Mosquito Weather

January – February Update

It’s Sunday morning and everything is strangely calm. The light is grey through the window, a grey we’ve accepted as the norm this summer. When I opened the curtains a few hours ago the garden was deadly still, a soft rain barely perceptible falling. The trees are stirring now, a gentle musical movement, and a fat speckled-bellied thrush is perched on our fence, lost in thought. Occasionally a rough gust shakes everything up, leaving leaves rustling and dancing in its wake. It wouldn’t be unusual necessarily, except that we are currenly awaiting the arrival of Cyclone Gabrielle, the latest in a string of storms to have battered the North Island this summer. After being caught on the back foot on the last occasion, Auckland authorities have urged us all to prepare: three days of emergency supplies, rooves and gardens made safe, no unnecessary travel. When we went grocery shopping yesterday all shelves were bare, and there was an unsettling energy in the aisles, not frantic exactly, perhaps hypofrantic, a low-key disorderly rush, as whole families showed up to shop en masse, huddling to confer every few metres, unable to check any planned items off their list.

I’ve started writing this post too late really, to meet my target Sunday 7pm deadline. I could have thrown something else together probably, in order to stay on track, but these are the posts I always really enjoy writing, the old-school update blog posts, so I’m going to stick with it. I get such short writing windows at the moment, and recently they’ve all been used up with other important tasks.

My last real update post I suppose was about the arrival of O, my darling tiny stargazer. And it is in part to capture this early time for him that I wanted to make a return to blogging. I wrote back at the beginning of our summer, which is now drawing to an end. It’s been a strange one, certainly not the weather I had imagined when I envisaged what my maternity leave would look like. Storm after storm, interspersed with with a few days so perfect as to remind you what you’re missing, but mainly broken up by humid heat, harsh blistering sun, or dull skies. In the parks the ground is waterlogged, the air brackish. I haven’t spent a single day outside on our deck, one of my favourite places to be, because it has never dried out long enough for the mosquitoes to abate. The swell of cicadas rises vertiginously during the brief interludes of fine weather, only to be drowned out with the next bout of rain.

By contrast, life with O has been so much more than I could ever have pictured. In every way, more. He is so much of a person already, perhaps that is what has surprised me the most. How did he learn to pull such a quizzical face, where did his repertoire of little and loud frustrated sounds come from? His eyes shine and he hyperventilates in excitement, his bottom lip juts out and wobbles when he is about to cry, he balls his fists up and rubs his face when he’s tired. These seem such quintessentially human reactions, and some perhaps he copies from us, but I am certain that he cannot have witnessed all of them! And then his character!! I see so much of myself in his easily frustrated determination to achieve something, his anxiousness to always be part of the action out of fear of missing out, his quick sensitivity to the slightest shift in emotions around him, his shyness around other adults. I can’t get enough of the way he turns to me in bemusement every time he is surprised.

He is such a jolly charming baby, always smiling, giggling, and already looking to initiate games that reduce him to fits of laughter. Baby laughter – is there a more beautiful sound? One of his favourite things right now is to tug something – anything, literally – over his face while I’m not looking. He then lies still (he’s never otherwise still), quietly giggling to himself, until I make a show of asking where my baby has gone to, pull the piece of laundry / curtain / changing mat off his face, and exclaim that I have found him! Peakaboo O! My darling, my love. Yesterday for the first time he tried a new version of this game, reaching up and pulling my hand over his eyes as he nursed, then bursting into giggles. My heart was in a million pieces.

The days are going by fast, probably in part because we’re doing a lot of big (and exciting!) things this year require a lot of planning and paperwork. This is usually crammed into time when O naps, discussions over dinner, lunchtime phonecalls, and as much as can possibly be done at the weekend. The rest of the time O and I go on walks, do yoga together, tackle home improvment projects and chores. One of my projects has been trying to create a functional and soothing space out of the room that semi-belongs to O, but also has to fulfil other needs, and had become somewhat of a dumping ground of general clutter and baby paraphanalia since he arrived. It felt daunting at the beginning, but I’m encouraged by how much nicer it feels already.

We’ve also started going to a baby sensory class once a week, which is an unbelievably sweet experience. It involves lots of songs and music, puppet shows, and exposure to all things that can stimulate the senses: different textured materials, sparkles, bubbles, and light. This week’s theme was Valentines Day, and let me tell you, I’m not sure there is anything cuter than a roomful of mamas slow-dancing with their 0 to 6 month old babies to Frankie Valli’s Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You.

Finally, after a pretty rough and sleep-deprived five or six amid the excitement of the festive season – during which time he started teething, rolling, discovered his ears, then his feet, dramatically improved his ability to reach and grasp, and abandoned his sweet baby ahgoo babble in favour of an arpeggio of squeals – we have fallen into an evening and night rhythm that works for now. O loves it, and so do I. When he eventually falls asleep I try so hard to just savour and soak up those moments of stillness lying next to him, letting it all wash over me, just being with him and letting go of the day.

For me, this continues to be the most wonderful season of my life so far. I feel more myself than I have done since I was child – which I’ll try to expand upon perhaps in a future post, because this one has gotten long. Did anyone else find themselves feeling that way when they became a parent? The days are too full for me to stop and feel lonely – and I am in contact with my family more than ever before since I moved out here, which has been lovely. And yet there is something I feel I’m missing, a little. I have such wonderful friendships, some of them all the more close since I have become a mother, but none of my closest friends live in New Zealand, and sometimes that does feel intensely lonely. I had hoped that even just one proximally close friendship might arise out of this time period – which hasn’t happened to date. When I was pregnant I heard so many stories of baby group or coffee group friendships that were still going strong as much as a decade later – and part of me did long for something similar. Hopefully it’s yet to come.

It’s almost 5pm now, a whole week later. The cyclone has passed through, causing so much damage and destruction in its path. The winds were so strong they shook the glass in our windows, and a thick coat of dust blew through the cracks in the fabric of our old house, coating every surface so thickly that you could write your name in it. It was a dust made up not just of dirt, but of tiny seeds and beautiful delicate insect wings. It has left a lace-like pattern over our windows and the white board cladding of the house. We were incredibly fortunate to escape any real damage, other than to our garden. Over the past week there have been a few days which have felt deliciously cooler, with the scent of autumn in the air. But this morning when I was out walking humidity hovered fog-like above the glittering wet grass – so long right now, because no one has been able to mow anywhere due to the non-stop rain. Looking out across the playing fields a heat mirage shimmered, bending the frames of the rugby goals. The air is full of monarch butterflies, floating high between the trees.

I have to call it here, for now, there’s no time for anything more. But so many exciting things ahead over the next wee while: my family arrive in less than a week, for their first trip to NZ. We are getting married in March! And in just a few months we will be flying over to the UK, my first trip home since pre-pandemic. So there’s a lot going on in the background, always. And there will be so much to share over the rest of the year.

Sending love to you all, Zx