Last night I dreamt of a long table in a large warehouse type cafe.
I was sitting down one end of the table deep in conversation with my Indi. We were discussing life and feelings and age and opportunity. We were completely focused inwards on our little world not at all aware of the hustle and clutter of the rest of the cafe.

At some stage and for some reason I took a breath and looked up and noticed a couple opposite us with a tiny baby, maybe three days old. The father was holding the baby, his arms like a cocoon, and the mother was hunched over weeping into her coffee.

It was weird but I recognised those sobbing, shaking shoulders. I knew those big, fat, swollen tears falling onto her lap and I felt that overwhelmed, out of control, helpless feeling I knew she was feeling. Well.

It was like I was her again. The brand new first time Mum on the way home from hospital with our new baby who we were besotted with. I was deeply, madly in love with our new family but also overwhelmed with the enormity of it all. Everything was new. I was exhausted. I could almost feel my shoulders bobbing in time with her sobs.

And at the same time I was also still me. Me sitting there on the other side of the table with my almost twelve year old. My child who made me into a mother all those years ago and now sat with me on the verge of woman hood. My big girl who taught me almost everything I know about parenting and now hung out with me as friends. My angel who by chance and accident and luck and a whole lot of love is becoming someone I am so incredibly proud of.

And then all of a sudden the woman opposite stood up and fled the room. And he, so obviously torn between his adoration of the tiny package in his arms and the love of his life who he knew needed him now more than ever, stood up and froze for a second.

And then he handed the baby to me, looked at me with pleading desperate eyes, gushed that he'd be back in a sec and ran out after her.

And then it was me and Indi and the tiniest, most sweet smelling bundle of sleeping baby.

We sat there for a second, frozen. And then my Indi asked me what words I could tell them to comfort them? How could I make them see through the haze of hormones and breast milk and nappies and exhaustion? And we sat there for a while gazing at and breathing in that perfect bundle. I wondered what she was thinking while I was contemplating my words that would come across as comforting rather than advising.

After a few minutes they returned. They took their baby, apologised for their tears and drama and thanked us. They couldn't keep their eyes off their baby and really didn't look like they needed any help from me at all.

So I took a deep breath and thanked them for letting us cuddle their most gorgeous baby. And I told them that I had been where they were almost twelve years ago to the day. That I remembered all those feeling so well. And that it would get easier and then harder and then easier again as time went on and then one day they too would be sitting with a twelve year old. A girl they could barely believe was that tiny baby not so many years ago. And a girl they would be so super proud of, and so in awe of and so honoured to share in her journey.

And in my dream we all hugged like old friends. And then they walked out to start their new life as a family and we walked out a bit sad to leave that little baby bubble but excited about all the new opportunities waiting for us.


It's been ages since I've remembered so much of a dream and so much detail. This one has haunted me all morning. When I retold it to Indi on the way to school this morning she said she felt like crying. I'm still trying to work it all out. I'm pretty sure it's about letting go and accepting and looking forward. I think it was a bit of a gift.

Are you a dreamer?
A remember-er?
An interpreter?


Oh and that photo at the top? A few weeks ago I went to the wonderful Beci Orpin's book launch and was lucky enough to get a show bag full of goodies to take home. In amongst the candle and notebook and hand cream and stuff were three gorgeous gorman place mats.

And while I am a lover of beautiful home wares, place mats which collect dropped food and then just have to be washed seem a bit silly to me.

So I turned the spotty one into a skirt.

I think the other two will become bits of clothing before too long too.

Such fun and perfectly springly teamed with a pair of OK OK tights don't you think.

Sweet dreams.
Bye! xx