Wednesday, September 5, 2012


I don't feel I've had a moment to do anything for myself during the last week; no freelance work, no blogging, no watching trashy Californication on Netflix to ogle over Natasha McElhone, no reading William Blake.

I did manage to spend 20 minutes rosining my new birthday violin bow (thank you sisters-in-law!) in preparation for a gig on Saturday, but I've done no actual practice.

This isn't too important as I can practice music in my head - how strange that the process of internally running through tunes can refresh my 'finger memory' but if I think deliberately about the notes while holding my instrument I find I am unable to play anything ... how does the musical brain work?

Yesterday my little son was one and it was all over in the blink of an eye.
Party, instagram style
Exploring the trees with my mum
I found myself re-living my labour during the two days before, what I was feeling and doing at each precise moment; the beginning, the waters, the baths, the breaths, the pacing round the grass, the monitoring, the too cheerful midwives discussing Charlotte Church, the ambulance, the sunny and clean hospital room, the mouth piece of the gas & air, the drip, the uncontrollable shouting, the minute of birth, the bizarreness of holding my new child. The memories are dulled now, no longer tinged with the searing emotion or the prick of tears behind my eyes. I used to wonder if I would ever get over the event, but time does apparently heal all.

This time last year we had been home from the hospital for a couple of hours and we were asking Huw's mother how to tuck the blanket securely round our sleeping newborn in his moses basket. There were 3 bunches of flowers in the house and I felt like I'd been run over by a train both physically and mentally. The first clueless night at home in a year of firsts.

Tonight he's walked to the bedroom after eating pasta and bolognaise for tea and is fast asleep, so wiry and strong and independent. Earlier I gave him his first kitchen scissors haircut, keeping a tiny blonde wisp for his memory box.

It has all gone so fast, I think endlessly to myself, every day.


  1. Happy Birthday little man!!
    P.S. Like your observation about the music brain. It's so true.


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