You are the little spoon, my hand cradled around your tummy. Moments earlier you had mimicked my every move. Sipping at my sleepy tea, spilling it all down your pyjamas. Rubbing hand cream onto your face. Lying on me as I do my bedtime stretches. I try to breathe normally, deeply, to relax. I tentatively stretch out my legs, roll back my shoulders, nestle my head down into the pillow. A puppy dog nesting down for the night, walking around and around until the bed feels just right. That’s you. That’s me. You shuffle a little and then your soft breathing tells that you are asleep. We have done this countless times. And I know you will grow. But right now, this feels like forever. The late-night snacks, the reluctance to sleep alone, the reliance on the breast. Dad’s grumpy startle as your little legs kick him in a tender place. We all three, tug at the duvet on the queen bed which we seem to have outgrown. You wake briefly and crawl around singing, stroking my face, your cheek next
In a cold bed, in a damp room, in a dark house in the depths of a valley I entertained ideas of running away. Away from obligation, responsibility, board payments, job expectations, early mornings and behaving like the grown up that I wasn't. Now I lie in a warm bed, a fire blazing, my two little children fast asleep in their rooms, my husband by my side. I make mental notes on the articles I need to submit, the stories needing to be penned and the friends to be caught up with tomorrow. Both situations are more than 10 years apart, the same girl, the same city. Once abhorred, now adored. It's a bittersweet occasion that the time has come to break routines, cut ties, uplift roots and leave. For the fertile plains, the hometown, the wild coast and small scape city that relentlessly calls my name. Until now the hometown has been a place of Christmases spent wandering through lit-up trees, passing old familiar faces. Some called out and grinned with open arms. Some gave a wa