How can two weeks feel like months? Last week was the party and post-party recovery and pre Hawaii was the Slit Magazine launch and fairy wings and little butch posties and dancing all night and before that was hospitals and ringing relatives and texting baby weights. This week has slowed right down and is in the dim warm house that is quiet and filled with little activities like cups of tea and naps and washing and pegging and burping (the baby! not me) and rocking and wiping and mopping and cooking. Looking after puppies and babies and each other. And I'm ridiculously happy doing it all. I think the baby hormones are seeping into my brain and making me smile into his little face asleep in my arms and not want to be anywhere else. It is surreal just how fundamentally scary it is to look after a little life and how precarious it is, every laboured breath, and yet how normal it feels when you get over the panic. I just keep reminding myself that I come from along line of people who manged to do this, way back to caves, way back to monkeys, when back when.