Cat Moore

First Frost

2009-05-15T14:05:00.001+10:00

excerpt from "love and fairy cake"

2008-12-04T09:48:00.001+11:00

“Mum!” It's the birthday girl, looking more or less like her cake. “Mum, Grandma says I can't have cake yet. Can I have lollies?” “Sure honey” replies a tired mother vaguely. “I mean, no. of course not!” She shakes herself awake and shepherds Sky to the kitchen to cut some fruit.

Knife in one hand, kettle the other, apple tucked under an arm and water running, Lucy “mmm”s and “really”s along to Sky's chatter. Never an especially quiet child, today's exitement has Sky talking a mile a minute. Lucy tries to concentrate, but her brain feels fuzzy. After staying up late finishing an essay, the remainder of the night had been broken several times by Sky crying out, and eventually Lucy had taken her back to her own bed. These nightmare wakings were becoming routine- and wearing her down.

Sky's monologue is interrupted by the doorbell. Lucy hears her mother's familiar step in the hall, but Sky squeals and beats Mary to the door. Lucy glances at the clock, panicked. She's not ready for guests. What if it's him? She hasn't even showered yet, she can't- ohmygod, he can't- she makes a dash for the door, hoping to disapear upstairs before he sees her. Instead she rushes into the hall just in time to see the door open and Shaun appear.

2008-08-29T14:01:00.002+10:00

berry-spattered and grinning
she holds the stage

teenage aunties get their pants dirty;
kick off dainty shoes to play on the ground

their boyfriends
-uncomfortable-
swig beer and try not to say
awwhh

2008-08-29T14:00:00.000+10:00

This is what we don't speak of:

the flipside of freedom is aimlessness;

the rejection of the existing order means the absence of landmarks.

Bobbing helplessly on unknown waters

we scan horizons for the faint glow of our ideals.

this won me a year's subscription to "nature and health"!

2008-08-24T12:45:00.001+10:00

Sacred Space- planting seeds

When I begin to feel disconnected, lonely or confused, it usually means i'm not gardening enough. If i'm lonely I probably haven't been planting enough seeds.

All gardening is good for the soul, but planting seeds is especially grounding. Plunging bare hands into the earth to plant a tiny seed; then watering, watching, trusting that life will burst forth. This, to me, is one of the most fundamental acts of living. To be able to interact with the earth this way, to midwife a plant into being, this is as connected to the world as I can be.

I'm never more aware of the wonder and beauty of the world than when planting seeds. Doing so with another person is even more moving, and my closest friends are those I have gardened with. Growing a plant connects me with all those who have lived, grown, eaten and loved before me. It connects me with my earliest human ancestors and also with the plant world.

In difficult times I find planting a kind of release. Sadness, frustration and pain can be buried deep and forgotten there. Feeling the sun on my back, dirt under my nails, I begin to feel happy again.

I wonder often if depression and anxiety would be less widespread in our society if we all spent more time with our hands in the dirt.

holding on

2008-05-30T10:28:00.001+10:00

we don't speak of this: being a mother is not all love and patience.
It's also anger, frustration, despair. It's coming through the despair to find love on the other side. Learning to weather out the emotional turmoil without snapping.

Mothers do snap; occasionally, awfully, one snaps. We've seen the headlines and the warning posters in the GP's waiting room.

The pressure is huge. It builds to a boil, pressing out against your skull, screaming in your ears
just shut up! Shut up!!!
occasionally you say it, even shout it maybe, out loud.
It's like a slap in the face, the shame that hits you when you hear the words escape. Even before you see the fear in her eyes you're consumed by guilt.

She is yours, this little person. She needs you; you are her everything. She needs you to be strong and calm, and you can't do it.

No no, you can't! It's impossible, you're not a mother, not a real one. She deserves better.

But it's too bad cos she's got you. Only you. And you'll just have to do the best you can. Like everyone else does.

