Who's who in the zoo

In the weekend we went to the zoo. Not just any old zoo.  The Taronga Zoo, jewel in Sydney's tourism crown, complete with 'bio-geographic' mega-exhibits and committed to conservation and "positive connections between wildlife and people".  Now as a Samoan, I have to admit that my "positive connections" with wildlife have by in large been called "lunch" (or sometimes "dinner"), so you may be wondering which part of this magnificent manifestation of this slightly strange concept appealed to me most... Was it the languorous lazing lions, the swiftly swimming seals or the great giraffes with their improbable necks which afford them spectacular views of the sparkling Sydney harbour? Well, what I really love about the zoo, is how it reaffirms the natural order of things, how it really reminds you who's who.

As soon as we arrive my mum, begins scanning the zoo timetable.  "We need to head to the kids trail so Lagi can pat-a-pet at 10.30."

"Ok, it's quarter to 10 now, so we have heaps of time."

"The quickest way is left, don't get diverted, we need to go straight to the petting zoo, I really think Lagi will love that."  Having been herded in the appropriate direction, we tramp off in search of pets for Lagi's petting pleasure.

"Don't look left or right, we don't want to be late."  We get there at 10.15.  Lagi immediately starts trying to break the bunny out, by pulling on the large lock. My mum captures about 50 shots of him doing this for posterity while I secretly wonder at whether this experience will imprint on him and he will become a master criminal with super safe cracking abilities.

While I mull over my child's possible future as a super villain, the volunteers turn up. Lots of little ones and their parents are now milling around waiting.  I am jockeyed into prime position by my mum.  The bunny sees us coming and quickly hops to the relative safety of the back of the enclosure.  Lagi, unused to such contrary behaviour to his 17 month old charms, laughs out loud and picks up some straw and confidently holds it out with a big smile to the bunny.  More flashes go off as mum elbows more minors out of the way to catch all the action. 

Having petted to his heart's content, we then explore the rest of the farm, there are chickens to chase, and mountain goats to gawk at.  E tua'i le fefe la'u tama - so when I see him starting to toddle after the towering bush turkey, I know it's time to distract him in the traditional Samoan way... with food!   Off we go to a cafe to order carrot cupcakes (with one last longing look at the red velvet cupcakes ... edicts on red velvet and their consumption in front of Lagi, evil red food poisoning and all, had previously been issued).

"Have you only half-finished that coffee, because we really need to get over to the bird show, Lagi loves birds"and we are hot footing it to the other side of the zoo, where Lagi decides he was actually a Raj in a previous life and would rather ride on the stone elephants, then it's hiking over to the "Great Southern Ocean exhibit so he can be delighted by the ducking and darting of the pretty blue fairy penguins, before letting him try to catch carp in the rainforest exhibit. By the 2pm seal show we are all exhausted.  But having secured a seat we decide to stay and watch, Lagi has seen all this before and decides he'd rather snuggle into me and sleep.

 He is warm and heavy in my arms and my mind wanders, to how fast he is growing and to how we used to have a lunch date every day. He would come into the city, and no matter what was going on that day, I would duck out of work.  I loved seeing him in the middle of a busy work day, but it wasn't always convenient, and by the time he was turning one, and was happily devouring all sorts of delicious foods wth his very pretty and  very sharp pearly whites, I thought he probably wouldn't miss mummy too much at lunch times.  I had cautiously mentioned my intentions to my mum - Lagi's  primary carer/ enabler/ champion against the world and, in particular, against his neglectful and unfeeling mother mama.  A look full of doubt and worry was immediately cast in my direction to convey just how uncaring I was being, considering such a catastrophic change.

"I breastfed all four of you until you were at least two. It's in the W.H.O guidelines." Hinting at endangering  health and going for guilt are great techniques and can be employed especially effectively when championing your grandchild.

"Yes, I'm still going to breastfeed him, just not at lunch time."

"I think I may have even breastfed you longer, maybe even till three" Apparently, exageration is also permitted when you are proving your point, especially if the person you are making your point to is not in a position to argue as they were only two (or three) at the time in dispute.

