Remember all those messy, beautiful, tender days

on becoming a mother the fourth time | a story from the archives

Dear friends,

It’s been a busy fortnight of family milestones and first days of school. I’m feeling all the emotions.

How are you traveling? I hope these first few weeks of February have been gentle.

In lieu of new words this fortnight, please enjoy a story about motherhood from my archive and a selection of beautiful poems. I hope you find something in here to nourish you.

Thank you, as always, for your presence here. I am grateful for your support. And a special welcome to all who are new here. I’m thrilled that you have joined us.

With love and kindness,

Kate x

P.S. Scroll to the bottom for a short video from an adventure into the Tasmanian mountains last weekend. More to come.

This story was first published in 2020 in Nurture Parenting Magazine.

baby days at Trial Harbour Beach, Tasmania

We celebrated Arthur’s second birthday last October. He is the littlest of our tribe of three. And I marvel at how quickly time has traveled, the milestones reached and tantrums endured.

How my dimpled sweet babe slithers and writhes, booms and clangs. How I was his everything and now fire, pancakes and a little green digger fill his heart. How baby days are fleeting.

But as my belly swells with our fourth child I remember all those baby days —

Regurgitated milk down my bra and honey poo-explosions. Swaying hips and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. My body bedraggled with exhaustion. Days directed by the rhythms of another. Cuddles pure and intoxicating. The wonder of new life.

And I remember when we had three children under three. When we were out numbered and out of control. A toddler unraveling toilet paper, another tunneling underneath a mountain of washing, while the baby is finally asleep. Evenings thick with tears (some my own). A relentless flow of washing and cooking.

Days messy, beautiful and tender.

At school drop off, I whisper to a friend that I am thirty weeks pregnant. She beams and wishes me good luck for the ‘baby countdown’. I shiver with trepidation, baby days are just around the corner. And suddenly it feels like my time is running out.

That evening I lie in bed, waiting for sleep to come, my body cocooned in a nest of pillows, my mind smothered by things not yet finished — baby clothes to unpack, renovations to finish, garden beds to plant, books to read, birthdays to organise. And things almost forgotten — pelvic floor exercises and the knitting project I started two years ago.

Pregnancy feels squishy fourth-time around.

I pick up the book on my bedside table, Wild Words by Nicole Gulotta. On the third page I discover a little piece of wisdom —

A woman’s life is lived in seasons.

I pause, rearrange my medley of cushions and allow this new perspective to settle within. There is something comforting about a life lived in seasons.

Perhaps it is the knowledge that seasons change. That the winter of one’s life eventually gives birth to spring. And the season of raising young children is not forever.

Or perhaps it is the knowledge that each season brings challenges, opportunities and rewards. Winter’s dark moods are a time for snuggles and stories by the fire. And the challenges of raising young children are fractured by moments of magic and tenderness.

*

a mid-winter morning, oh how I needed this warm light

A week later, we drive our van to the most southerly point of Tasmania accessible by road, Cockle Creek, for a family holiday. Perhaps our last holiday as a family of five before baby days are upon us.¹

It’s peaceful here, nestled within the folds of Researche Bay. The water laps gently on the beach, the grand mountains of the Southern Ranges rise up in the distance and the wild Southern Ocean frolics just around the corner.

The children scamper nude along the beach. My daughter carries a bucket full of cockle shells, the boys carry apples.

An elderly woman counts, One, two, three, as they race past. Her eyes scan the arc of my belly. You’re a busy lady, she says. Braver than me, I only had two.

I give her a friendly smile. But wonder if she might be right. Friends advise that three is a crowd and four children become pairs of harmony. Time will tell.

*

The next day the sky is grey and moody. The clouds huddle like a thick woolen blanket. We walk along the coast to Fishermans Point. The children search for starfish and hat shells while my husband snorkels for abalone amongst the bull kelp. I keep one eye on him and one on the children while I stretch my legs in front of me. My right leg aches. A compression stocking hides knotted veins and a blood blue ankle. The sacrifices of growing, carrying and nurturing new life. But despite the challenges, pregnancy feels like a wondrous adventure.

And a baby is the sweetest reward.

*

We stop for a rest at Adams Point where I am glad to let go of my backpack. I round up the children for a family photo. My husband holds the shutter on his phone and then they are gone, racing with the breeze, clambering over rocks and climbing fallen trees. For a few moments I am alone, looking out across the bay and my thoughts return to the life within my belly and to motherhood fourth time around.

Will I feel more confident, I wonder?

*

Back at home, the children and I snuggle up for a bedtime story. My eyes grow heavy. I am so tired. They bring me a cup of milk for the baby in my tummy, cover me with a blanket, and pat my hair. And in this tender moment, before pillows crash and milk spills, everything is wonderful.

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A selection of beautiful poems for mothers

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Substack reading for creative mums

• Jodi Wilson
  ’s Dear New Mum and Practicing Simplicity

• Lucinda Bain
  ’s Suburban Dreaming

• Nadia Mahjouri
  ’s The Whole Truth and podcast The Whole Truth: Motherhood and the Writing Life.

• Annie Ridout
  ’s The Creative Way.

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Video from a wild adventure last weekend

Can you spot our sunny yellow tent? The mountain to the left is Florentine Peak, a beautiful name isn’t it?

It was wonderful to be in the mountains with my ten year old daughter and her friends (and their mums) for 3 days. A very special adventure. More to come.

I had to cut the audio as it was very windy (and chilly up there at 1000m+ elevation).

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I am away adventuring in the Tasmanian wilderness with my husband, an early celebration for my fortieth birthday later this year (lucky me and thanks Grandma for looking after our children).

Snow and rain is forecast. Bushfires are burning out of control to the north and the west.² We may not see the tops of the mountains. We may not leave the tent. But I need this wild remedy. I need to feel alive.

I will be back online next week and look forward to sharing some stories from the Tasmanian wilderness with you.

Until then dear friends,

Wishing you smooth transitions

and warm memories.

Kate x

1. and our last holiday before COVID-19 lock downs in Tasmania and Australia. How little we knew of what was to come.

2. That’s summer in Tasmania and living in this climate nightmare.