Boy

You, boy
with your laughter
as infectious as
blades of grass
on brand new skin

You with the
tangled hair and
tumbleweed heart:
you keep me young,
you make my world spin.

You, boy
were once my
wildest dream...
and now I get
to watch you grow.

Taller than the
tallest tree, with the
rays of the sun
bouncing off your face:
how much do I love you?

As high as love can go.

"5 Roasted Vegetables Deception" Cottage Pie

Hands up if you've ever slaved in the kitchen for hours, trying to come up with new ways to serve vegetables to your family...only to have them eat everything else but the said vegetables, pushing it into a neat little pile on the plate. Yes, that.

I'll be the first to admit that I hate cold vegetables. For years I didn't touch peas, because those little suckers are cold before they even hit your plate. So in a way I can empathise...but not so much when I've spent a long time in the kitchen.

So over the past 6 years (which is coincidentally how long Adam and I have been together), I have come up with many different ways of sneaking vegetables into most of our favourite dishes. Spaghetti bolognaise is now packed with carrots, celery and mushrooms. Mashed potato is now mashed cauliflower. Oven baked chips are now sweet potato oven baked chips. The art of deception - I think I'm pretty damn good at it. And what do I get in return? Empty plates and tummies full of vegetables. Yes, I sleep sound at night, thank you very much.

Cottage pie is such a delicious dish, when made right. I've experimented with my cottage pie recipe so much, topping it with a butternut crust instead of mashed potato. I'd always add the "peas, carrots and corn" to it, but lo and behold, the veggies would sometimes end up on the side of the plate again (Eli Hunter, I'm looking at you). So I've come up with a new way to make cottage pie, and when I served it last night, Adam told me that it's the best cottage pie he has ever had. My work here is done.

"5 Roasted Vegetables Deception" Cottage Pie

Ingredients

*5 carrots, chopped into chunks
About 10 baby marrows, halved
3 giant mushrooms
3 big tomatoes, quartered
2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt and black pepper

**1 big head of cauliflower
3 tablespoons of butter

2 tablespoons of olive oil
500g beef mince
1 small tin of tomato paste
Mixed herbs
1 tablespoon of crushed garlic
1 small onion, chopped finely
Parmesan cheese (optional)

Method

1. Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees Celsius.

2. Place all the vegetables (except for the cauliflower) on a baking tray. Drizzle with the olive oil, season with salt and pepper and roast for 30 minutes.

3. In the meantime, break the cauliflower into chunks and boil until soft.

4. About 10 minutes before your vegetables have to come out the oven, heat the olive oil in a pan and fry the onion and garlic until the onion is soft.

5. Add the mince, mixed herbs and tomato paste. Fry the mince until brown. Remove from the heat.

6. Take the roast vegetables from the oven and place in a food processor. Turn the oven down to 180 degrees Celsius. Puree the vegetables until all the big bits are gone.

7. Return the mince to the stove and add the pureed vegetables. Incorporate well and turn off the heat.

8. Once your cauliflower is soft, drain all the water and puree with a stick blender until smooth, adding the butter and salt.

9. Spoon your mince into a deep oven dish, topping it with the creamy cauliflower.

10. Sprinkle generously with parmesan and bake for 20-30 minutes.

Serve immediately and enjoy!

*You can use just about any vegetables in this recipe. I've roasted broccoli and aubergines before and it worked beautifully as well. Play around!

*You can use half mashed cauliflower and half mashed butternut (mixed together) for the topping if you would like to disguise the taste of the cauliflower a bit more.

You're welcome ;)

Spicy Roasted Tomato and Peppadew Soup

So since I've been granted the immense privilege to be a full time mom again, I've had this surge of energy and inspiration to cook. Not that I neglected my family while I was working, but now I'm full of inspiration and use my days to think about the delicious, healthy meals I want to create for Adam and the kids. And then I do it. The feedback has been empty plates and "thank you, mom" eyes. What an honour it is to look after my family.

With the colder weather, I've been cooking soup to freeze so that I (in particular) don't have to worry too much about lunch for myself. Not only does soup keep you warm, but when made right, it's low in kilojoules, keeps your immune system up due to the hits of garlic and ginger and it caters for your summer body (currently in progress, of course).

Here is a delicious and very easy tomato soup I made last night. To make it kid friendly, leave out the chili.

