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creativity

They call me Mother

They call me Mother

Becoming a mother was the easy part. I fell in love with this nice bloke and we decided to have a baby. No problem! Not that falling pregnant was that straightforward but lucky for us it did happen and then hey presto, this little baby boy with huge brown eyes suddenly appeared in our house as if he’d been there all along, invisible and quietly waiting off to the side until someone came along with a fat crayon and coloured him in, rendering him real and vivid and squally.

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Little Pig

So for the last three years, home has been a three bedroom flat on the top floor of my in-laws’ home (the same family home in fact that Annoyingly Handsome Husband grew up in – hmm must find a shorter moniker for him. Think I’ll call him Hank.) in a leafy suburb north west of Sydney.

His parents are lovely, big-hearted folk who, luckily for us, adore their grandchildren and so opened their house up to us (even though we cheated on our application and said we were a family of four and would only be there a year – and then promptly had another a baby and are still there wreaking havoc three years later).

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