Dear Matilda

You have been eating solids for a few weeks now - you are nearly six months old and already you have found your likes and dislikes. Just like me you love sweet potatoes and just like me you are not so sure about mashed potatoes.

You start wiggling your feet and thrashing about in your chair when we open the freezer doors and see what's left of the homemade purees I make for you. I even puree minced beef for you. It smells. Bad.

Your first ever food was parsnip, followed by sweet potato, and then potatoes. You love apple, and you love apricot. You also love to chew on teething rusks, even though you have no teeth to speak of. Frankly, you love eating, like your parents. You are not even that messy. You just open your little mouth like a bird and we have to shovel it in, if we're not fast enough you start crying.

I weaned you and sometimes you still bat away at my top, looking up at me sadly. At least that's what I think. I don't really think you're upset about the lack of boob in your life. Considering the last time I breastfed you you impatiently chomped down like a calf and nearly dragged my boob off to never never land.

I worry about your length.

I will not allow you to be a supermodel when you're older, you might as well stop growing. You are beautiful, inquisitive, and you have a top notch sense of humour. You really love slapping your naked belly.


Love, mummy

Changing Faces

Dear Matilda

you are not four months old and you are rapidly growing. So are your fingernails and toenails. 

Last week I once again faced the awkward and terrifying challenge of cutting your tiny, see-through, fragile fingernails. You were playing with my hair with one hand, and I was gripping the other, clipping one finger at a time, they are as thin as matchsticks, or so it seems to me. I was oh so careful not to do any damage to your buttery, delicate skin. Then I clipped your thumbnail, and there was blood.

A tiny bit. And you started crying.

I rang your dad at work and informed him that he needed to come home in a taxi immediately, because you were bleeding, probably needed stitches, and we had to go to hospital, and I wanted you to have a tetanus shot, who cares if the nail clippers weren't rusty. 

He arrived 20 minutes later, sweating and panicked. He found me on our couch, holding you tightly against my chest. I was sobbing. You were laughing and giggling.  Your dad was very pleased to find out that your blood loss amounted to a 2 dollar coin sized patch on a tissue.He also did a good job of pretending that he didn't mind being married to a crazy person.

He returned to work soon after he reassured me that the injury most likely did not require an emergency room visit. He said it reminded him of the time I rang the ambulance because you had heat rash.  

Sheepishly, your loving mother.

Reading

Of course after collecting the best of the best of children's literature for my daughter the first book she falls in love with is: Ikea, by Ikea. 

What's in a Name

'It's a funny thing about mothers and fathers. Even when their own child is the most disgusting little blister you could ever imagine, they still think that he or she is wonderful.

Some parents go further. They become so blinded by adoration they manage to convince themselves their child has qualities of genius. 

Well, there is nothing wrong with all this. It is only when the parents begin telling us about the brilliance of their own revolting offspring, that we start shouting, "bring us a basin! we're going to be sick!"

“Matilda said, "Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable.” 

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.” 

Roald Dahl

Awkward Pause.

Pretty good excuse though

Hello

Matilda Joy 

17 September 2011