Spicy Roasted Tomato and Peppadew Soup (serves 4)

Ingredients:
1kg of ripe tomatoes
3 tablespoons of crushed garlic
3 tablespoons of crushed ginger
3 tablespoons of red peppadews
2 tablespoons basil infused avocado oil (olive oil is perfect too)
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 teaspoon of coconut oil (olive oil is perfect too)
1 tablespoon of crushed chili (adjust according to your capacity)
1 tin of whole, peeled tomatoes
1 packet/small tin of tomato paste
1 cup of good quality vegetable stock
Fresh basil to serve

Method:

1. Pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees Celsius 

2. Quarter the tomatoes, without cutting right through them and place on a large baking tray

3. Place equal amounts of garlic, ginger and peppadew on each open tomato

4. Drizzle with the basil oil (or olive oil)

5. Season with salt and pepper to taste

6. Place baking tray into the oven and roast the tomatoes for 30 minutes.

With about 5-8 minutes to go before you have to take the tomatoes out of the oven:

7. In a large pot, heat up the coconut oil and fry the chili until fragrant and softer. You might want to add a little bit of water to the pot at this stage

8. Add the tomato paste and mix well with the chili. Add more water if it's too thick

9. Now add the tin of peeled, whole tomatoes - including the juice 

10. Take the roast tomatoes out of the oven and add everything to the pot

11. Remove the pot from the heat and blend everything in the pot with a stick blender until all the tomatoes and other ingredients are pureed. It doesn't have to be a smooth consistency, but all the big bits need to be gone (If you don't have a stick blender, use a food processor)

12. Place the pot back onto the stove and stir the soup through

13. Add the vegetable stock, reduce the heat and let the soup simmer for 10-15 minutes

14. Serve warm with fresh basil

Let me know what you think of this recipe and most of all: bon appetite.

Parables on Mountains (of toys)

Kids. Gotta love 'em. Apart from teaching you about the obvious and ultimately inevitable things which happen once you enter The Parent Hood (such as "you are able to cope on much less sleep than you ever imagined possible" and "who likes to sit down for 5 minutes and enjoy a hot cup of coffee, anyway?), kids will also teach you many other lessons that will stick with you for life. That's if you allow them to, of course.

Because kids aren't born with bad intentions, hidden agendas and ulterior motives, we truly can look at them for examples on how to become better parents, and simply put, better human beings. They are brutally honest, frighteningly frank and non-biased. They are emotional, innocent and in touch with who they are. Their hearts are pure.

Although I've only been a parent for just over 3 years, I know that I will never be the same person I used to be. It's impossible. Eli and Tori have both taught me things that I hope to apply more and more in my own life.

Here are just a few examples of what they've shown me in their own, unique ways:

1. If the cake sucks, just eat the icing.

I've lost count at the amount of times that Eli has taken a cupcake or a slice of cake at a birthday party, and proceeded to simply lick off all the icing and discard the cake. I've given up on trying to change this about him, because quite frankly, life is too short to suffer through dry cake. Sometimes it's ok to just take the good, and leave the bad. It's ok to be picky. But only sometimes, not all the time.

2. Even if you don't know the song, you must sing and dance.

Tori discovered her vocal cords very early on in life. Not just for shouting, but also for "singing" and "humming". I'd sing a long note, and she'd sing with me. The kettle would boil, Tori would "sing" with it. We'll pat her on the back when putting her to sleep, and she'll "sing".

Then a few months ago, she discovered that she could dance! It's so delightful to watch as she bobs along to any music, with a huge grin on her face. She doesn't need to know the song to sing it, dance to it or be happy about it. All she knows, is that she wants to do it.

This is proof that there is always a reason to be happy - just listen out for the music. Improvisation is key. Fake it until you make it. And yes, somebody is probably going to look at you while you are busy doing it, but who cares.

3. It's perfectly alright to cry every day.

Ok, maybe not every day if you're a grownup, but it's certainly allowed every now and again. Most of us have been brought up in societies which advocate philosophies like, "cowboys don't cry" or "put your big girl panties on"...but sometimes, nothing but a good old fashioned crying session will do the trick. I've seen it with both my kids - they cry when they are tired, hungry, sad, frustrated, when they get hurt or when they need attention. And then they feel better. As adults we have coping mechanisms which enable us to deal with our emotions in a better way, but if you must cry, cry. The point is, feel what you must feel. Don't be apologetic about it. And then move on.

