Today

International Women’s Day. I nearly let the day pass. My womanly soul is weary and celebrating womanhood somehow feels disingenuous. I feel a bit battered and bruised and probably – while I’m being honest - a little bit confused about what this womanhood/motherhood caper is all about.

I’ve been back at work a month now. I’m not enjoying it. My working days have become so full of the ‘everyday’ that I have almost no time for anything else. I read this week in the newspaper that a study recently found that most women have less than ½ hour “me time” built into their days. I found myself nodding in agreement. I find myself choosing between sleep and just a bit of time for me– half an hour of knitting or five minutes more in the shower.

And I was so hopeful last year. Standing on the cusp of motherhood I was so optimistic and assured of my rights as a woman and mother. I was so sure about what I thought I wanted and I was quietly confident that society would help me out; turns out that I didn’t have a clue.

So in no particular order, here’s what I want: I want a career. I want to be heard. I want to cuddle Emilia and have her shower me with her sloppy, open mouth kisses a hundred times a day. I want equal pay and the rightful acknowledgment of my experience and qualifications. I want to stay home and nurse my baby and not send her off to childcare with a bottle. I want to make things; big vintage quilts, knitted cardigans and woolly hats. Mostly I just want to make things and give them to the people I love. Occasionally I want to sell them too. I want to dream; big dreams that might one day come true; dreams of a ‘forever house’ in a ‘forever town’. I want the sun to shine and the rain to stop, just for one day. I want to watch Emilia take her first steps and I’m terrified it might happen while I’m at work. I want to hear her say Mama and Papa and Ja und Nein. I want a full night’s sleep and a drunken night on the town. I want to wake up and be excited about my day. I want to lead. I want a clean house, fresh sheets and the ironing basket empty. I want Emilia to grow up knowing that she is enough; that she can say no (or yes) and that’s okay. I want Emilia to grow up knowing that she is a she and Australian and Austrian with white skin, blue eyes and dumpy legs and all of these things are as relevant and irrelevant as the next.

I want this day (International Women’s Day) not to matter anymore.
But the truth is, it does.

I know that was a rather abrupt end to this post, but it’s kind of how I feel about the issue today.  And yes, I know that I can't have everything that's on my list. Well, at least not all at once.  But still, a few of those things should be possible, no?  So, get out and celebrate being a woman today; a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a mother. Talk about it, think about what you want. Dream big. It’s only by doing these things that we can hope to finally get want we want.

Ooff!

Ooff! Our internet got sick. I lost my camera charger. I went back to work. We had a mini-holiday to one of my favourite places in the world. I did some knitting. Our internet stayed sick for much longer than it ought. Eventually I managed to find my camera charger (in the linen closet) and we got our internet functioning again. In a nutshell we've been busy and I haven't been blogging. But I've been thinking about it and now I that I have both a functioning computer with an internet connection and a working camera I might get back into the swing of things again.

Between Christmas and New Year

A beach tent bought in the sales, left-overs from a wonderful Christmas feast, three hats, a bottle of sunscreen and some glorious summer weather (at last!) - these were the makings of two wonderful days spent at the beach between Christmas and New Year. I always find that time between Christmas and New Year quite magical. Everything goes quiet.  It's almost as if the world, just for a second, holds it's breath and takes stock before the busy-ness of the new year begins.  There are more dreams and fewer regrets. I am quite convinced that magic happens in those five days, what with everyone making new years resolutions and all.  Everything seems just that little bit sweeter. Oh, but I digress!

I was initially sceptical about the beach tent, it seemed like an indulgent luxury and the traditionalist in me thought that the only things required for a good day at the beach were bathers and a towel. Five minutes of shielding Emilia from the sun and I was a convert.  We even managed a nap under said tent!  In the end, the water was still too cold for little toes, but watching the waves and feeling and tasting the sand was more than enough excitment to begin with. We came home with sand everywhere and that wonderful beach smell of salt and sea mixed with sunscreen and sweat.  They'll be more of these days, I'm sure, but for now the memory will have to do as we head back to work and the daily hum of our new life in Canberra.  The busy-ness has begun again.

Back in Oz

So, yes. We've moved back to Australia. It's something that I've been dreaming about for such a long time but I was never quite sure it was going to be possible. There seemed to be so many obstacles; jobs needed to be found and visas applied for, not to mention the uneviable task of finding a new house and the logistical challenges of moving across the world with a 4 month old baby.  It all just seemed too hard. And then it happened. Just. Like. That. 

Well that's how it seemed anyway. In truth it was many months in the making. Matthias and I actually applied for our jobs way back when I was still pregnant. But these things always take longer than you think and we sat around wondering whether it was going to become a reality until the end of October. And then we were offered jobs and a few days later Matthias' visa came through and we looked at our diaries and said, "Well, really, the most logical thing is to be in Australia in three weeks". Yes, we really did say that. And truthfully even if it was not the most logical choice there is something to be said for doing these things fast. Moving is never fun and perhaps if we'd had more time we would have procastinated more and had boxes and endless 'to do' lists floating around for ages. When you move in two weeks there's no time to 'umm and ahh' about whether you keep your sister's ex-boyfriend's crappy birthday gift (it got ditched) or your 'Boston winter coat' (kept). You make decisions fast. You pack up and you leave.

And now we're here. Temporarily calling my parent's spare bedroom home.

In case you're wondering, Emilia coped splendedly with the flight right up until about the 18 hour mark. Like almost everyone she'd had enough. She screamed pretty much solidly for the next six hours with intermittent bouts of sleeping on my shoulder, whimpering as she slept. One week on she's still jetlagged. If anyone has any tips on curing baby jetlag I'd love to hear them.