The Other Side of the World

It’s one of my last nights sittting here at the computer by the balcony musing exhausted, blurry thoughts out into a darker version of the scene pictured above.

This is the first home of my non-child (see how I hesitate still to use adult ?) life that wasn’t chosen by me, and tenacious control issues aside, it’s one of my favourites. I know that this has a lot to do with sweet moments of baby-new-family-ness, but as far as backdrops go, ours has been pretty stunning in a beautifully gritty way.

My (claiming it as I may for the next couple of days) neighbourhood is rife with street drugs and stretch Hummers, condominiums where 70% of the stainless steel-heavy kitchens have never been used (over heard that fact in a coffee shop), friendly independent yoga studios, organic food shops, prostitutes, fair trade coffee, used hypodermics drop-boxes (useful if you have, say, unused vitamin K sharps* lying around), the homeless, disabled and our country’s top bureaucrats.

From my balcony, along with the fabulous view of sun sets and celebratory fireworks, I can hear crackheads singing and fighting until all hours, and the cars of diplomats gliding along in a haze of import. It is never truly quiet.

There is something comforting, actually, in hearing these noises all night long, and in seeing these grand juxtapositions every day I traverse the sidewalks. There is a certain reminder of one’s humanity, of the richness and rawness of it. Of the people who keep the night awake and alive, as if to fall silent were to give up and become invisible. It is real and ugly - people have died and suffered and frozen steps from my home. A gated community it is not - there are few facades here. It is a microcosm of what is best and worst in this country, and I am truly glad I was able to call it home for this little year.

And you know, people (not of the ‘hood) always ask me if it bothered me, or if I am glad to be leaving or if I was frightened. I can honestly say no - that what pleasures me about being amongst all people is here as well. That when people stop me on the streets, they are just as likely to give me congratulations on my fine baby than to ask me for spare change.

and to that I say, thank you. Thanks for the neighbourhood.

* as in, actually the vitamin. not ketamines!

It’s my birthday in 5 days and this is what I want!

Yes! It’s a little Goatling, so sweet and nuzzily and delicious -

I want to eat it!

~ I mean, eat its yummy milk-derived foods like yogurt and feta.

Anyway, I have serious doubts about a goatling’s ability to navigate safely through the uber-agressive gauntlet of NZ customs sniffer canines (truly the most aggressive thing about New Zealand, roaring Rugby players and sleep deprived midwives notwithstanding) and so, this year (and a few subsequent years) I will have to lay my goat desires in a soft little bed of mind-hay where they will be safe and happy until I can return for them - and gobble them up!

~ I mean drink their sweet sweet musky goat milklove

And yes, it is past my bed time.

What I really want for my birthday is a tart slice of rhubarb pie with a wholegrain crust and a long back massage and 10 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

That’s right baby-mine, I’m addressing that last one at you (or all three if you think you’re up to it).

(and if you’re not in the market for any of the above mentionings I could also use some organic shampoo, breast milk storage bags, a shopping spree at Value Village for some black long-sleeved shirts and a durable bag to take to births, a new bottle of Eucalan wool wash for diaper covers, something mind-numbing to read on the plane, socks, some thick, black hair elastics and one bloody package of disposable diapers that don’t contain crazy absorbent gel to use on the 38 hours trip to New Zealand

apparently it’s sooooo hard to find these. what’s the deal?! The woman at the store today informed me that without the gel, the diapers *would not work*. Very interesting. So, what you’re saying is that - in, say, the 80’s and 90’s or whenever before Super Absorbent Freaky Gel existed, babies just PEED right through every. single. diaper. Amazing. So glad we do not live in those Neolithic times, the hardships astound me.

Oh, or actually, I’m just trying to have my to-do list of necessary supplies given to me masquerading as enjoyable gifts. Because, really, who could enjoy

diapers that are like wrapping your child’s bum in a paper colander?!)

As I was saying, I’d like the goat please.

Thank You.

Everyone should have a baby to play with in bed.

Especially ones that sleep holding onto their toes.

Suction out their p-aunt’s nose .

And give, um, ‘hydrating’ kisses.