4. Don't trust strangers.

It's a fact that not everyone you meet in life has your best interests at heart. Both my kids have clung to me like little monkeys, hidden behind me or looked at me with "help me, mom" eyes when strangers have come to coochi-coo them. And I've always encouraged them to acknowledge their feelings - it's ok to feel awkward around strangers.

We are all born with that little voice inside of us - that gut instinct or sixth sense - but we often ignore it. I'm not saying that we should lead suspicious lives, but we do need to trust ourselves and our instincts more. If you don't like somebody, or if they make you feel uncomfortable, it's usually for a reason.

5. It's all about me.

I think we would all agree that being selfish is not a good characteristic - whether you are an adult or a child. But children come into this world with a whole list of wants and needs that nobody but their parents can fulfil. It actually starts when they are still in the womb - they take and take and take some more. It's all about me. It's mine. Meh.

Too bad if you want to watch something on TV, they've already got their hearts set on watching what they want to watch (for the hundredth time...today). Too bad if you want to go somewhere else for dinner, "Spur People" is their favourite place in the whole wide world. Too bad if you want to sleep, they need to build a tent right now and they need your help. No actually, you're in the way.

But you know what, I've come to realise that  it's perfectly normal and ok to be selfish once in while. To know exactly what you want in life, and to go for it wholeheartedly - pulling out all the stops as you charge along.

And if it doesn't work out, cry.

And then...share.

6. Make every day a special occasion

Life is life. I often feel bombarded by to-do lists, shopping lists, don't-forget lists and a multitude of weekend plans. It is so easy to start living from weekend to weekend. We pray that Monday will be easy on us, Tuesdays generally suck more than Mondays, by Wednesday we are ready to punch someone, Thursday is technically Friday Eve and then FridaySaturdaySunday. Repeat the cycle.

But it doesn't have to be like that. With kids, every day is pretty much a special occasion - and even if it really isn't, they find beauty and immense pleasure in the mundane.

I remember one night not so long ago, when we decided to go to "Spur People". We didn't tell Eli until we got there and his reaction was priceless: he threw his hands in the air and shouted "Woohooooo!!!" like someone who just heard The Good News for the first time. And this was not because my cooking is terrible or because we had never gone to the Spur before. Eli's life was just made perfect in that moment. We should all learn to really enjoy and celebrate the big and the small moments in life.

7. Act as if you just won the lottery.

When I was a kid, my mom often used to say to me, "Money doesn't grow on my back" or "Do you think money grows on trees?" Only now that I am a parent myself, do I understand such rhetorical statements and questions.

Eli really does think that we have an endless supply of money. He doesn't know how we get it, or that earning money implies that we have had to work for it. In his mind, we simply go to the bank or swipe our cards at the cashier.

When we've told Eli "no" in the past when he's asked us to buy him a new toy or some sweets/books/whatever clever marketing strategy there is aimed at kids (and this happens daily, by the way), he has often (out of sheer desperation, I think) offered to pay for the said item himself. Once again, proving that kids have no concept of money and that they think we are all millionaires.

But this is not necessarily a bad thing. We should all live with the mentality that we are rich. That we have more than enough. That we are able to buy things, but that we actually choose not to. That the God we serve, owns the cattle on a thousand hills and that we have a very big inheritance.

How many of you have had to pay that R7 parking ticket with a R100 note? And then the machine kindly refunds you in R2 coins. Have you ever looked at the expression of a child when that happens? They look like they've just won the lottery.

We're all stinking rich...it's just a matter of perspective.

8. Thank you Jesus for the food, Idon'tknowtheotherwords, Aaaaamen.

We're a family who believes in God. We trust in Him, look towards Him and we thank Him daily for all that we've got. We've also been teaching Eli from a very young age to pray before He eats his food. It's so awesome to witness.

Of course, the hungrier he is, the less audible is Eli's prayer.

But he always prays.

Even though he is so young, and he might not fully understand the gravity and the fullness of prayer, he does it with all his heart.

We might not always know the right words to pray, but as long as we keep on doing it, God will hear us.

9. Saying "pleeeease" sadly won't get you everything you want.

I'll be the first to admit that we drilled manners into Eli until he grasped the concept of "please and thank you" 100%. To be honest, we're still at it, because manners and being polite are ongoing concepts.

