Buckets, spades and false eyelashes

Hi Milla.

It's Mom.

We took you to the Sedgefield lagoon yesterday, to play in the rock pools.

You looked so cute in your little sunhat and swimsuit-thingy, sitting in the water and eating the spade. You did one of your face-dives at one point and ended up covered in sand. Which you didn't like. And I, uncharacteristically, sat beside you (in my 50s-style Granny cossie, hat and fab sunnies) - caring not a jot that I'm pale, freckly and not in beach-ready shape.

It was then that I realised how much this holiday differs from holidays past.

As far as aesthetics are concerned, that is.

1. No eyelash extensions
2. No fake tan
3. No freshly applied hair colour
4. No perfect mani and pedi
5. No heels. None.
6. No teeny bikini
7. No suntan oil
8. No glittery moisturiser
9. No makeup. None.

I have also swum in the lagoon, which I never do. Worn my nightie til noon. Worn SPF 50. Kept my hat on. Shmeared you with sun stuff. Often. Eaten multiple choccie soft serves.

It's been heavenly.

I like holidays with you much better than all those past. (Except possibly the Asian ones :)

May you love your holidays, you little sand crab.

Love you.

Mom x

She taught me bravery.

Hi Milla.

It's Mom.

And again, a blog post that's not about you. Well, not really.

I had a cousin. A beautiful, bold, big-mouthed, brilliant cousin. Her name was Nicci. She was everything that, in my early, mid and late teens, I badly wanted to be.

She took no bullshit. Spoke her mind. Was completely unapologetic about not liking certain people. Was generous and kind-hearted towards people she didn't know, and divine to people she liked.

She had style. Had confidence. Had loyal followers, friends and even foes. She carried her own herbal teabags, in case the restaurant in question didn't have what she wanted. Had a little metal box with her sweetener in it. (And we were students, fergodsakes. Who thinks about tea and sweetener?) Was an absolute man-magnet. Loved smoking. And parties.

Here are some other things I really loved about Nicci:

• The dimple that was high up in her cheek (I have one too).
• Her thumbs (weird, exactly like my father's and her mother's).
• The way she walked. Okay, strode.
• Her watches. They were glorious.
• Her laugh: a loud, naughty cackle.
• The fact that she always, always smelled like Mugler's 'Angel'.
• How unashamedly smart she was.

What I want you to know is that I was going to name you Cole. After her (Nicole) and my late Dad (Colin). I didn't, but that doesn't minimise the effect she had on my adult life.

I think about her every day. (Which is strange, if we're being completely honest here, because I was nowehere near as close to her as some people were - and as I am to my very closest friends... But I would have loved to be.) She altered my personality.

After we lost her in 2001, just before her 21st, I began to notice my dimple. I started to laugh more. And I developed the sort of confidence that colleagues remark on. I'm proud to be bold and big-mouthed. I take little bullshit. I speak my friggin' mind. A lot. Loudly.

I didn't do any of this on purpose. It just happened. Somewhere between 2002 and 2005, I transformed from a bit of a wallflower, with a healthy dose of insecurity and public shyness, into an extrovert who likes chatting to strangers, says irreverent things, dives in.

I am brave. Nicci taught me bravery. May you be brave.

I love you.

Mom x

Something to be grateful for

Hi Milla.

It's Mom.

Believe it or not, this little blog post isn't actually about you.

Although - at 8.5 months - you're so cute it's obscene. You have a tooth, and several adorable habits (like smacking your lips between bites, eating lemon wedges, giving five, saying 'Mamamamamama' on repeat, and wrinkling your nose when you smile), and you're crawling up a storm, standing brilliantly and starting to toddle if your hand is held. You also occasionally lift your knees up off the floor when crawling. And you yawn, eat and look a lot like a little tortoise.

But, moving on. This post is about gratitude. And your Dad.

A week or two ago, I leaped aboard the #thingsIamgratefulfor meme on Twitter, and started posting daily tweets about things I felt grateful for. I got to number 6. And stopped. Not because I ran out of things to thank the universe for, but because I got bored with the meme.

This morning, tho', while lying awake in the scary hours (because I'd dreamed someone had stolen you and couldn't get back to sleep once I checked that you were a) still there and b) still breathing), I started thinking about numbers. And this made me absurdly grateful.

Here they are:

• 5    The number of dates Dad and I had before he asked for an exclusive :)
• 3    The number of months it took me and Dad to realise we loved each other
• 8    The number of months til Dad asked me to marry him
• 3    The number of seconds it took me to say Yes
• 20  The number of months we were together, in total, before we were married
• 3.5 The number of years we were together before we had you
• 6    The number of weeks it took for us to get pregnant with you
• (60  The number of years I hope your Dad and I will still have together)

And all of these numbers make me feel absurdly grateful.

As do you. Because you're deliciousness personified.

May you feel grateful for so many wonderful things in your life.

I love you.

Mom x

8 months old...

...and crawling!

Also standing, clapping, waving, flapping and featuring the start of one tiny tooth. What a clever pumpernickel.

Hi Milla.

It's Mom.

Every day you're turning into a more delicious (and slightly weird) human being. You've started developing a real little personality, a strong will and a passion for some odd things. Like:

1. Watching sport on TV. Neither Dad nor I like sport. Playing it, watching it, talking about it. And yet, if there's rugby, soccer, or anything else with a ball and players running on green surfaces, you're glued.

2. Afrikaans pop. Now don't tell anyone, Milla-Pops, but I like Kurt Darren. Dad is deeply embarrassed about this. But you seem to like him in general. And Afrikaans gospel groups in particular.

3. Ads for mediocre double-cabs. Every time the Plutus (whatever the hell that is) is advertised on TV, you stop what you're doing and pay attention. Like I said, weird. Dad is profoundly unimpressed.

4. Trying to eat weird things. The wall, the table, my shoulder, your father. The cats.

5. Creedence Clearwater Revival. Yes, really. I realise that they are responsible for 'Have you ever seen the rain', but seriously, kid. Next it's gonna be Smokie.

I'm also going to seize this rare blogging opportunity to place on record a couple of Milla-stones. So, for the two or three people who regularly read this blog (Hi Mom. Hi Hil. Hi Dan.), here's a short list of things you've started doing since I blogged last:

1. Crawling. Fast.

2. Rolling. Off your changing station.

3. Pulling yourself up on things.

4. Unpacking my wine racks.

5. Trying to climb down the stairs.

6. Sticking your tongue out the side of your mouth.

7. Saying 'Tata' and waving bye-bye.

8. Pointing with one finger.

9. Dancing. Kind of.

10. Sleeping on your tummy.

I love you,

Mom x