My contribution to the broadening of the tax base (29 June 2007)

By A Daddy
It was a Friday morning just like any other. I woke up, got up, charged up and filled up. We still had a couple of things to do in preparation for our son, Migael, who we expected to arrive on 07-07-07. The most important thereof – my wife, Marie’s, hairdresser appointment.
At around 8:00 Marie politely informed me that 07-07-07 seemed a little too far in the future based on certain physical signals she experienced. So at around 11:00 we decided to take on the 22 km trip to the Hospital, which took us about 25 minutes, just to get some kind of indication of what our plan of action should be.
We pitched up, the nurses did their “stuff” and told us that Migael could technically arrive at any moment but their gut feeling told them there was still time.
So we went home and my wife honoured her hairdresser appointment at 13:30. When walking out of the salon at around 14:00 she told me that the contractions were about 7 minutes apart. We drove home very calmly and told my mom, who is visiting, and kids that the time has come to undertake the 22 km trip again.
By this time my wife whispered in my ear that the contractions were about 5 minutes apart. We started our journey. Four minutes later she told me that she had another contraction.
My mind started wondering to a few movie scenes that I had seen at some stage where people had to rush to the Hospital, but I knew at that time that it only happened in movies.
However when my wife whispered in my ear, three minutes later, that she had another contraction I shifted gears into movie mode.
It briefly reminded of an incident when I experienced that although a square peg doesn’t fit into a round hole, a bone can fit tightly around a dog’s teeth.
My mom started shivering, my oldest daughter reminded me that we were not driving a 4X4, my other daughter thought her dad had gone colour blind, but she sort-of enjoyed it, and my son thought he had arrived in heaven.
The traffic made me realise that the weekend had already started in Pretoria and a few frustrated people did their utmost to make sure that I wait my turn and do not pass them. (May they be blessed!)
Any case, we arrived at the hospital and informed the staff of the situation. They welcomed us back but did not understand the urgency of the situation.
I politely informed them that we had a covenant, which included short, easy, painless contractions and that it would serve them well to hurry up.
They concurred, did their “stuff”, called the doctor. She arrived. A contraction arrived. And after three pushes the tax base was broadened at 14:45.
His name: Migael
Inherent meaning: Who is like God?
Spiritual connotation: Esteemed
First blessing I gave him after his birth: I blessed him with wisdom and anointing to stand solidly on the righteous past, and at the same time to see outside the traditions and norms of the religious movement into which he has been born.
Weight – 2.85 kgLength – Perfect
Everything else – PerfectMom is doing great.
First blessing I gave her after Migael’s birth: I blessed her with having the perfect peace, not as the world gives, great perspective and great understanding.
Dad, sisters and brother are delighted.
It’s great to have the covenant keeping, Lord of Hosts, El Shaddai, Abba Father, The Faithful One on our side.

In Celebration of the Two. 19 June 2007.

by Cath Jenkin

the shitties

breast pads. clearly created and marketed by people who have never had breasts. and especially ones that leak.
expressing. aka the wakka wakka machine. clearly created by people who have never used their nipples for anything except erotic pleasure.
sickness. the unbearable loneliness and powerlessness that comes at 2am when you can do nothing more except hold your crying child and pray that sleep will come for both of you.
dependence. the realisation that this tiny little person is entirely dependent on you for everything. realising also that you, yourself are still dependent and feeling even more powerless to do anything.
tantrums. and oh boy, how you can throw them. one word comes to mind - retribution.
pain. the pain of childbirth is nothing, absolutely nothing in comparison to the pain you feel when you get a phonecall to say your child's been hurt and needs emergency medical attention.
disorder. nothing will ever stay clean again. ever. just give up hope of ever having a clean house ever again. but, reserve the right to complain and from young, you do them train.
metamorphosis. the constant change demanded of you as a result of the constant change that this little person is going through. don't blink, because you will miss something.
fatigue. you will never be as tired as this. ever. you will never sleep again like you used to. ever. you get used to it, you do, and by the time the teen years roll around, and all they ever want to do is sleep, your body's so well-honed to not sleeping that you get up and do random hobbies like decoupage and shit.
heartache. nothing will ever hurt you as much as when your child rejects you in favour of another. nothing will ever hurt you as much as when your child gets hurt, in any way whatsoever. they say when a child is born, the parents' souls then live outside their body. it's true. never mind heart on sleeve, try everything exposed and raw and tender and unprotected.
pooh. i have no need to explain any more on this than to say pooh.


the f**king amazings that i wouldn't trade for anything in the world, not even twelve hours sleep and a hot bath and being able to read an entire book in one sitting.

that very first smile. my dad died the same day and you looked at me and smiled. three weeks old and already more resilient than me.
that very first mama. a warm thursday evening. it just popped out, you wanted my attention so much.
those very first steps. that i watched you take as you walked from the wall and into your daddy's arms.
the love. the indescribable and overwhelming joy that rises up from a place within you that never existed before when your little rascal throws their arms around you and squeezes.
the kisses. open mouth with tongue all over your cheek, nose and including a free dose of snot and some dried up milk.
the dancing. the dancing around the lounge with you and you throwing your head back and laughing.
the giggling. when you laugh, your whole body shakes. its evidence of your unashamed aliveness that i hope will never be tainted by the world.
the singing. and the clapping. and the singing the songs with the actions.
the excitement. everything you see is like you've seen it for the very first time. "Look mama Look Look Look"
the fanclub. even when you're entirely ruined, deemed unsuitable for anybody's consumption in the adult world, rejected, dejected, and passed on by, you come home and all your little person wants is for you to hold them and sing badly to them.
the night time doo doo ritual. of kisses and stroking and you playing with my hair.
the dressing up. being able to dress you up in clothes with ears and knowing full well you'll hate me for it one day but not caring because you are just so cute, i could fall over.
the holding my hand. with your little hand in mine we read together and you point to the pictures and tell me their names.

i keep looking at you and asking myself - where the hell did the time go? what happened to the little bundle we brought home all swaddled who just slept all the time and ate and slept and cried? how is it that I know what to do now about hiccups? (thanks very much Google - three days old and already your livelihood's dependent on the internet!) how is it that childspeak, once deemed entirely undecipherable by me, is now my most common spoken language?

you've changed me, as you've grown. you've forced me to decide who i am, and who i want to be. you've helped me do things I never thought possible, and just tonight, walked over to me, put your arms around me and said "love you mama". you can piss me off and melt my heart in a nannosecond, and yet, i wouldn't change a thing.

730 days. approximately 4500 nappies down. approximately 3650 bottles of milk. more laundry than a hospital in war time. and more love than my beaten heart can hold.

thank you for being in my life, little girl.

As I write this, two years ago at this time, we were checking in at maternity where that numbnut behind the counter said "and what are you here for?" /well lady, i'm actually smuggling soccer balls and was bored so we thought we could come hang in the maternity ward for a while because we had nothing better to do. what the hell do you think i'm doing here!/. your grandparents were anxiously waiting to hear from us, i got a pipe inserted up my bum haha. my best friend was nervously checking her phone every thirty two seconds. your aunts and uncles were hopping around waiting for you to arrive. and i was wearing a burn shirt.

i will never forget how you looked when you arrived. so calm. you were so calm we were actually worried that something was wrong with you. all long limbs and tummy and haha tail, you were. of course, it took me three days to find out you had a little tail!

and now, there you are, asleep and dreaming of your barney cake and candles and swings and friends.

we love you little one. every day we are thankful for your exuberant smile and your joy for just living. thank you for choosing and blessing us.


Happy Birthday Cameron.