Then Eli realised that when he says "please", he gets something in return. And then he thought if he said it enough times, he would get whatever he wants. He even told me yesterday, after I had told him "no" for that packet of crisps before dinner, "But I said please!"

So the lesson I've learnt from this, is that we should always have good manners. Regardless of what we're after, or what the outcome, manners manners manners.

Because it took your mom a lifetime to teach them to you.

10. It's ok to pretend.

Eli lives in a fantasy world, and I love taking glimpses of this crazy, beautiful world with him, although I know that I will never be able to see exactly what he does because of my "adult eyes".

He takes a bite of his chip, and he says, "Look mommy, it's a fish." And then two minutes later, "Look mommy, the shark is now eating the fish." If he doesn't know the name of a fictional character or one of his toys, he says, "Hmmm let's call him..." and then he makes something up. Eli's imagination knows no bounds, and this is a good thing.

Unfortunately, as adults, we tend to err more on the side of being realists. And this is purely because we have (most of us) experienced hardships in life. We've become a bit jaded and sceptical, but when we surround ourselves with kids, and try to see the world through their eyes, we realise once again how beautiful life really is.

And I'm sorry, but I don't care who you are - if a 3 year-old gives you a cup of tea that he has been "cooking", you better drink it.

And you better pretend that it's the most delicious tea that you've ever tasted.

It's good for the soul.

Tori: {bird}

I promise to always

form a cocoon for you

- with my arms -

until you grow

your own set of wings.

With my kisses

I will provide an antidote

for your every sore heart,

every cutting word

and every reality that stings.

For you, my butterfly,

I would give up

the ability to fly

if it meant

that you would soar.

Tori, my little bird.

The girl with the

hummingbird heart

and the sky in her eyes:

I will always love you more.

Lost & Found

I like Christmas. I’m not even going to beat around the bush. I love Christmas. Since I was a very small girl, I’ve always been spoiled immensely by my entire family over Christmas. Sure, as I’ve grown up, I’ve learnt that Christmas is definitely not about the gifts under the tree. It’s not about ripping through the paper in a haze of excitement. It’s not even about “celebrating Jesus’ birth”, as Jesus wasn’t born in December (apparently). It’s about family and that special sticky glue that binds us together. Love. Fellowship. Being thankful.

Having said that, I remember a Christmas a few years back where Adam went through great lengths to disguise the box which my gift came in, and when I started opening this elusive treasure, I nearly passed out I was so excited. A Carrol Boyes recipe book stand for my kitchen. The man knows me so well.

Then we had kids, and Christmas took on a whole new meaning altogether. No longer was it about what we wanted to give one another, but we could barely wait to give Eli’s 133 gifts to him and it was our Tori’s first Christmas too. It also helped that this past Christmas was the first year Eli was really excited about Christmas. We were even more excited for him. To see the look on his face as he opened his first gift was priceless. And then he got so stuck on that first gift – something which he had wanted for such a long time – that he showed little to no interest in his other gifts. Kids. We, the sulky parents, kept some gifts aside for him to open on Boxing Day and went to bed mumbling, consoling one another, “He was just overwhelmed and tired”.

And then there were my gifts. Once again, I was spoiled so much. Like when I was a little girl. Adam pulled out every single stop, and he outdid me at Christmas. I felt like crying, while he simply said I deserved to be spoiled. In short, he “out-Maryke’d Maryke”. One particular gift from my husband really stood out above the rest – a beautiful pair of vintage-looking earrings. They are so me. They are exquisite, the shine they cast reflecting and bouncing across the room and I couldn’t stop looking at them. The man knows me so well.

Of course I wore my new earrings to our Christmas lunch, which my mom had booked months in advance for us. We decided to go for a buffet lunch instead of slaving in front of the stove for days. I made a delicious roast beef on Christmas Eve, so this was just an extension of our feast.

And then life happened. The Grinch stole Christmas…in my heart.

The lunch booking was an absolute disaster. Not only did the restaurant decide to put an almost 100% mark-up on the buffet, but the food looked atrocious. Far from the feast I has imagined, I could feel my heart sinking in my shoes. This was not the Christmas I had in mind. My bottom lip started trembling. Adam and I then decided to walk around the mall to see if any other restaurants were open. We were hopeful, and “lucky”. What we found was an open McDonalds, Chicken Licken and Cape Town Fish Market. Oh, the options! We phoned my parents (who were still sitting at the buffet restaurant, waiting for some news from us) and we asked if Cape Town Fish Market wasn’t perhaps a better option. Sure, it sucked, but we were desperately trying to make the best out of a really sucky situation.

