toddler

The small one loves ducks so much we set off early and head to the creek

but we’ve never been to this creek before.
Rain wasn’t forecast and I tell that to the sky as it darkens and clouds and of course
pours all over us.

I keep checking the forecast and the sky and not quite understanding 
why the information doesn’t match
I’m cold and wet, but Finch loves the rain

I ask if he still wants to go see ducks
and of course he does, why wouldn’t he. We hide under trees wherever we can and he’s safe in the pram and mostly sheltered, but his little hands are freezing.

We see two ducks from under our tree by the side of the creek and I pull him from his pram and lift him to see and make sure the whole business was worth it
of course it was.

It’s always worth it when Finch has something new to talk about.
The rain gets worse before it eases, just like everything and I tell myself this
is an adventure, if you like rainbows you gotta put up with a bit of rain, but of course there are no rainbows

Just the rain followed by no more rain.

We head to a cafe and I get tea and he gets a marshmallow
and we share fruit toast and he smiles and laughs at everyone and I hold his cold hands
one by one in mine until they’ve thawed a bit and when it’s time to go he wants to go to a playground, so we do.

And how lovely to be so small but so in control of the day, the one day a fortnight we have together so of course I say yes to everything.

Like when we get home and he asks for pizza so I make him a little pizza for lunch
and he pulls the topping off slice after slice so he’s really just eating cheese and again
it’s all worth it.

Except at nap time he cries about having to get into his bed, even though he rolls around happily in there and then falls asleep for an hour and a half and it’s enough time for me
to sit in the sun because the sun’s really and truly out now 

and the washing probably will dry after all even though it got rained all over while we were out and I have enough time to do a bit of marking and check my emails and then write all this down. 

And maybe I don’t need a rainbow to reassure me every time, reassure me everything’s going to be fine
because of course, of course, of course it will be.

Parenting

I’ve glued my daughter’s hair clips back together
pink fabric ripped, but salvageable and
a small blue heart from my own broken earrings.

I could ride my bike to the mall right now 
buy them ten times over, buy the brightest ones
the most expensive ones, ones that will survive 

small fingers and curiosity. They’ve lasted less than two months 
the trip to Kmart her first time using a public toilet, everything 
an adventure after months of lockdown, everything an adventure 

when you’re not-quite two. I could buy her new hair clips 
every day, but I won’t because one bedtime meltdown
she’d been moved away from the cat, who

puts up with more than he should, though loved
puts up with so much she thinks his tail is fair game.
She’s still learning not to squeeze so hard. I took her 

to her room, wiped streaks of tears sat opposite,
a pale green swaddle from newborn days draped
over her head and mine as she calmed, held 

my face with the gentleness I know she has
gentleness I hope for her, but hope will not be her undoing
as it so often has felt like mine…

Thank you for my joy, Mummy I checked I’d understood, Your joy?
Yes. Thank you for my joy. Thank you for dinner, Mummy.
hands still gentle, the same hands that dissected hair clips

beat fists on the ground, made the cat flinch (but never leave, 
I really feel he should sometimes just leave)
Thank you for my sparkly hair clips from Kmart, Mummy.

So I’ve glued them back together, adding a piece 
of me, knowing we’ll break and renew each other
twenty more times before morning.