Warning: I wrote this draft a week or two ago, but couldn’t just post it right away. It’s actually a rather raw, intense post. Fun on the outset, but also dark, philosophical and maybe disturbing. I hope that if you do decide to read it, that you will find some of the whimsical beauty in it that I tried to convey.


One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: That word is love.

Sophocles (496 BC–406 BC)


It’s still dark outside. Hubby is in the shower. Baby and I are playing in our PJ’s on the bed. Tickles, giggles, squeals and kisses.

Tiny, dimply hands outstretched. Asking for more cuddles, more rough and tumble, more of life. Baby somersaults and Billy Elliot leaps test the mattress’s enthusiasm, giving the old thing a higher purpose.

The window is coated with winter rain on the outside. On the inside, it’s fogged up with sweet baby breath, with the warmth of our fidgeting, squirming bodies and the love in our hearts. Tickles, giggles, squeals and kisses.

Somewhere in Somalia a child is starving. Somewhere a few kilometers down the road, a baby is being dumped in a rubbish bin.

The time will come when blowing raspberries will lose their charm. Time will sculpt those fat cheeks into a sleek profile. Time will shape my back into a crescent. My arms will no longer be strong enough to make my darling jump like Billy Elliot and make her somersault through the air.

But on this rainy, wintry morning, I’m playing with my baby. Tickles, giggles, squeals and kisses.

And for some brief, heavenly moments we’re untouchable. Far out of reach of world hunger, Malema, misery and despair. Two small souls lost in a moment of pure, sacred joy – against the vast backdrop of time, space and eternity.

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