We’re all finally sitting at a table at Cape Town Fish Market, when I try to console myself by touching my gorgeous earrings, a reminder of how special I was feeling that morning. And one is missing. I can only feel one earring and I can literally feel the panic rising up in me. Adam looks at me and asks, “What’s the matter” and I can only manage tears. What a horrible Christmas indeed.

So my dad and I decide to retrace my steps in hope that we might find The Missing Earring. We walk around the mall a few times, I’m wiping the tears away angrily, cursing under my breath how unfair life is and how this was the worst Christmas I had ever had. And that didn’t help me to find The Missing Earring, either.

Back at the table, the mood is sombre. We order our food begrudgingly (sushi doesn’t exactly scream “Christmas”) and Adam decides to do some of his own Sherlock Holmes-ing. He stays away and then he stays away some more. Then he’s back. His pokerface giving me zero hope – ah well, kudos to him for trying.

And then he dangles it in front of my face.

Christmas redeemed and my heart feeling a 100 times better. My husband saved Christmas. I immediately tuck both earrings in my purse and vow to put some proper butterflies on them lest one should ever leave me again.

Fast forward about a month down the line. Adam and I decide to go and watch a very late movie, which means both kids would be asleep and my parents would only have to listen for a cry here and there, but they generally sleep right through. Adam and I sneak back into the house at about 1am and it’s dark and quiet. We get undressed and into our pyjamas by the romantic light that is the cell phone hue as to not wake anybody up. I take The Beloved Earrings off and place them on the dressing table and get into bed.

The following day, around noon, Adam tells me, “You know only one of your earrings are on the dressing table?” Impossible. I know for a fact that I had made a point of placing both earrings on the dressing table. Together. I rush to where I know I put them. And lo and behold, the same bloody earring is missing. I am absolutely devastated, but also very cross because I know for a fact that I had taken extra special measures to ensure that I keep both earrings together.

Enter prime suspect number one.

“Eli, did you take one of mommy’s earrings?”

“Yes.”

And that’s that. He runs away without an explanation. All of us gently try and coax little bits of information out of him, which only leads us on a wild witch hunt and my mother turning out her cutlery drawer in the kitchen. Nada.

I try to go for a run that afternoon, but my heart is feeling so incredibly heavy. I barely manage 1km when I stand next to the side of the road and sob into Adam’s chest. Why did this have to happen again? What was the purpose of this? Why is God punishing me? Sure, it was only an earring, but after it was found on Christmas, its value increased by at least three zeros.

Two more weeks go by and I have almost forgotten about The Missing Earring again. Adam I went to the jeweller where he purchased it initially, and unfortunately we are unable to order just one other earring, but “what about turning the remaining earring into a necklace?” Next please.

It’s Valentine’s Day and Adam and I prepare for a 10km Valentine’s Night Race – my first 10km since the birth of Tori and something awesome to do together. We scurry to get enough safety pins together between the two of us to pin our numbers to the front of our shirts. Adam says he knows where there might be some more.

“Babe, where is your earring?” he asks.

“You mean the remaining one? It’s here, in my jewellery box.”

And then he dangles it in front of my face.

Valentine’s Day redeemed, even though it wasn’t even bad to start off with. Eli (yes, I still think he did it) placed (hid) one of my earrings in the shaving bag Adam uses to put all his running odds and ends in. That would have been the last place I would have ever looked.

Needless to say, I haven’t been overly keen to wear my (now) R5 million earrings too often. What if I was to lose one again? Surely my heart won’t be able to handle another case of lost and found…

And that brings me to my final point. No matter how we get beaten around in life – or how lost we feel, how far we stray from God – we are never really lost. God knows where we are in our lives, and he will leave thousands behind to come and find one lost sheep. He says so in his word (Matthew 18v11-13 - "For the Son of Man has come to save that which was lost. What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying? If it turns out that he finds it, truly I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine which have not gone astray.”)

Just like that one earring is of immeasurable value to me, even more than the complete set, we are of immeasurable value to God. He will not relent till we are safe and sound and back where we belong. With Him.