You walk until your head aches, or perhaps you hold her close in the dim bedroom. Singing. Humming. Anything to drown out the crying. And you just keep moving, keep breathing. Holding on for the moment when the crying stops and you can rest with your relief and shame.

in franklin square

2008-05-30T10:27:00.002+10:00

the crackle of autumn is on the ground. bone-chillingly damp, no one sits on this lawn any more. seagulls fend for themselves.

the fountain sings to itself- unhindered by small curious hands, unphotographed, it simply washes it's steady rhythm behind the roar of traffic noise and bursts of conversation. it speaks quietly; wisely.

unheard by the babbling masses that tread pavement with ears closed. blind to the gold of the fallen leaves, deaf to the wisdom of running water. we catch buses. we buy things. we rush to work, to home, to everywhere, nowhere.

the fountain stays here, endlessly cycling water. leaves rot where they fall.

why do we fear stillness so? what is it about silence that terrifies us? so scared are we that we fill our ears with discordant noise, forever blocking out the quiet voices of water and wind. busy trying to fit more in, we miss so much.

let's take a breath.
one long, slow breath, deep into our collective lungs, down into our consciousness. let's take this
moment of stillness. silence.

let's feel the weak sunlight trying to warm our muffled skin. let's listen to the wind, suddenly loud in the absence of traffic noise and human conversation.
let's look at each other.

yes, you. look at him. he too has a wisdom to share.
she, there, she also is a part of this wonder.

in the silence we may find not only birdsong and wet earth, not only this lifegiving sunlight and windwhisper.
we may see each other.

for tom robbins

2008-05-30T10:25:00.002+10:00

writing a list gives all the pleasure of a sinkful of dishes.

Writing letters can create the glow of happy hours spent in good company.

Writing an article, essay, critique- well it'll give you a knowledgeable smirk, it can feed your fire of enthusiasm. It's an admirable achievement, no doubt.

A story now, a story frees the tongue and the mind, widens the prespective, presses buttons in the psyche. Writing stories is an art form to be valued; reading them a treat.

But if you want to really dive in, to mine the depths of your consciousness-
if you want to know the mystery behind life-
well it's poetry you're after

the playful wallowing in words
the delicious sensuality of language
and the sudden sharp
that cuts to the truth at the core

oh!
let me burrow down
amongst your vowels
revel in your adjectives
let me swim in the soup of your imagery

I come to worship

The chickens eat well at our place.

2008-03-30T11:48:00.000+11:00

my big belly

2007-10-29T16:00:00.000+11:00

milk and breath

2007-10-13T12:45:00.000+10:00

in the light of the open door
i find you
not awake exactly, eyes yet shut
searching with voice and arms
searching for me

i reach for you and your cry stills
arms cling themselves around my neck

sssh
mouth to ear
sssh
mouth to breast

you latch on easily now
small mouth sucking it's way to me blindly
an ocean-floor fish made for this precise purpose
mouth to breast

the vomit smell of my shoulder
fades
the conversation left only a moment ago
gone

there is only you in this warm darkness
only milk and breath
and love so strong it eclipses all

Happy 25th Birthday Cat!

2007-09-09T06:51:00.000+10:00

Thankyou, my love, for being a perfect friend, partner, lover and mother of my perfect daughter.

Remembering who you were (and who i was) when we met - it's been quite an adventure we've been on these last five years - i'm sure you'd agree. You've taught me so much about myself and everything i love in life and i appreciate you more than you can imagine, more than i can say.

You do grow more beautiful and amazing with every year, i can't wait to see you when you're 50.

frustrations

2007-08-25T16:49:00.000+10:00

The track down to the sawah is not only steep wet mud, it's covered in rubbish. Hard to tell whether people actually dump it here or the stuff just washes down from wherever they do dump it. Twice i see glass bottles, another time a light globe. Adrian crushes something glass under his sandal. The woman coming down the path behind us is barefoot. I guess she knows to be careful.

Do you buy seed, or use your own? We ask.

Buy. We have to buy, this variety special, no good for seed.

Special. Hybrida.

Fucking hybrid seed keeping people like these guys buying more every season from the same bastards so that they can grow the same “special” variety every other farmer is growing which will need fertilisers and pesticides sold, amazingly enough, by the very same bastards.

Adrian is so disgusted he refuses to help plant the hybrid seedlings. I feel like i have to help; not doing so will not make some point but only reinforce the perception of whities as lazy and rich, too good to work. So i spend fifteen minutes helping ketut to prepare the ground. But made's reaction is not just surprised and confused, i think i hear shame.

You must stay, she tells me. You stay with maya. Not do this.

