The sunshine of my life

Ascot Vale in the sunshine is a lovely place to be, and that is where the girls and I pointed the car this morning. We had finally (FINALLY!) found a day in which none of us had a stinking cold, or a yucky virus (Maisie was in a bit of a fouly thanks to teething, but at least it wasn't contagious), so we headed up to Melbourne to visit Aunty Kirst and meet the beautiful Miss Eliza.

To say I enjoy being a SAHM is a bit like saying chocolate is ok. Y'know? I love hanging at home in the loungeroom with the kids; I actually quite enjoy running little errands with them; our week wouldn't be complete without a visit to Argie; and whenever the opportunity presents itself to have a playdate with a friend, we're there with bells on. I would quite happily stay at home, pottering around in my own space, forever. Unfortunately, since scientists have not yet invented a money tree, and since we need to pay someone to build a place for me to potter in, my days at home have been whittled down somewhat. I'm not complaining - I'm very fortunate to be working in a fantastic primary school. I just realise that in two or three years, I will be back at work full time, and my days in the sun at home will be gone. I always knew my time at home was finite; I just didn't realise how quickly it would pass.

I have been treasuring my days ay home with the girls even more since I went back to work this term. Even though I only teach two days a week, I have noticed a huge impact on our little family. Jack relishes the days when Mummy comes to "his" school, and grumbles when it's not my day to work; Phoebe has learned (overnight, it seems) to play beautifully with her little sister and be Mumma's bestest helper; and my poor little Mouse has become very, very clingy. Even though she is perfectly happy going off to Grandma's house, and waves me goodbye with a pearly-white smile, after two days away from me she will not let me out of her sight. Every Tuesday night, I have a sad toddler attached like a limpet to my leg. Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and the weekends, the Mouse provides new meaning for the term "separation anxiety".

And please don't think I am immune. Oh no. I am hopeless. Left with only five days in the week to spend with my girls, I am a basket case. As a result, I have no problem whatsoever carrying the Mouse everywhere when we are together. If I'm in the kitchen, she's in the kitchen. If I'm in the bedroom, she's in the bedroom. If I'm on the toilet....well. You get the idea. And I don't have a problem with that - in ten years, I'll probably have to beg her to stay in the same room as me (just not the toilet).

So today was absolutely perfect, because not only did I get a day with my own baby girls, but we got to spend it with Kirst and her brand-spanking-new baby girl. And oh my goodness, didn't we have a lovely time. Eliza Grace is such a gorgeous, blue-eyed little doll, still so teeny I could hold her with one arm. Phoebe and Maisie were enchanted by her, touching her with gentle hands and cooing softly to her. She watched their faces and stretched her tiny fingers. When Phoebe gingerly held baby Eliza on the couch, I thought she would burst, she was so happy. It just highlighted, for me, how big my girl is. The fact that she is four next week got hammered home today, as she sat on the couch, cradling four week old Eliza.

I watched Kirsty as she fed and changed her daughter, and I realised that I could see in her the emotions I felt about my children, yet struggled to articulate. The wonder that her body had actually created this tiny creature. The awe at her beauty, her sweet little features, the smallest details of her fingernails and eyelashes. The disbelief that this child was in fact, her own, and that no one would be coming to claim her back. The overwhelming, ferocious, unapologetic tidal wave of love, so fierce it makes your stomach hurt.

I watched my friend mother her child, and it made me sing on the inside. I asked Kirsty today if she could remember who she was before Eliza was born. And she told me that she couldn't - that in fact, it felt as though she had always been Eliza's mother, simply waiting for her to born, without knowing it. And I knew exactly what she meant.

I still look at my babies and marvel at them. I am amazed that they are mine. I am enthralled, watching them grow and change. I am constantly entertained by them, exhausted by their energy, and wondering what will come next. And I am grateful every day that they chose me to be their mummy, and that I am able to spend days in the sunshine with them, just enjoying them.