Solids.

Enough of this mournful wallowing. The sun came out today, the lovely K and little J came to visit, and the kid is 75 kinds of cute.

Tiny porkball is stuffing himself silly with whatever I offer him. So far it's been pretty simple - leftover baked potato, a bit of poached pear, cucumber out of my sandwich... It's getting so that I can't eat when he's awake without him trying to grab a mitful of whatever's going past him. Today it was roast pumpkin out of my beetroot salad. Yesterday he practically knocked baby E over trying to get at the stewed apple his mama was feeding him. That's my kid. Hoovering up other children's leftovers.

I had thought the moving on from the boob would be a bit sad (even though I haven't always loved every minute of it). But this food bizzo is EXCITING! He's a little person! He likes to eat! He's still a few weeks short of 6 months, so we're a bit early according to the MCH nurse, but whatevs. Kid is READY.

Behold, not having a bar of being fed by my hand...

You'll note how very civilised it all seems. Usually he's perched on my knee shoveling in scraps with his chubby little fists, covering me, the floor, the kitten and himself with whatever delicacy it is he's consuming. It is awesome.

The send-off.

I'm so tired the screen is burning my eyeballs, but so much has happened these last few days. I need to clear my head.

This morning we said goodbye to Nan, just mum, dad, Aunty B and The Boy, the kid and I. We had fifteen minutes in the crematorium chapel and it was wonderful to just have us there. I guess it's been a while since there's been a death in our family, and the last one was so very public, I hadn't realised what it could be like to send a loved one off without a crowd of well-meaning hangers on. No need for pretense or propriety. Just the ugly, funny truth, and old and comfortable love.

Mum talked about lemons and lamingtons, and how their relationship went from one extreme to the other. I brought a scratchy little wind-up dog to symbolise how annoying all her canine friends were, and a tea cosy that she had made, and talked about how much tea we drank (milk first! teacups always! loose leaf only!) while she was teaching me how to knit. The Boy came with $2 shop bling, cos on the way home after the first time he met her, he said she had more gold chains than Mr T. Dad told the story about the high tea she put on when T brought his fiancee over, and how he and Aunty B locked twinkling eyes across the table and simultaneously licked the cream off their plates, much to Nan's horror. And then we all ate lamingtons and cream and licked our plates as the wall turned around and hid her coffin from view. Not much like most funerals, but very much like us.

There was a proper service too, at a church this afternoon, with hymns and prayers and afternoon tea in the hall, and that was nice as well. But I'm glad we had the morning. My brother should have been there. He has a blue mohawk (which suits him rather well) and a vile tongue that spits poison at anyone who will listen. I won't. I know he has been through some shit. I know S has done him wrong. But he is somehow incapable of being rational or reasonable or anything but antagonistic. God help me if mum or dad die before he has learned how to be a grownup.

There is more to say, about dinner with the usuals on Tuesday - just me, no Boy or kid - and the hopefully temporary (probably grief-related) return of the black cloud, but I can barely type. Crying wrings me out. I will have the bath I'm craving tomorrow night at the farm with the kid, but now it's time for bed. Tummy full of leftover church hall sandwiches and passionfruit sponge cake. Head full of memories. Heart full of sleepy, worn-out love.

Walking with bebe...

Joy and woe are woven fine.

Nothing illustrates this better than the week I've had...

Farm baby, now with extra cheese.

Mastitis.

A deathbed.

"Man was made for joy and woe

Then when this we rightly know

Through the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine

A clothing for the soul to bind."

— William Blake

Two-parent family.

School holidays. The Boy is home, the weather is not too shite and the kid is a total gem. A brief rundown of Week 1...

We've spent a couple of days at the F's house in Shoreham and had to go and ask Mrs. L next door how to turn the hot water on. I haven't seen her since she was my Year 7 RE teacher. The Catholic mafia strikes again. It was bloody freezing, so we didn't spend a whole lot of time outside of the cosy front room, but we did venture out for a bit of a clifftop beach walk.

On Thursday night the girls next door came and sat in our living room while the kid slept and we went out and saw Kung Fu Panda II in 3D. It was moderately awesome. I think I liked the first one better, but it was definitely worth seeing. The 3D stuff was mostly pretty good too. Although an arm fell off my glasses not three minutes after we'd left the cinema. Programmed to self-destruct.

We spent Friday morning looking at the childcare centres nearby, and putting the kid down on the enormous waiting lists. There are two centres about five minutes' walk from us, and although one seemed a bit more clinical than the other, they were both friendly and welcoming and the kids who were there seemed happy. Who knows how things will turn out, but hopefully we'll get two days at one of them and we'll juggle the rest.

My parentals came over and brought dinner with them on Friday, and they are completely besotted with the kid. It is very cute to watch. 

Yesterday we went to Yum Cha with the usual suspects, as well as D and Molly up from G-town. I know that I've been astonished by this before, but really. We go out in the daytime now, with our other parent-friends and everyone is happy to eat and baby-shuffle and laugh and then head home for an afternoon snooze. My, how times change.

What doesn't seem to change is the amount of washing I fold each day. There is a mountain of it in front of me, and more to go in the machine. Boring. But this will be a domestic day, before we head to the farm next week with a few of the philosophers. One more week of sharing the load.