Lately, as I watch Rascal grow up, I have been thinking. Dangerous I know. But I do it anyway! I’m a rebel like that. Anyway, moving on. I’ve been thinking about how she is the most important thing in life, the reason I do things I would never have previously considered doing.

For example, I don’t mind getting up early every morning and waking up if she is upset in the night. I don’t mind wiping a pooey bottom and getting splashed on in the bath. I don’t mind getting a food-sneeze when she’s eating and wiping her runny nose. I might not particularly enjoy some of those things but I wouldn't have it any other way. One thing for sure, I would usually have not done any of these things for another person.

I was also thinking about how there was a moment in time when she didn’t exist. And then she did. The concept of her not existing seems so foreign to me now. I don’t remember what life was like before she came along and I don’t remember what the point of life was. I got up every day and lived solely for myself, husband and job. As important as some of these things are, they pale in comparison to what I do now. Not that my husband isn't important, he is! But you know what I mean! It's a different type of importance. Responsibility for a whole person from the start of their life. 

I also think that, if the circumstances had have been different, she may not have been her! I mean it would have been our child and we wouldn’t have known any different, but it wouldn’t have been the exact child we have now if timing had have been different! That blows my small mind slightly. Maybe thinking really is too dangerous for me. 

As I watch her become a little person with individual thoughts and desires, I am amazed at the creation I have been given the privilege of participating in. I can’t wait to see the person she becomes as she grows up as a 2 year old, 5 year old, 10 year old, 15 year old. It will be an amazing rollercoaster ride. And I can’t wait!


Libby :)

My daughter has always had a big head. Ever since she was born she has had a head in the 98th percentile, though her height and weight have not followed suit. Having said this, though, her head does not look bigger than any other head I've seen on babies throughout my years. So I'm not particularly worried about it. 

I am, though, worried about another type of big head. Everywhere we go, and I'm sure other mums have this "problem," people tell her how gorgeous and beautiful she is. Don't get me wrong, I 100% agree with them but I can almost see Rascal's head growing before my very eyes. She grins appreciatively back at them and giggles knowingly. And I really do think she knows what they are saying. I can almost hear her replying, "I know! Aren't I?! Thank you for noticing!"  


Now, once again, don't get me wrong. I tell her she is gorgeous and beautiful all the time, constantly. I genuinely think she is and, as her mother, I should think that! But it is also a fine line between one knowing they are beautiful in their own right and being confident about it, and letting it get to one's head. 

So, as parents, how do we ensure that this line is not crossed? It is important for our daughters to have confidence in how they look and the way they were created. As a Christian, I hope I can convey to Rascal that she is beautiful because she was created beautifully by a powerful Creator. And in that she can have confidence. 

Beauty is a fickle thing and in the eye of the beholder. One day we all get old and our beauty fades and changes. It is important for Rascal to believe in beauty beyond the cosmetic. So when people tell her how gorgeous and beautiful she is, I will teach her to thank her Creator for making her that way. 

Libby :)

We were about 15 minutes into the swimming lesson when my nose detected that familiar waft of stench. I grimaced. Rascal had done a poo in her swimming nappy. This was the third time she had done it and I didn’t enjoy the experience. At the end of the lesson, I dashed out of the pool, instead of chatting pleasantly with the other mums and leisurely exiting the pool as I usually did. I made a bee line to the pram, wrapped her in a spare towel and put her in.

As I powerwalked (you can’t run at the pool…) toward the family change rooms, I pondered the options. In the previous two occasions that she had done this, I had used alternate methods to solve the problem. One was to lay her down on a change table and, using about four thousand wipes, slowly take off the nappy whilst wiping constantly. On the other occasion the method was to hold her over my arm and carefully peel off the nappy. Not much was still on her bottom so I simply rinsed it under the running shower. The second option had been much easier so I headed for the shower room when I got to the change room. I peeled off her yellow polka-dot swimming costume while I got the shower to a pleasant temperature. Her nappy wafted at me and I scrunched up my nose. Then I took a deep, slow breath and headed toward the water stream. 

I began to peel off the nappy, slowly and cautiously. I peered at her bottom, watching to see if anything was staying on it. Everything looked good so I proceeded with the plan. I eased the nappy smoothly down her legs, the contents staying safely within. Rascal sang to herself, as she hung there, draped on my arm. I held my breath and gave one final tug on the nappy. 

That’s when things stopped following the plan. Rascal, in her innocent way, gave a gleeful kick in the middle of her song. The nappy and its contents, which had, thus far, survived the removal process, were suddenly suspended in the air. It happened in slow motion. I managed to keep a hold of the nappy, but I was not so fortunate with the contents. Poo sprayed out of the nappy and down the wall of the change room, also flicking onto my leg.  It was the worst possible outcome!

I screamed silently in horror and stuck my leg under the shower stream. I picked up the nappy and put it in a plastic bag, then began rinsing the wall with the hand held shower head. I rinsed Rascal off, wrapped her up in the towel and began to rinse the floor and myself again. It was extremely disgusting. I dressed Rascal warmly, then dressed myself and left the pool, sincerely hoping that I never have to deal with a pooey swimming nappy ever again! 

Libby :)