Do i have it wrong again? Have i offended her?

ketut and made have just built a new little house to live in, away from the extended family (well, 300m away). Wish i could build a house like this, ad responds to ketut's apology. the roof is asbestos. Brand new asbestos, bought especially. How is it still possible to buy new asbestos roofing??

dragging our fat arses back up the steep hill to the restaurant we encounter a handful of people, most of them it seems family of some kind. Each time ketut exchanges rapid indonesian with them, an explanation. Each time i hear the words anak bos. The boss' son.

Is that why we are here? If required to introduce ketut to someone else, i'd probably use the words my friend. Is this a lie? Am i kidding myself?

These and a dozen other such incidents every day are in my head when adrian replies to one of david's usual suggestions that he couldn't live in bali, and i'm inclined to agree.

maya's half-birthday

2007-08-14T11:24:00.000+10:00

Today my daughter is half a year, halfway to her first year. Her first real birthday- but today, we are calling it her birthday. Maya's six month birthday!

Happy birthday, kodok kecil. Happy birthday my little frog, my beautiful girl, my best-ever gift. Thankyou for coming to me; thankyou for growing well, learning well, loving well.

May your next half year be both peaceful and exciting, may february find you glowing with health and new knowledge.

Want to hear how we celebrated? (birthday party number one; tonight i will make cake to celebrate again)

Sendi arrives by sepeda motor at ten. Sendi is Javanese, a strong, vibrant woman with a quick sense of humour and a knack for communication that crosses the language barrier (her english ain't great). She is the masseuse on call for the hotel here, and an excellent individual.

We spend ten minutes convincing her that i will walk the maybe 2km to her house with maya, and her failing to convince me that it's ok to take maya on the motorbike. Finally i start walking, helloing every few steps at another grinning face, through the village and out along a side road through terraces and jungle. Sendi rides ahead.

Sendi's house is pretty big; set back amidst jungle-garden, a bridge across an unused irrigation ditch. Balinese architecture tends to involve much dekorasi, especially wooden carvings around doors and windows etc; cool tiles; bamboo ceiling and thatch roof; white walls. This is no exception. Very balinese. Each bedroom has it's own entrance onto an outdoor sitting area. The kitchen and the bathroom are seperate buildings. A large packed-dirt area gives way to living garden. Chickens are everywhere. I see marigolds, bananas, those pink-leaved things usually seen adorning swimming pools, smell frangipani.

Sendi waits for me on the raised tiled area outside the bedrooms. With her are her mother in law and three anaks. The mother in law, who i address as Ibu, looks more like sendi's grandmother, as is often the way here. One eye looks blind, milky. Her tooth are long gone, in their place gums stained with chewing tobacco or maybe betelnut. Her scrawny frame has seen too much hard physical labour, the kind of work that sendi's body (or mine) will never know. Too much sun, too much squatting over a poorly designed stove, too much to carry uphill on head and hip. We greet each other in indonesian, not the first language for either of us, and for the next couple of hours can communicate only around the basics, or with sendi's help. Her smile is lovely though, and she treats me with a respect i doubt i deserve.

The eldest girl speaks a little english, and is much less shy than her younger sister. Sari (Rose) is ten i think, thin and graceful and already motherly. She is teaching her little sister to read. For much of my visit, Sari carries Maya on her hip with the help of a tied sarong as sling. She claims to be fine doing so, and certainly seems well practiced, though i doubt she's ever met as heavy a frog as mine! Her little brother is barely taller than Maya, and much thinner, though he is one year and four months. He's an adorable little monkeychild, all big eyes and long feet, just learning to talk i think (“habis!” he tells me, shaking his little open hands, when he finishes the pack of krupuk). Kormang. Number three. He wears silver bangles around each wrist and ankle; i learn that these are put on every child in a ceremony around three months of age and removed a year and a half later in- naturally!- another ceremony. (The earrings that i've noticed on very young balinese girls likewise warrant a ceremony.) the younger two are shy with me, but keen to touch maya.

