I knew it would be harder to write as time went on – life takes over and the poetry of it is often left in the dust. Being a new mum is no different in that regard – here, too, there is a certain grind. More so as the level of tiredness keeps mounting – it’s hard to find a window for a reprieve, and while I was counseled that the dishes and the laundry can wait – I am finding they can’t, to keep at least a modicum of sanity. Anyone that sent us an email to “Enjoy every moment” better be a parent themselves J. Or a saint.

But this is all too important to let it just fade into that good night. The girls seem to continue to adjust wonderfully – we have more struggles over food, and more struggles with rules in general, but I am taking all that for a good sign: they feel comfortable enough to “misbehave” and just be kids. Beti in particular has it down to a science, and I can totally predict the tears before they come. Bamu’s crying is just a predictable, but usually with a bit of a suspense period… as intense as her screaming can be when she lets loose, when she pulls her lower lip forward in a pout just before the flood gates open, it’s endearing and funny. Then the next moment I feel horrible: how much of what they were or weren’t supposed to do did they actually understand?

It is frustrating not being able to speak their language. We are getting by just fine with daily tasks; their ability to convey by pointing, or taking me by the hand and leading me places while repeating certain words in Amharic is incredible. I’m learning a bunch of new words daily just by being with them and am building my own little dictionary. This is unexpected, I thought I would be teaching them rather than the other way around. I love it. Just the other day Beti and I went to the school where she will soon be going to Kindergarden. I used the Amharic word for school, and her eyes lit up and she said “ABC?” Yes! Over lunch she repeated in Amharic what I had told her: she would be going to this place, Bamu to another. How cool is that. But I am saddened when they try to tell me something out of context, comment on something, or especially ask something, when I have no clue what they’re saying. Or when I can’t explain why the rules are what they are.

On the other hand, I’ve stopped keeping track of the English words that pour out. Most of them are copied phrases such as “Let me show you” or “How are you” that pop up for a few days endlessly and then disappear again for a bit but there are also words out of the blue that surprise us. Dad taught them “I love you” and “Let me kiss you” (to our shame, they knew how to say that before we knew how to say it in Amharic), and they’re fully adept at talking on the phone now (punctuated by a lot of huhs). I cracked up when Beti first wagged her finger at me and articulated a clear and firm “No”. It was even funnier when Bamu did it a few days later. We’re still working on “Yes” but they do know that the magic word is “Please”, Beti usually says “Thank You” and “You’re welcome” all in one breath (just like her dad used to do when he learned the German for that), and lately she is “Sorry” for just about everything.

Our days are somewhat routine now: we take our time in the morning with breakfast and washing up/getting dressed (so mum has a chance to fully wake up), then hang out and play for a while, or go to a park. I’ve managed to get to the point where I can actually prepare lunch while they are around (and fold the laundry if I’m lucky), and when they eat it without complaining I am in seventh heaven. Beti has added a new “pfff” sound to her repertoire of disapproval that either makes me laugh or want to snap, depending on how much emotional reserve I have (I try to do neither). They used to pick out every tiny bit of green they could find – but when I steamed broccoli the first time they couldn’t get enough! Coupled with scrambled eggs and shredded zuccini in one meal, I was thrilled to bits. Usually, we don’t get to repeat the experience though, lest mum gets too excited. Thank you, Tom, for the enjoinder: “You are not a short-order cook”. It will serve us well.

As for sleeping, Bamu still wakes up several times a night, and their marathon naps have shrunk to 1 hour trying to get them to sleep and 1 hour of actual sleeping, with Beti sometimes up even after half an hour. The heat may have something to do with that, which I will miss soon enough. Lately, Beti has also taken to crawling out of bed and coming to visit us a few times in the middle of the night. Then again, I can’t help but smile at this: regardless of the situation, each time I get to hold them is a bonding moment, healthy and vital for our budding relationship. See http://withlovingarms.blogspot.com/2011/01/letter-to-friends-and-family.html if interested in learning more about attachment (this is someone else’s blog entry, I am sharing it with her permission). It always brings me back to the Heart. Imagine how I felt when Bamu pulled me down the first time to kiss me before going to sleep. Beti, too, wrapped her arms tightly around me one afternoon when going to sleep for her nap. They are very loving but attachment takes time.

Despite these challenges, my new job is not as hard as I thought. At least not at the moment: I love the fact that I can just be with them, that I don’t have to be somewhere. Who cares if I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub for ever, waiting for Beti to make up her mind to brush her teeth. I know full well that’s going to change soon enough… but for the time being, in that, there are such simple pleasures. The other day we went out for an early evening walk while waiting for dad to come home. It took us a while but we did make it around the block for the very first time, with lots of stops to look at cats and talk to neighbors. The light had turned golden, the streets were quiet, the late afternoon completely still, as Beti and Bamu slowly approached the ginger cat that was softly watching, unperturbed. I stood and was mesmerized by the beauty of the moment, the peace and quietude of it. “High summer holds the earth, hearts all whole” as one lyriscist wrote (if I recall correctly).

So here we are, three weeks into it, and we have two happy, healthy kids that wake up every morning (well, most J) with a smile. We are busier than ever but when I stop to think about it I still can’t believe it, it’s still somewhat unreal. One of the things I find miraculous is the fact that there is always a clean slate. I can be at my wits’ end with Beti’s “protest tears” on command, or Bamu’s lowered head signalling she’s on the edge (those “I-am-mad-and-won’t-look-at-you-moments” as Jane called them), and the next moment their smiles and silliness are completely irresistible. Nature must have built that in. It really is amazing (there’s that word again J) to think this faucet of love can just be turned on, and turned on over and over again if it stops flowing just for one moment (or, more correctly, if the water gets cloudy for a while, it always ends up being a clear stream of wonder again). I often shudder to think of all the things we don’t know, and might be doing wrong. But here they are, forever part of our lives, two little fellow travellers on our path, and even if we don’t really know them yet, they are already a reflection of ourselves.