child is a 'person' with a soul from the moment of conception. So many who have really early miscarriages - like as in they test positive this morning and bleed that evening - don't understand why it still shakes them so profoundly. I believe that this is the reason. Whether your baby was a few days along or many months along that baby is a person with an eternal life before them. In heaven they'll be whole. In both cases PARENTS have lost children.

It's a beautiful book and the first thing I recommend to anyone who has lost a child - whether through stillbirth, miscarriage, infant death or abortion.

The other book is called Heaven by Randy Alcorn. It's fascinating. I've never been one of those who's wished the second coming would hurry up. Before reading this book I always thought Heaven sounded... well... boring. I don't want to sing all day, and what's with the no marriage deal? What about The Guv and Phoebe? Where do they go? And my family? Will I know them there? Will I be bored? Most importantly, how does my daughter now spend her days?

Alcorn paints a picture of Heaven which is so refreshing and appealing. His point is that we were created with Heaven in mind. We are eternal beings. Heaven is home for us. Therefore it's not going to be some dull and boring place, it'll be inspiring and invigorating and awesome. It will be like the world we're in, minus all the horros, illness, sadness, tragedy, sin and so on. He believes that in Heaven we'll have physical bodies again, that we will recognise and live with our families.
Anyway, long story short, it is the first time that I've been excited about the physical place (yep!) of Heaven.

Dear Mrs Squirrel

You know those annoying moms? The ones who are super over protective of their kids? The ones who think their kid can do no wrong? Those deluded women who make us grit out teeth in embarassed annoyance? Ya... Let me never judge them again. I'm not quite as bad as that, but what I DO know is that feeling. That physical reaction that happens when someone insults or threatens your child in any way.

A few things have happened since Tandi's arrival. One was someone kissing her while they had a fever blister (what the hell were they thinking... you know how dangerous that can be for a baby?), one was someone saying she wasn't beautiful and one was someone insulting her outfit rather nastily (seriously! Why??).

In all cases these were people who actually love my child. They are not bad people and given some distance and some deep breaths I can admit that they weren't meaning to be as thoughtless, nasty or silly as I felt that they were.

My point is not about what happened. My point is about my reaction to what happened.

To the baffled men out there and to the future moms I thought you should know that this is why I have newfound sympathy or even (shudder) empathy for those annoying moms we all secretly roll our eyes at. When any of these things (or similar situations) occur this is what happens to a mom:

Your throat tightens in a nauseating, sickening kind of way. Your pulse quickens. Adrenaline pumps through your body. You fight to maintain a socially acceptable outward demeanor but inside you are throttling the person Ally MacBeal style. You feel as if the entire world is an evil place and as if you will never be able to forgive that person. If you had hackles (maybe some really hairy women do??) they would rise. Like a cat who senses something dodgy or dangerous nearby, your hair would rise all down your spine (again, that is if you have a hairy spine!) It is a PHYSICAL thing. Emotion-wise you want to wrap your child in your arms, covering them and protecting them from that person. You want to get your child safely away from the situation. And you very very much want to cry.

Now perhaps I should have started this post by assuring you that in real life I am a very calm, even-tempered, rational pacifist. I really and truly am. This is something which is pure instinct and actually I don't think it has too much to do with me having lost a daughter. I think it would be this way regardless.









And so, Mrs Squirrel, I wanted to let you know that when I saw these pics of you today there was no judgement on my part. Nope. I thought: You go girl!

We're not so different, you and I.

Day 16* → Someone or something you definitely could live without.

* of this

There's plenty that I can and do live without:
alcohol and caffeine (while pregnant), meat (since I was 14), a TV (since we've been married) but the thing I really want to live without today is our builder. Hiss, crackle, tense shoulders, sigh.

The Band is in Madagascar til next week (sob) so I have to manage the builders who are putting up a wall at The New House. By ten this morning I had been to the train station twice, to Benbel hardware store twice, to the brickplace once and to The New House FOUR times.

Disorganised people I can handle. I have patience for that sort of thing. What I can't handle is being spoken to like I'm an idiot, presumably on the basis that I'm a woman.