Splash! I am brought back to reality as the seal ends the show with a double back flip.  We gather up our things and start preparing to head home. As we walk out with a very tired little boy, past all the exhibits we didn't quite manage to get to, I glance at the gorillas, and smile thinking about their social structure, and how visiting here has reminded me yet again of our own; Here's who's who in our zoo:

1. Lagi
2. Lagi
3. Lagi

Facilitator / Enforcer of all things Lagi: Lagi's Mama

Support Staff: Me (oh.... and his dad)

I look down at the long sweep of his eyelashes, and think I don't much mind the natural order.

An unshakeable sense of self

"Life in plastic, it's fantastic"

Is there anything more powerful than a parent's love? I remember reading Lemalu Tate Simi's seminal poem "Identity"* when I was in school. Even then, well before I had imagined what it would be like to have a child, to have someone hold my whole heart in his chubby little hands, to lie in the dark, listening to his breath heavy with sleep, and hope for everything for him, even then, one of the things that touched me most about Lemalu's poem, was that it was written for his eldest son. That poem captures a parent's love and the prayers and plans we make for our children. 

Perhaps I recognised in those poignant words, a reflection of my own parents love, and what they strove to give me.

My parent's chose to bring me and my brothers up in the bosom of my family and fa'asamoa. Yes the full fa'asamoa. The 'leave-you-very-lucky-to-eat-elegi-because-we-have-to-give-every-sene-for-your-father's-great-uncle's-cousin's-step-son's-saofai-and-smile'fa'asamoa. The 'you-better-be-paying-attention-because-we-all-automatically-assume-you-were-born-knowing-how-to-ta'i-sua-and-fai-folafolaga' fa'asamoa. The fa’asamoa that emphasises the fegaiga between brothers and their sisters, and brings families together. The faasamoa that we all know and love to whinge about because it's a way of life, a way to look at life, and an integral part of who we are.

I say "chose" because by the time I was born, my dad had almost finished his PhD, and my mum was one paper away from finishing her Masters, so they both had options and opportunities overseas. Instead they went back to the struggle that living in Samoa can be. I have always been unbelievably grateful for that decision. Particularly to my palagi mother, who left her friends, family and her country, to raise me in mine.

So I don't say 'even with', but rather because I had a palagi mum, who loved me and wanted me to have a strong sense of identity, and who sacrificed so we could grow up in Samoa (and because I had a Samoan father stubborn about serving his country, and a close and loving aiga who never treated us differently), I grew up never thinking of myself as anything but Samoan.  I have read many touching stories about Samoans searching for identity.  I was not one of them. I have never struggled with who I was or where I came from. I know how fortunate that makes me.

But I also know it doesn't make me any better than people whose parents chose another path, who moved overseas, so often motivated by that very same love. Samoans whose parents or grandparents often worked in factories and freezing works, hard and heavy work, but welcome because it was a way of securing good schooling, of seeking opportunities, and of forging a future for their children.  The legacy of those parents' love, those parents' choices, those parents' sacrifices should never be undermined by pejorative remarks that their progeny is "plastic" or "too palagi".

That kind of prejudice within our own society perplexes me.  I remember when I first went back to work in Samoa I was somewhat surprised when a lawyer I knew said she wanted to be the first Samoan woman to be Attorney-General. Now obviously that ambition, in and of itself, wasn't surprising.  Rather what shocked me was that she somehow didn't think that that  particular milestone had already been achieved. Particularly because, at the time, we had a Samoan woman as Attorney-General.  I voiced my puzzlement.

“No, I mean a real Samoan, you know, from Samoa”

I didn't know. Was the AG at the time, a "fake" Samoan? Was her "palagi-ness" going to pop out at any second and surprise us? Or was it rather, that having nothing of substance to use to undermine her with, she turned to bigotry and bias to try to belittle this brilliant colleague.

I still don't know why we differentiate and discriminate amongst ourselves the way we do.  It saddens me, and it is not just against Samoans who live or grow up overseas.  Oh no, there are so many more levels.

 I remember being honestly confused when I was in school and someone said “We better get to Apia Park early… you know how those Samoans are”.

