I remember this moment like it was nearly yesterday (but not quite):
She was 3.6 kilos. When she was born, after a wonderful, 3 hour labour, I laughed and cried and cooed, and gasped in wonder and awe, and held her and felt like that was my purpose in life: to love her. I sang to her ‘hey there Georgie girl.’ She fed beautifully straight away, her ruddy chubby little body in my arms, close to my skin so I could feel her warmth, keep her warm and smell her gorgeous scent. A while after, the midwife was so taken by my beautiful baby girl with the chunky thighs that she took her to show her to all the midwives and doctors on the ward. They said I was born to breed. And so began my life of being the most proud and loving mother in the universe (or so it feels). I spent my entire hospital visit watching her. I couldn’t sleep because I was watching her and listening to her. I was, and still am, enraptured by her.
Here she is at four days old:
Complete perfection. When we brought her home from hospital I was too scared to sleep because I felt like she needed to be watched at all times. Such audacity was short lived. I’m glad that she was an easy baby.
Then she turned one.
And four. This is one of my favourite photos.
We celebrated her special day by going into Hobart to see ‘Hotel Transylvania,’ which the children loved! We were lucky to make it to the cinema on time because we were caught in a traffic jam for nearly an hour. When we got home we made pizzas and had a movie night, followed by icecream birthday cake.
And this collage shows just how much she has grown in the past nine years!