Conversation should be difficult, but sendi makes it easy somehow, laughing, miming, making it up. I follow her lead. She brings me tea, hot and sweet, and i'm uncomfortable that noone else has a drink, but then completely forget this in my astonishment at the next offering. Maya needs a feed, which is clear to all, and sendi offers me a bucket of water and cloth to wipe my breasts- i've been walking, sweating, down a traffic-filled road, of course maya wants my breasts clean first! I am impressed and grateful; i've never been offered this particular hospitality anywhere else! Her hospitality is ever-increasing; after less than an hour maya is getting ragged with tiredness and sendi offers her room to feed and sleep. She lays a blanket on the bed for me to change maya (another bucket of water) and leaves me to feed my girl quietly to sleep. My gratitude at this point is overflowing; it is so lovely to feel that caring for my child not only takes priority but should and will be easy, natural.

Sendi knows all kinds of magic, food and massage and medicine, caring for one's children and for one's sexy bits! We trade info on bali/aussie customs, compare families. Sendi doesn't get to visit her family in java often, though it's not far there is too much to do- always a ceremony, she jokes! Being javanese and christian, she finds the constant ceremony-ing here a bit much, i gather (unsurprisingly).

Maya, refreshed after a short nap and nourished by the biggest “solid” meal she's ever eaten, loves her play time with the other kids. We sit on the ground together, on a blanket, and laugh hysterically at the interactions between her and Kormang. Her gives her little kisses and she responds by trying to suck his face (my girl she gives good pashes!) they hold hands and stare and grin at each other. But i notice that whenever his foot touches her, one of the girls grabs it quickly saying no-no. Feet, i suppose, are extremely unholy. It's probably rude to touch anybody with your feet, but a baby, and a whiteskinned one, must be the worst possible luck. I guess they wouldn't be as impressed as i am by her new foot-in-mouth trick!

I remember at the last minute almost to take some photos of the kids together, and of the house for adrian. Actually, i am only reminded by being shown Ibu's photos ( a couple dozen in an old kids album) of her kids and other grandkids. Six children she's had; only three surviving. The kids love the digital camera, being able to see themselves straight away. I promise to print them copies, aware that this day is special for all of us.

My other promise for my return is the seeds sendi chooses from our Eden Seeds catalogue.

I turn down the offer of a ride up the hill, and set off with the frog bouncing against my full belly, glowing with the happiness of new and unexpected friendship.

Menu makan siang di rumah Sendi:

red rice

some kinda delicious spicy chicken, fried

a clear thin spicy soup with sprouted red beans (more like borlotti than my idea of red bean)

mystery spinach-like vegetable

tempeh “krring”, very small and crispy pieces

sambal goreng, full of shallots and chillis and shrimp paste

shredded spiced coconut yumminess

and afterwards bali copi, black, plenty of sugar

eaten squatting in the kitchen, copi after in garden just outside. Sendi and i eat together; Ibu having already eaten an hour earlier. Oh it's so good to eat real food!!! and to have someone understand why eating restaurant food every day is not luxury but rather frustrating and unhealthy. I am promised real food, village food, here whenever i want it.

and for the babies, red rice custard: red rice flour, aqua, pinches of salt and sugar, heated on stove like custard with much stirring (i make this one!). Maya gobbles the stuff, evidently it kicks ass over the organic baby porridge i've been mixing up for her. But no, i won't be giving her salt and sugar in her food from now on, i don't care how good it tastes! Though she will be getting red rice again, sendi has given me half a kilo of the magic stuff.

half-birthday cake

banana mocha cinnamon cake, as improvised by me in the restaurant kitchen

milk (use sparingly, 1 cup)

flour and baking powder

4 eggs (no need for sparingly!)

“salad oil” (??)

sugar

salt

bananas

remainder of jar of cinnamon mocha instant coffee drink (when i asked for cinnamon this is what junas gave me!)

mix with an old electric number, pour into a tin, bake for just under an hour in an oven with no thermostat. Add chocolate sprinkles (found in corner while looking for sugar) while still warm.

oddly enough it turns out well. Adrian and i and the five people working this evening (cooks, waiters, satpam) share the cake, saving a piece for sendi to pick up later. Seems to make a good impression; junas is already talking about trying out the recipe. But we get busted by guests, all the cooks sitting down in the restaurant eating cake!

take it away

2007-06-11T10:21:00.000+10:00

excitement is building as the perth-bali departure date - july 19- approaches, and so is the feeling that we have a lot of stuff to get rid of.