I questioned, “What are you talking about? We’re all Samoan”

There was a rolling of eyes. “Oh you know what I mean! Samoan Samoans! Like from the village!”

“Hmmm… I find that offensive. I’m Samoan, my father’s Samoan, my family is Samoan and I’m from a village, several actually”

More rolling of eyes “Se don't be a drama queen; I didn’t mean it like that”. There seemed to be general agreement that I was ruining a perfectly pleasant day by pointing out the prejudice.

I didn't escape this type of silliness on leaving school, or on leaving Samoa. Years later when I went to University in Auckland, a friend who was also on scholarship from Samoa, cajoled and convinced me into going to an Asosi meeting with her. "It will be sooooo  fuuuuun." Her  wheedling won but we weren’t exactly welcomed.  While it was a Samoan Asosi, it seemed like we were just a little too…. wait for it…Samoan. Our fabulous fresh-off-the-boatness was just obviously not for everybody. “Don’t worry” said one of my Samoan law school buddies sympathetically, “Didn’t you know you’re not allowed in that Asosi if you’re less than a size 18”.  Though he was perpetuating the stereotypes I'm now railing against for my amusement, I have to admit at the time... I laughed.

I could tell many more such stories- more recent and each more ridiculous than the next- and I'm sure every other Samoan could too- but I only recount enough to reflect the cross-section of prejudices that we subject ourselves to within our own society. Whether it's because you're "too white" as Leilani Tamu recounts in her opinion piece "White, but not quite" or "too Samoan", or for whatever reason, it's really just such a waste of time. We should be better than that. Isn't that what we should really want for our children? A strong enough sense of identity they don't feel the need to stereotype and stigmatise.

Now that I am a parent myself, I plan and pray about what is best for my child.  My son is Samoan, lo'u toto, ma lo'u ivi (oh, and that's right, and his dad is Samoan too, that may have something to do with it...). While I know that I don't need a salu lima, or to raise my son in Salailua to show he is Samoan, a large part of me still longs to give him the childhood I had. Surrounded by warmth and beauty, family and faikakalas.  I, like all parents, worry about whether we are making the right choices.  I suppose at the end of the day, whether we are in Sydney or in Samoa, I just want to give him what my parents gave me- an unshakeable sense of self.



*Identity
by Lemalu Tate Simi

Educate yourself enough
So you may understand
The ways of other people
But not too much
That you may lose
Your understanding
Of your own
Try things palagi
Not so you may become palagi
But so may see the value
Of things Samoan
Learn to speak Samoan
not so you may sound Samoan
but so you may
feel the essence
of being Samoan
Above all
Be aware and proud
Of what you are
So you may spare yourself
The agony of those who are asking
“What am I ? “

She works hard for the money

If you're a child of the eighties like me, it's likely that you danced around to Donna Summer's 'She works hard for the money' with a mop or broom in hand. Though perhaps not as likely to admit it (you are probably thinking 'Have you NO SHAME?!?' -The short answer is no, not really...but that is a different topic altogether). I think I first heard it watching some Disney show where Cinderella was dancing around to the song. Unfortunately I wasn't watching in Disneyland with Mickey in fulfillment of all my 5 year old fantasies. Rather I was in Samoa, with my head at an angle, trying to make out what was happening through all the 'snow' on a fuzzy tv screen, that was trying but not really succeeding, at picking up a signal from Pago. Nevertheless it had a big impact on me. Obviously I related to a girl who only had to do a bit of housework before being whisked away to a ball.

So, for my first week back at work after almost 7 months of maternity leave, it was the soundtrack in my head. I was rocking to it while I was in meetings, having serious discussions and generally being very busy and important! Of course my work is a lot different from Cinderella's. No chimneys or ashes are involved, my boss is no evil step-mother, my colleagues are not demanding step-sisters who need a reality check about their real charms, and (very sadly) there are no helpful little dancing and singing mice. Still, after 7 wonderful months of FREEDOM mat leave I expected to feel very sorry for myself.

But (to my surprise) it really wasn't all that bad. My office had physically moved to (very plush) new premises in my absence. So a lot of time had to be spent admiring the natural light and the panoramic views of the city (both of which were noticibly absent in the previous premises).