On my THIRD trip to the house this morning (after waiting for one builder who was 40min late without warning, apology or explanation, making me miss gym and leave my screaming hungry child ....insert a longer, more detailed vent here) I was told "we need spoons"

"Spoons? Why do you need spoons?"

Confer in Xhosa. Annoyed and amused by this silly little woman.
"Spoons! Don't you know what's spoons?"

"Spoons? Spoons?? OOOOH. Spons. A sponge?"

Confer in Xhosa. Annoyed and amused by this silly little woman.
"Yes!" (annoyed, exasperated).

(sigh) "Fine, what sort of sponge? Seeing as you 3 are simply lying on the grass does someone want to come with and run in?"

Confer in Xhosa. Annoyed and amused by this silly little woman.
"A spoons. Just buy a spoons".

Tight smile/grimace and off I went to buy the flippen sponge.

Dear Builder,
I am not your PA, your secretary, your chaffeur or your personal slave. GET ORGANISED. I, believe it or not, have my own job. You're employed by ME!

(rant. rave. breathe in and out. address tension headache)

Day 15* → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.

* what?

This one is easy peezy lemon squeezy because I'm currently trying to live without it:

My phone.

I have been the very happy owner (friend? adorer?) of an iPhone for about a year. So very very much more than a phone. It is (was - sob - more on that later):
* my camera and my photo album - filled with pics of my pregnancy and captured memories of Tandia
* my iPod
* my 24/7 access to social networking - Facebook & Twitter in particular
* my record of what side and when last I breastfed
* my gaming portal for those boring times of breastfeeding somewhere in a room while everyone else socialises
* my chat interface (via WhatsApp) with plenty of friends and family
* my GPS
* my exercise training programme
* my recipe book
and so very much more.

And then alas. On Wednesday, getting back from gym holding gym towel and phone, a dog jumped up to yank my towel from my hand and the phone went flying and smashed on the paving.

Kerbloooosh.

But it looked fine. No cracks or anything. Alas, there was some internal bleeding - the LCD screen to be precise. Overs cadovers.

Wednesday was a long and torturous day - I kept the phone on as I could still receive calls, but the message tone kept beeping and I couldn't read the messages and it gave me a burning feeling in my stomach. (I later discovered that much of that was TheBand sending me random SMSes and WhatsApps to mess with me - ah yes, this is love).

Thursday I was loaned a Nokia. Never have I hated a phone quite so much.
The boredom. The annoying pain of trying to compose an SMS. The complete lack of logic - it took TheBand and I an age to find the photos on the phone and even then we had to ask someone how. This phone leaves us feeling like our parents in the face of baffling, overwhelming technology, except that a Nokia can scarcely be called technology. Haha I really am such a snob!! (and all the Nokia owners hissed and resolved to visit this blog never again).

And then.
AND THEN TODAY I WON A BLACKBERRY.
I know!!

If you are even remotely interested in phones or gadgets of any sort (well not ANY sort) check out www.girlguides.co.za - such an accessible awesome site. Besides, they're giving me a phone!!!

too stoked.

Day 14* → A hero that has let you down. (letter)

By now I'm sure this needs no explanation, but here it is for the slow learners :)

Dear Body

I thought I would never forgive you. I don't know if I have or if I'm in the process of it or what.

You let me down and I hate you for it. You didn't do what you were designed to do. Over and over people and the books (in their singsong know-it-all tone) say "The safest place for a baby is in their mom's womb". Bullshit. I did all the right things. I cut out caffeine and alcohol and I did moderate exercise with a trainer specialising in pregnancy exercise. I ate healthily and I took my vitamins.

Sophia was perfect. She was about a week ahead of schedule throughout. Everything looked good all the way through. I appeared to "glow" in pregnancy. And then.

And then what? What happened, Body, why the fuck did you decide to stop doing your job? What was it in you that suddenly, randomly decided to disconnect placenta from womb? Life supply from baby cradle? How useless is a body that can't provide for it's most important, most treasured occupant?

