Today, or rather this evening I found myself with an empty bucket. That magic, invisible bucket containing all those important things like grace, compassion, vitality and patience. Well mine was empty. This occurred to me as I eyed the mountains of laundry that needed putting away and thought about those dirty dishes covering the kitchen bench while feeding baby Niamh (which is pronounced Neve, we opted for the traditional Gaelic spelling) and simultaneously promising Zahra, who incidentally had a look of despair on her face because she believes this Mama will never have enough time for her any more, that I'd be in to help with her cooking just as soon as Niamh was done, whilst wondering how on earth I was going to settle this babe who doesn't like to sleep between the hours of 6am and 9pm unless she is on someone that doesn't on any account sit down or stop moving, but I by now had sore arms and a stiff back from slinging her all day ( this back and those abs are not quite back in shape yet). I was feeling drained from trying to share myself between everyone and everything that needed doing. I kept thinking about all those things that I wanted to do... the sewing, knitting and felting projects that lie waiting on my table. It didn't seem fair. And as soon as those words entered my mind and I thought to myself "it's not all about her and how she is handling the changes of having a new little person in the house" (because believe me when I say there have been tears shed over how narrow my world seems right now), I knew my bucket was empty. So what I did was I continued right on feeding Niamh, made no more promises to my sweet girl about what was left of the day, ignored the piles of laundry, put the babe in the sling for one last turn about the house , made my way into the kitchen, cleared some room on the bench, helped Zahra finish cooking her feast, ate said delicious feast, settled the babe into her bed (still reeling at this one, shhh) while Zahra tidied her room (of her own accord, without me asking) and William tackled the dishes, read and snuggled with my girl in bed, explained the empty bucket thing to her and how one remedies this, made myself and my man a cuppa and here I am.







On my way here I came across these photos that I was going to share before Niamh was born. A fortnight before she arrived we ventured into the mountains to a special spot that we discovered last Summer and promised we'd return to sometime. When I looked at these images it reminded me how much I wanted this family to grow, how much I wanted this. And while I'm not saying that I wanted my bucket to be emptied by dishes and laundry, promises and never-ending settling of a crying baby, it is the newborn dreaminess and snatched moments with my not so little girl that pepper all those things with fullness and meaning, making it all worthwhile. I can't remember that feeling of being pregnant anymore and I'm slowly getting used to doing things one handed again. I'm even sure, no I'm certain, that I'll get better at ignoring all those dishes and laundry, that the nappy liner I'm using as a bookmark won't seem so out of place and slowly we'll find a rhythm that suits everyone. But right now I look at the three of us beside that waterfall and I can't remember what it felt like before we became four.

Being here is one of the many things on my list. A list that is full of things that fill my bucket. So now my bucket is not empty, not full either, but not empty. It's on it's way to being full again.

Cxo