The first day my love, brought in the bub and a lovely picnic lunch, and took me to the Royal Botanic Gardens. The sun shone down and I susu-ed Lagi lying down on a picnic rug in the park overlooking the Opera House and Sydney Harbour Bridge. This was truly lovely except for the fact that I was competing with an ibis, and apparently my bub takes after the ancient Egyptians in finding them fascinating. After that first day though, my smart little one realised he had to make the most of the opportunity and would latch on with gusto every lunch time and when I hurried home to him every night. So though I missed him and his beautiful smile, I knew he was with my mum and his dad who love him almost as much as I do and who can look after him almost as well as I can.

Of course I was bombarded with e-mails *bing, bing, bing, bing*. But this was exciting as well as slightly overwhelming. It's amazing what excites you after you have been away from work for so long.

So it really wasn't all that bad. But it's Sunday now, and I'm looking down the barrel of another work week. And I find myself humming *she works hard for the money, so hard for it honey*.... and thinking 'Where's my bloody pumpkin?'

Motherhood and Darwin's Descent of Man

Six months ago we welcomed my beautiful baby into the world. I am sure this is a bit of a surprise because despite well-founded fears based on my previous inability to keep any living thing alive (yes including cacti, the type that survive the Sahara, but apparently not my black thumb), Lagi is a healthy, hearty, happy baby, already raising one eyebrow inquiringly, in that very Samoan way.

What has suprised me most about parenting is how utterly primal it feels. I lie next to my baby at night, and listen to him breathe, and feel so innately protective I could almost growl (or rip out someone's throat). As you can imagine my poor partner has to approach the bed very very carefully.

I am surprised at how much I love the way he smells. And how much I hate it when I can smell other people, particularly females, on him. No matter how good they smell. No matter if the person I can smell on him is my darling mum, who has taken him, to try to give me some much needed sleep. I can't explain it. I figure it's some throwback to that animal ancestry.

Sometimes when he has had tears streaming down his face, I hold him in my arms, and I almost feel like licking him. Like a cat. I would like to state categorically that I have never done so. I restrain myself by kissing away his tears.

I love his smile. He's too young to know any artifice, his smile lights up his whole face. When he smiles up like that at me, his whole face glowing because he sees mine, I know he loves me and my heart feels like its going to burst out of my chest. I couldn't have imagined love so elemental. It's no wonder that in creation stories, people are said to be born of the earth. That's how this love feels, like the earth- deep and old, though he's just six-months-old.

When we have been away from each other, we collapse into each others arms in mutual need. My breasts hard with susu, he seeks out hungrily until he latches on, and we both sigh with relief and happiness.

I expected that I would find motherhood difficult. And it is sometimes. But I have never felt so in touch with myself. It's so basic this need to look after this baby, to love him, to do anything for him. Maybe Darwin didn't need to do that whole study of finches. The survival of the species must be based on mums' (and perhaps even dads') feeling this way.

Fever and finances

Things I have learnt in the past couple of days.

1. I should never try and blog (or do anything else) while I have the flu. This will not lead to anything good. It will lead to me staring at one sentence in a fever-induced haze while my eyesight deteriorates for no good reason (as opposed to when I can write more than one sentence, and you all benefit from reading it- yes I am sacrificing my eyesight for YOU dear reader... I want to make some analogy to Beethoven and his deafness here (oh my God... maybe I still have that fever))