high on the stuff-to-sell list are:
funky old dresser with big oval mirror
red velvet sofa
washing machine
a silly amount of desks and bookshelves

plus an ever-increasing pile of 000 baby clothes

then, of course, there's all the heirloom vegetable, useful tree and medicinal herb seeds, and a few native tree seedlings too...

know anyone who wants any of this??

this evening

2007-06-01T17:38:00.000+10:00

golden lady, full with promise
you rise
above dusky hills. sky still day-streaked
daughter breathing sleep against my chest
we walk this road towards you
in silent worship

papa ad

2007-05-04T06:37:00.001+10:00

since helping to give birth to our baby maya nearly three moons ago, adrian has become stronger, calmer and more loving than ever before. to watch him with his daughter is to watch a happy man. he glows with her; fatherhood suits him. (and his silly-song repertoire grows daily!) i love ad more than ever, am grateful every day for his help and his humour and his wisdom.
if you've seen ad recently you will know what i mean; if you haven't i suggest catching up for a drink- and ask to hear a song or two!

our birth story

2007-04-02T16:47:00.000+10:00

Your story begins- where? with a storytelling dream days before conception? in an arrogant GP’s chair where a dismal possibility is given me? In a gay pub in Perth where I meet Adrian? Or way back in my own childhood somewhere half forgotten? Probably you have your own stories already, stories I don’t know, carried from other times and places, other lives. But this story, this one is ours, yours and mine.

So your story, for the sake of this narrative, begins two days before you are born. It is Saturday in the dandenong hills, summer. I am heavy with you, though this has not stopped me going for a walk in the crackly green-brown bush. I am ready for you, I decide on this morning. I am not sick of being pregnant, simply ready to meet you. I have done all I need to- almost.

I tell Adrian that I am ready, call my mother who recommends an evening of curry and sex. So, I spend the morning baking your birthday cake- chocolate fudge with blackberry filling- and the evening cooking curry for the three of us. In the warm afternoon I stitch your muslin wrap, tea-dyed a light brown, stitch your name, MAYA, in green life-giving thread as I pray words of gratitude and hope. You will be born tomorrow, I believe.

Sunday arrives, lengthens, and you do not. Trying not to be disappointed I invite a friend, Jana, for dinner, and tell her to pick up a bottle of red wine. As I sip my glass of red and listen to Jana and Adrian talk I feel the tightenings in my belly intensify. Is it coming? That night the power is off. I cook early to use the last of the daylight and we eat dinner by candlelight, take our candles upstairs to our bedrooms. It feels fitting, this return to pre-electricity at this time, bringing me closer to my body, to my daughter, to the earth.

I go to bed full of nervous anticipation, expecting an interrupted night, wondering whether to tell Adrian what I suspect (he is already observing me suspiciously), and then I sleep soundly! But when I wake around seven, lie for a moment tree-watching as I do every morning, my waters gush out around me in an ohhhh of surprise. This is it now, truly, one of those lovely no-doubt signs that I can celebrate, and which I instantly share with Adrian. Before calling the midwives at the birth centre- I am to give birth at monash birth centre clayton, in the birthing pool I hope- I eat some cereal Ad brings me, light incense and thank the goddess all the ways I know. Then I call the midwives, and my mother, and when Jana wakes I tell her too while making cups of tea and big slabs of toast with tomato and basil from the garden. We breakfast outside, all of us buzzing with a what-next? excitement.

Soon after my waters breaking a contraction begins which is different to those practice ones I’ve felt so far. This is much stronger, not painful, but strong and I know it to be a real one. More follow, and when Adrian times them they are coming seven or eight minutes apart. I spend the morning upstairs, dancing through my contractions initially, on the balcony (there are photos of me at this point, smiling, then frowning with concentration), moving to lie on the bed later for a rest. Adrian breathes with me, kisses me with compliments on my beauty and strength. I will be a perfect mother, he assures me. These first hours (4? 5?) are blissful, peaceful and warm.

Not far into my labour our housemate treads up the stairs and calls out that he needs to speak with us both. Adrian goes out to the hall to have a conversation, which drifts in to my room, but I refuse to aknowledge the words. I have no time for trivial household matters now. This is too important, all-important, this next breath is all there is. Only the next day do I ask Ad about the conversation. On the other hand, when our favourite chicken lays her first ever egg, Adrian tells me and I am ridiculously happy to share this first special day with her- on the day you were born our little Pencil laid her first egg!

