Catching my breath

I've always loved this piece, by Dutch artist, Ellen Kooi. While I'm not one for meditation - breathing in and soul searching seeming a obnoxious waste of time - this picture always gives me pause. Just as the child is suspended mid-air, I too feel light. Dare I say it? I breath in. Deeply.

The last month has flown by. Literally. We left Cairo for Abu Dhabi, spent three days in Dubai. Flew 'home' to Sydney only to fly out four days later to Auckland to spend a week with friends and celebrate a wedding. Back to Sydney, I took off to Port Macquarie to stay with my sister and (try to) help her with her three bubbaloos - all under three!

Admittedly none of these trips were arduous. Even the week in Port - with its endless rain and pooey nappies (that included me scraping poo off two pairs of toddler's Bonds undies) - was lovely. I got to spend time with my sister, perpetually held my adorable 8-week old niece and happily came to the realisation that I may never have my own children. Only joking. I'm sure I will. I'll just give myself time to breathe in between deliveries, unlike my eldest sis.

Poor sister. While on their own her children are gorgeous, delightful little munchkins, together they're a recipe for disaster (and maybe even motivators of self harm). Miss Almost-Three is clever and cheeky in equal measure, while Master Almost-Two worships the ground his older sister skips along, thereby mimicking her every act - especially the naughty ones. Thankfully Little Miss Two-Months is an incarnation of her mother, quiet, selfless and happy to take a back seat to her siblings.

For Easter I helped Sister drive the tiny terrors down to Sydney. We managed to tire the eldest two out with some Dora The Explorer DVD action but 30 minutes from our destination, Baby Bubbaloo let rip with her wailing. Caught on the highway in the middle of the night with nowhere to pull over, one crying baby turned into three. I stretched my arm back to hold onto the tiny, shaking hand of Bubbaloo (a dirty nappy the cause of her outburst). With her fingers wrapped round mine her breathing eased and the crying ceased. Radio reception also returned, so with the sounds of Nova 96.9 calming our nerves we made it to the house in one piece.

Easter Sunday was full of chocolate eggs, my grandmother's 'blessed' ham and bread, and enough food to feed a small army. And although the pitter-patter of little feet spreads crumbs into the carpet, no one can deny that the five most recent additions to our family definitely revive the holiday spirit.

So as I looked through the photos I've taken in the past weeks of my nieces and nephew, I once again came across this dreamlike field of flowers. Tired and weary, I took a deep breath in...

Now I'm breathing out. Slowly.