I once was lost, but now I’m found.

Amazing Grace.

The Story of Her: The Girl with the Hair

I’ve been writing and rewriting this post in my head since the moment I first held her close to my naked chest almost six months ago, my heart pounding and singing in my ears. I have been mincing my words between my fingers – like the most fragrant mix of spices you’ve ever smelled – and yet no combination of words ever seemed to work just right. No words have seemed adequate enough to describe what happened to me, to us as a little family, the day we met her. Tori Eve. The Girl with the Hair.

Before I tell you about the 29^th of August 2013, I want to go back (briefly) to the 19^th of April 2011 – the day he arrived. Eli Hunter. It was hands down one of the best days of my life as I stared down into his big eyes, his small body drowning in his red dinosaur baby grow, and I just knew without a shadow of a doubt that this little boy is going to teach me everything I thought I knew about life. The good and the bad. He was going to expose me – my strengths and my weaknesses. After all, he made me a mother.



The day Eli met Tori. And vice versa. Pure magic.

But sadly his birth wasn’t the magical affair I had dreamt about for 9 months. Quite the contrary. I felt robbed and I honestly felt butchered. Misguided. Absolutely devastated. There’s a huge gap in the show reel of “Eli’s Birth”. A few pieces of the puzzle are completely missing and the only people who really know what happened in that theatre, what his first cry sounded like, are the people who were present (I was there, but I was under general anaesthetic). An uncaring doctor and some nursing staff. People who are of no consequence to my son.

Now let’s go back to Tori’s birth. I’ve had 2 years and 4 months to prepare myself both mentally and physically for the onslaught. Of course my guard was up since the moment I found out I was pregnant with Tori, but only because I knew I would fight tooth and nail to have a different birth experience. And I did.

Needless to say, I changed gynaecologists and went to a wonderful and well-respected doctor with whom we had walked a very tough road after I had lost a baby in 2012. He knew me and I knew he was a good man. Plus, I love his sense of humour. I can clearly remember the day I told him that I am not going to opt for an elective Cesarean (the obvious choice after a previous C-section), but rather a VBAC (Vaginal Birth after Cesarean) delivery. He raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, but hardly looked up from where he was busy making notes. I knew I probably went against the grain of everything that he believed in, being a very traditional and Orthodox Jewish man in his late 60s/early 70s. But kudos to him for not once trying to talk me out of my decision in the 9 month road I walked with him, or for trying to use the silly scare tactics that so many doctors use to get their way. I have nothing but the utmost respect for him.

The months rolled by and Tori was growing beautifully – I couldn’t have asked for a healthier pregnancy. She was so gentle on me. I felt fabulous. I felt the glow that everyone was talking about. By the 6^th month, Tori was lying in the anterior position with her head down and I felt such a sense of satisfaction – my clever girl was doing exactly what I expected her to. At every appointment with the gynae, I almost had to “remind” him that we were planning for a VBAC and then he would almost remember all over again. I put this down to the forgetfulness that comes with old age. He did mention a few times that Tori was probably going to be a “big baby” (about 3.5kgs), but I just smiled and nodded because I knew from doing extensive (and borderline obsessive) research that having a big baby is not a good enough reason to have a repeat c-section.

Come the final month of my pregnancy (August), everything was still on track for my VBAC. Tori was still in position and I was feeling huge. But even my discomfort wasn’t enough of a reason to deter me from the original plan. My Dr “provisionally” booked the theatre for a c-section should we need it, as he said it’s better to plan for the unseen and we could always cancel the theatre. 14 August – "Not C-Section Day" in my mind - came and gone. My response: she’ll come when she’s ready.

Twelve more days went by, which equals about three years in late-pregnancy terms, and still no sign of Tori. I was over 40 weeks pregnant and my patience was really wearing thin. “Good thing it’s a due date and not an expiration date,” I told myself. I saw my Dr on Monday the 26^th of August and he was just as shocked as the rest of the world that I was still pregnant, as he had really thought that she would be here already. He was willing to let me walk till the 29^th, but not a day later. 41 weeks was his cut-off point, as no good would come from going longer. If she didn’t come in the next 3 days, I needed to be at the hospital on Thursday for an induction.