I remember so clearly showering the day after Sophia was born. I stood there, leaned against the wall. Awkward. Drip in my arm. Spent. Crying. Hating you. Looking down at your swollen breasts, your disgusting floppy, marked, empty stomach. Repelled. Failure. Standing in a pool of blood.

And yet.

And yet even as I type this Tandia is "plugged in". She is feeding from you, from me, as I write.

In some ways you redeemed yourself by bringing her safely into this world. You provide for her in a way that no one else can. You have kept her safe and healthy and you continue to do so. You are even worse for wear after this pregnancy. Stomach even softer. Angry marks on my sides - as if I've had an unfortunate encounter with The Guv. But this time all these marks of motherhood leave me a little in awe of you, because they are no longer only signs of death and failure, but of life.

You let me down and, so very very much worse, you let her down. I'm sorry that I haven't forgiven you yet. I'm not sure when I'll get there. But I am also exceptionally grateful to you. Unforgiveness and gratitude run parallel.

And so, Body, thank you for the gift of protection and provision for Tandi, but oh how I wish you would have also given it to Sophia.

Me.

***
Dear readers:
As you'll know, I don't swear. I think it's coarse and unbecoming of a lady and it's not who I am (yes, yes, I've been called prissy more than once!) but this is how I felt writing this. These are the words I honestly spoke in my head and so, given the choice between tarnishing my blog with vulgar words or with dishonesty/misrepresentation, I chose the former.

Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)

*I'm busy with a 30 day meme, read all about it

Nah. I'm going to edit this topic bearing in mind that later on in this meme I am compiling a playlist for someone, so I won't double up on those songs.
The new topic is songs which have spoken to particular times in your life.

Well I'm glad you asked :)

1. Sistas are doing it for themselves - no idea - someone Motownish I'm guessing.
Yep! Through some miscommunication, I unintentionally ended up hitchhiking ALONE through Botswana, cell phone less and not entirely sure of where I was meant to be going. I took a few lucky guesses, survived on one little box of eat sum mors, and loved every second of it. In my head I was singing that line on repeat. What an awesomely exhilarating adventure.

2. This year's love - David Gray
This song played in my head throughout my second pregnancy.
"This year's love had better last. Heaven knows it's high time. I've been waiting on my own too long."
It's a slow, beautiful, gentle song. But I almost sang it (to myself) half angrily, half threateningly. I guess God may have wanted to ask "This year's love had better last Or What?" but God is exceedingly tolerant of me :)

3. Music and Lights - some SA band
"Sipping on a cold fanta piney, this is how I make my living: ga rhymy!"
This song was somehow big on SA radio a couple of years back. The Band and I thought it was hysterical and sang along to the parts we knew. It's got happy road trip memories for me.

4. Crowded House - the whole of the Recurring Dream album
LOVE IT.
On our awesome Africa Trip the 4 of us played this CD day in and day out. Good times :)

Day 12* → Something you never get compliments on.

*I'm busy with a 30 day meme. Read more here.

My green fingers.

I kill plants. I really do. I don't mean to. I'm a bunny hugger, after all. But they are forever dying on my watch. It's pretty flippen depressing.
Exhibit A:


Exhibit B:


Exhibit C:


Now fear not. It's not ALL bad news. My most recent 3 plant additions are alive and thriving (AGAINST ALL ODDS)

This orchard was given to me by my MIL when she came to the Cape to meet Tandia. In my head I screamed "noooooooo! Why would you do that to me?? Why would you give me a finicky, pricey plant to care for. Is a newborn child not enough responsibility???" I had visions of me having to go out and purchase a new replacement orchard every time they came to visit. But look. It's thriving. Buds and everything. No idea how. Some snarky person mentioned that orchards thrive under stressed conditions. hmph.



The succulent. You can't go wrong with a succulent. They need basically no attention. This sits in Tandia's room and survives all on its own with pretty much no help from me (the way a plant SHOULD be).