My mum arrives at some point, and Jana is still here, with no way of getting to the train. I worry about her at first, but she is enjoying this experience, making cups of tea and hanging out washing, sometimes coming to sit with us and breathe, radiating her own light as only Jana can. Mum brings me a hot water bottle and takes turns rubbing my back. She and Adrian are all I need, the perfect support, and as my focus turns more inward and contractions demand more of my attention- and last longer, arrive closer together- I need them to make decisions for me. I am unaware of the time of day, the time between contractions too, I am unable to have conversations mostly. All my attention is on my breath, my womb, my muscles, my daughter readying for birth.

Towards late afternoon mum decides I am ready, it is time to leave. Adrian walks me to the car, which Jana has quietly packed, and we drive the 40 minutes to Clayton, to the sounds of massive attack. I learn later that mum completed some highly illegal manouvers to avoid a traffic jam! This time in the car is the hardest for me, my focus having been disrupted, I struggle to not lose my breath, and I think I begin to really vocalize at this point, moaning into contractions giving me new strength. Our walk through the hospital up to the birth centre is punctuated by three contractions, me leaning into Adrian and moaning into his neck, wearing sunglasses and with my eyes close. I don’t want to see my surroundings, don’t want to know that I am in a hospital. Later I think that this really helped me to hold my focus and not become scared or stressed. Unlike many women, my labour did not slow with my arrival at the birth centre. Covering the bed with the familiar fabric of our bedspread bought in CandiKuning, and setting my small bronze goddess on the table helped me to feel comfortable in this new room.

It is five or six when we arrive, and apparently they are busy because while a midwife greets us she soon leaves and for the next hour I don’t see anyone else. The three of us- four including you!- continue to labour peacefully, with contractions building in strength. I am kneeling on the bed, draped over the high wooden head, rocking us through. At some point I wonder if a midwife will come in soon, examine me, take me to the bath. Then all I think of is my contracting/expanding uterus, your small body, my own body opening… moving from this place, this position, is out of the question, I am too involved … I open my mouth and moan, echoing the opening of my cervix. I feel a strong urge to push- it’s too soon, isn’t it? I try not to push- I need to poo, no I don’t I need to push! I feel myself open and I swear your head is right there… I manage to whisper to Adrian that I think, I need my underwear off (why the hell is it still on?!) and look- yes! I can feel her head with my hand!

You are coming… now a new energy soars through me, I know that you are coming, you are close, so close now. I will meet you so soon! All I need to do is keep breathing, let my body do it’s work…

A midwife comes in, mum having called for one, says (Adrian remembers this) “Well, I don’t know you Cathy, but you are very close to having a baby” and starts to do her thing. Now I push! I feel you on my perineum, as they say, and that burning they speak of is very real, burning is how it feels. But you are coming, and if I just groan a bit louder I can push harder…

The midwife encourages me to change position, a half-lying which will open me up a bit and allow your head through. And it does. Your head crowns, I can feel the difference, and a release of pressure until I begin to push out your shoulders.

You are born slippery, black-haired, open eyed; caught by Adrian and the midwife together; delivered onto my chest where I struggle to hold your slipperiness and am stunned by the size of you. So big! How did I birth you? How did I carry you? I am amazed at both of us, so proud of us both, and I am grinning at Adrian, the third element of team bob-bob, this amazing unit that is us. Your grandmother is still here, welcoming you into a line of strong women. The midwife cleans up and leaves us. You are so obviously healthy, pink and alert. You are perfect. I recognize you. You are Maya, my daughter, strong and calm little person.

This is of course the climax, but there is more:

Your cord, that pulsing ugly-beautiful cord that fed you, is cut by Adrian. It’s harder than he imagines (your placenta, which it inexplicably takes three hours and a team of

Medical staff to deliver, we take home to plant under a special tree for you). You take to my breast like a natural, which of course you are. Mum leaves and the three of us sleep- well you sleep soundly and we doze in between watching you and congratulating each other on our very fine work! Adrian and I devour crap hospital sandwiches with pleasure, the pair of us starving after not eating and working so hard for 12 hours. We wait until the next morning to weigh and measure and examine you and you pass all tests with flying colours, a perfectly healthy little person- well, quite a big person for a newborn, 53cm tall. We take you home that day, almost 24 ours after your birth at 7.45pm. Out of the airconditioned centre and up to our treehouse in the hills, to get to know each other.