Induction. That dreaded word. The reason Eli’s birth turned out the way it did. I went home and cried a bit. I spoke softly to Tori. I prayed that she would come out of her own and that we could avoid an induction. I went for a session of intense reflexology to help the labour process along. I walked (OK, waddled) kilometres around the block. I prayed some more. Nothing. So I found peace in my heart, packed my last few things, had some sushi and frozen yogurt with my adoring husband the night before and I went home and waited the last few hours out.

It’s August the 29^th. We drive to the hospital while it’s still dark. I am excited and nervous, but mostly I feel ready. I remember praying that I could still have a natural delivery, and all I heard was God saying to me, “Your daughter is being born today. Let’s dance.” That last phrase spoke to the very depths of my soul and told me that it was a day of celebration, and that nothing else really matters. I had already won the battle.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the next 14 (yes, 14) hours that was my labour, but let’s just say it was intense and slow. And curiously satisfying. Empowering, even. My Dr popped in every now and again, always cracking jokes and laughing, but other than that I was left in the capable hands of Nurse Dumi, my doula Zaheda and my Adam. Time didn’t matter to anybody. I walked around. I squatted. I bounced on the ball. I cried. I swore. I got foot and back rubs. Things were happening…things were really happening. And when things slowed down and I got really despondent, I was put on a Pitocin drip (to help speed things along). But not once did anybody mention the dreaded c-word.

Around the 5cm dilated mark, I couldn’t take the pain anymore and I opted for an epidural. Life-changing stuff that! Immediately, my whole demeanour changed and I went from feeling like a rabid animal, to a relaxed and calm state of mind. I quickly dilated from 5cm to 8cm while talking to Adam, smiling, fixing my hair and even redoing my makeup - and this after I had been ready to give up a few hours earlier because I couldn’t handle the pain any longer. Everyone was just about ready for the action to start happening – I was merely minutes away from being wheeled into the delivery room to meet Tori.

And then all my contractions stopped dead. Tori’s heart rate started dropping. The Dr examined me and what I saw on his face was bad news. My labour was literally regressing – I was back to being 6cm dilated. He went from being this happy-go-lucky Dr, to the Professional we had placed our lives in the hands of. I needed to have a Cesarean. No questions asked and no hesitations. I was so extremely disappointed, but so was my Dr. He just kept on saying, “I’m so, so sorry”. And that’s when I knew this was the right thing to do. This was the key, differentiating moment. Peace washed over me as Adam and I and even the doula wiped our tears away. Everyone was praising me for how incredibly brave I had been, and I knew it wasn’t just words. I had tried my heart out. I felt it.

Moments before Tori was born.

 

“Your daughter is being born today. Let’s dance.”

And there she was. At first a muffled, and then a resounding cry. The art of being born. The most electric and defining moment of my life. Witnessing the birth of my daughter in the present tense.

I rotated this picture so that you can see Tori's face. This picture takes my breath away.

All I remember was the Dr commenting on how incredibly tangled Tori was in her umbilical cord – it was properly wrapped around her torso like a seat belt and bunched around her shoulders. Thank God for his protection over her life. She never would have come naturally given the circumstances. Like I even cared in that moment.

The paediatrician – who literally only gave Tori a once-over before placing her on my chest, no checks and tests – commented on how much hair she has. Everyone commented on her beauty. Everyone was in awe. Everyone was just about in tears. I couldn’t stop staring at this perfect creature that was lying all cuddled up on me, sucking on her little hand. The way she looked at me – we knew each other. The way she smelled – like the earth, like life and like the sweetest fragrance I have ever smelled. The look in Adam’s eyes will stay with me till the day I die – a look of pure adoration, pride and love. I had done well.

My girl weighed in at a massive 3.97kg and 53cm and she was the most perfect and beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. Tori Eve – Victorious Life – the one person who taught me even more than Eli did when he was born. I felt no disappointment, no anger and the “ifs, buts and maybes” of that day blurred into obscurity and faded into nothing when compared to the pink rosebud that is her mouth. I had done well.

Tori Eve. The Girl with the Hair.

The absolute high of Tori’s birth has of course worn off over the last few months, but all I have to do is look at her, still with her beautiful head of hair, the most beautiful big blue eyes I have ever seen, her adorable, loving nature and I am transported back to that place. Back to where God gave me what I needed on that day, and not necessarily what I wanted. And in the end, what I wanted was exactly what I needed.

My heart needed healing, and only the Girl with the Hair could do that.