Our newest plant is a tree. A congratulatory gift from our estate agent on the purchase of our new house. Gorgeous and in mint condition as you can see, but then it's only been subjected to my "care" (and I use the term generously!) for about 2 weeks now, so ya. Although a tree in a pot is really an odd concept if you think about it, at least I can give it a hug whenever I forget to take packets with to the shop.

Day 11* → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.

*I'm doing a 30 day meme (ok it's taking a bit longer than that!!) read about it here.

My writing. Ok, it's embarassing to say that here, on my writing portal, but there you have it. It's probably the one thing I receive the most compliments on. That and my entertaining facbook statuses but that's just because none of my facebook friends are on Twitter and so they don't realise that that's where I get them from :)

Anyway, I mentioned in a recent post that I've always wanted to write a book. Cliche, yes, but true. It's one of those things that goes on the life list for One Day When I Have Time. Has anyone ever ever reached That Day?

Didn't think so.

And so, bravely, foolishly, excitingly, yesterday I signed up for NaNoWriMo.

I have pledged to write a novel in a month. Crazy, no?
I am really excited about it though. Truth be told, I need a bit of pressure to get my A into G and so voila. NaNoWriMo is just the thing I need.

Hold me to it, hassle me, ask me for updates, k?

PS In case you were worried that November would be a boring month for me, in addition to writing a 50 000 word novel, I'm going to be Bandless for 10 days while he's in Madagascar. Also, I will be organising a baby shower for a friend AND starting up a small charity. True story! But that's for another post :)

Day 10* → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.

I'm busy with a 30 day meme. Read about it here.

I have no really poisonous people in my life. The most poisonous person in my life is me. Not at all the time, not even often, but sometimes I can be my own worst enemy. So the person I wish I didn't know is lazy caz, insecure caz, envious caz, bitter caz, scared caz, mean caz.

That all being said, I don't want to construct something simply because it's the prescribed title of a post and so, in the efforts of honesty (a beeeg value of this blog) let me just say that for the most part I like who I am - particularly post-Sophia me. There's room for improvement, always, and I'm working on it, most of the time.

Cop out? Hope not. Just honest.

Day 09* → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.

I'm busy with a 30 day meme. Read more about it here.

When I was a young'un, my oldest brother (12 years my senior) had a serious girlfriend named Jacqui. She was ten years older than me and, considering I am the 4th child with 3 older brothers, she was my hero.

I must have only been about 7 when she came into our lives. She soon became part of the family. There all the time. Early on in their relationship, her younger sister committed suicide. She wasn't just Greg's girlfriend, she was our older sister. I remember when, as a little one, I'd be upset and run to my room in tears, it was Jacqui who would come and console me. I remember how excited she was when I started my period - to her it was an event worthy of flowers and a facial. When I had sleepovers as a 12 or 13 year old all my friends would be so excited for Jacqui to give us manicures and pedicures. She was a profound part of my life for 10 years. 10 hugely formative years. She was there through puberty. She was there through my mom's cancer and chemo. She was there through my childhood. Even today I can see certain parts of my handwriting mimic her handwriting. She was my hero.

And then.

Greg and Jacqui got engaged and moved to Durban. Oblivious me. There were signs which you only see in retrospect.

She ended it. She was in a relationship with her boss, who she subsequently married.
She went from being my hero to being public enemy number 1 in our family. But that's silly. There are, of course, 2 sides to every story.

Anyway, the impact was rather devastating to 14 or 15 year old me. I didn't get why their incompatability should mean that I had to lose a sister. Just like that Jacqui was out of our lives and we never heard from her.

I've seen her only twice in the 14 or so years since and I still miss her. I don't miss Greg and her as a couple, I miss her as my big sister.

In big moments I often wonder where she is and if she knows. Her mom is still in East London and worked at my gran's retirement centre so I have no doubt she's been kept up to date with the major things.

When I'm interviewed on TV or radio for Earth Hour I wonder if she recognises my voice all these years later. I wonder if she knows my new surname. I wonder if she knows about Sophia and I wonder if she longs to meet Tandia. I've no doubt she cried when Noon died. I guess, at the end of it all, the little girl in me wants my childhood hero to be proud of me.