It’s well into morning before I realize that I never made it near the pool. I didn’t need to. Your birth was more perfect even than my dreams of it. And you, my Maya, daughter, are exactly who I knew you would be. Thanks for coming to me.

Now Maya has her own blog

2007-04-02T15:54:00.001+10:00

mayawedd.com

"gi"

2007-03-29T21:33:00.001+10:00

Maya…

She grows faster than eyes can believe, fast enough to confuse the MCH nurse (“So she’s seven weeks? Five?? Really?), fast enough to outgrow suits before she’s actually worn them. She has learnt to smile, to recognize her hands, to love watching bright lights and shadows. She knows all the regular characters around here, shows interest in new voices. She can hold her head up for a long time now, roll from back onto side, is developing a mean punch. Her vocabulary now includes “gi” and a sound very similar to “yeah” which is often spoken at surprisingly appropriate moments.

This little person is changing so fast and so beautifully that she has us enchanted, head-over-heels, teenage-girl giggly over her every expression. We are besotted.

We have introduced her to forest and to ocean, to five out of seven grandparents, to another little monkey (sayuri, two weeks younger than maya), and to all kinds of music which many people would probably suggest should not be played to a newborn. She has shown curiosity and enjoyment in all, though milk seems to remain her favourite thing in the world.

I can hardly wait to see what she will do- what she will learn, what she will teach- tomorrow. One thing I can count on though is plenty of vomit down my chest, and if I’m really lucky a good wee down my leg!

:-)

maya photos

2007-02-15T15:34:00.001+11:00

those hungry for photos of baby maya should go to

www.adrianwedd.com

for a good serve!

love from us 3

maya

2007-02-14T13:53:00.001+11:00

our amazing little maya is here with us, sleeping now, making all kinds of funny gurgles and snorts, flexing her hands and feet, in our treehouse bedroom...

i am dizzy with love, excitement and awe- for those of you who this is the first news, i'm sorry, but it's been a big few days.

maya was born about 8pm on the 12th (one day early for grandma bernie's birthday), after 12 hours of easy labour, with the three of us (four really- thanks mum) working as a perfect team to birth her gently. we only needed a midwife to catch her! (i'd hardly been looked at, let alone had an internal, after just a couple of hours at the birth centre).

she was born with open eyes and thick black hair, slipperywet and very calm. she is still calm, but no longer slippery!

she weighed 3.7 kg at birth, measures a very tall 53cm in length and is beautiful. and very healthy (passed all tests). she's learning to feed like a pro, and lucky for us still sleeping lots.

adrian and i are both in amazement still, and can't stop congratulating each other and her!

enough, i'm going back to watch my baby now! photos coming soon...

xxxx cat, ad and maya

back in broadband-land

2007-02-05T19:10:00.000+11:00

wow, i'd almost forgotten i had this website...

but now, back in the land of broadband, in our new mudbrick home in the dandenongs, full-bellied and expecting a daughter any day now, i'm able to do things like post blogs here!

(adrian, are you reading this??)

still designing, planting, and selling surplus seed. check out viridescens.com.au if you're interested, or stay tuned here for baby photos!

can we pick your brain to help us start our permaculture business??

2006-08-15T23:06:00.000+10:00

hi there!

adrian wedd and i are almost ready to start the small business we've been fantasising about- some of you have already heard more than you want to, others have no idea what i'm talking about- we'll be providing permaculture design and resources basically, and we're in the middle of a neis course now to help us pull the business bits together. we want to help people to create sustainable, functional habitats for themselves and future generations, while caring for the land they live on. right now though we need a bit of help in defining the best way for us to do this!

when you've got five minutes to spare, please go ahead and click the following link, fill in our questionnaire, and if you want to contact me to let me know what you think...

http://www.viridescens.com/surveys/index.php?sid=1

thanks a lot guys! and feel free to forward this on as you see fit!

xxx cat moore

when in doubt, plant broad beans!

2006-05-11T13:07:00.000+10:00

and mizuna, cabbage, broccoli, snow peas...
we just had a friendly meeting with a writer from "Arena" magazine, but no word from landlords. well, i might plant some more seeds!