2. I should never ever ever think about finances. Especially while on maternity leave. One of my brothers actually read my blog once (I am not sure whether to attribute this to our family penchant for pocrastination or my incessant enquiring 'so have you read my blog? have you read my blog? you know what you should do, read my blog' etc etc. What can I say, I wanted to share the Beethoven-like brilliance. Anyway he was like 'you blame everything on the bub'. Well, OBVIOUSLY! As you can tell he is yet to become a parent. Otherwise he would know that that is one of the major reasons to procreate. People say you have to get more responsible once you have a baby. Not so! You instantly have a ready made excuse for pretty much everything. House is a mess- well I have a baby. Bringing fat back ('sexy' is so last year!)- well I have a baby. Getting in late to work (I am even projecting my excuses ahead of time)- yes you guessed it- I have a baby. Why take any responsibility when your unsuspecting bub can be heaped with the blame. Especially as he has limited means to counter the slander (at least for now) and limitless means of looking gorgeous so that nothing ever sticks to him anyway. So I am definitely blaming the baby for the finances (which I am still refusing to look at). It certainly wasn't the fact that I have champagne habits on a beer salary (though I LOVE that Eric Bibb song). It has nothing to do with my inability to save or complete incomprehension of the word 'budget' or more accurately how that word (one hardly likes to say it more than once) might apply to me. It certainly has nothing to do with the fact that when asked to list my personal (as in totally frivilous and funded by myself) travel the other day I noticed I had more than 20 trips outside Australia in the past five years alone. What can I say- travelling is addictive and I have an addictive personality. Anyway, we are blaming the baby.

Samoa, susu and subtext

I look kind of palagi. This was pretty easy to figure out as a kid growing up in Samoa, because kids would follow you around saying 'palagi, palagi'. I may be somewhat obtuse sometimes, but even I can pick up on that level of subtlety. I was a kid who longed to be browner. I spent endless time in the sun determined to get a shade or two darker. At Uni, despite sun smart warnings and that "wear sunscreen' song, I was slathering on the oil, and obviously I blame this destructive behaviour on that early trauma (everyone knows all destructive behaviour should immediately be blamed on either childhood trauma, or those solely responsible for all childhood traumas ie. parents). I look so palagi that people often talk about me, in Samoan, right in front of me. I can't complain about this, as it really has given me a great insight into a number of things (like the stupid things guys say when they think you can't understand them) and endless amusement (same example as above).

It also means that people express surprise at how 'Samoan' I really am (even though you look so WHITE). So when I was in Samoa recently I wasn't surprised to gain a bit more insight. A couple of girls (who knew I spoke Samoan but were commenting on me in front of me, as we Samoans do) said "E, ga faapea a'u aga e palagi, e susu lana pepe i se apa, ae lae susu lana tama i lona tino'. The subtext seemed to be that formula was more desirable but it was expensive. And that everyone knew that palagi's (a) had more money (b) were going to take the convenient option or (c) wouldn't pull out their breast faster than the speed of light or all of the above.

Ok I admit it- I lured you in with my innocuous little tale about Samoan childhood, but (as you may have figured out by now) this is actually going to be a rant about... breastfeeding. Oh the CONTROVERSY! Few topics are more controversial or more sensitive to new mothers than breastfeeding. This is probably because it is so bloody hard. But and I'm going to just be frank here, breastfeeding is irrefutably better for the baby. People tiptoe around saying this for fear of being viciously viscerated. Generally don't mess with someone who has just popped out a child. They have just realised exactly what they are capable of.

And I get it. I really do. To say breastfeeding has been a struggle for me would be the understatement of the century. My nipples both cracked and wouldn't heal, for four months. For those (obviously not mothers) who are like 'pfffttt, just four months', let me translate- it was at least 16 weeks of excruciating agony. And yes, my baby screamed unexplainedly both day and night. Many people suggested supplementing with formula. My exhausted partner was imploring for formula (at that stage it was ANYTHING to keep that baby quiet). But I had a few things on my side. A mother (who breastfed all of her four children for over two years each and is a staunch advocate of breastfeeding) who was an unbelievable support, and my own fierce determination that my baby would have the best. My baby is 5 months old, and while no longer excruciating, breastfeeding for me is still along way from comfortable. I can't go anywhere or do anything without my baby. It's not exactly convenient. There's no zumba or salsa classes for me (so that's why I'm so chubby just in case you were wondering). I'm not saying this makes me better than anyone and I'm not judging. I'm just saying I really do get it.

But we shouldn't be scared to say 'breastfeeding is best'. It's just the truth. I'm not disrespecting or dismissing those (very few) mothers who really can't breastfeed. I'm saying that mothers should be encouraged. Here in Australia, the midwives have specific conversations with you about the importance of breastfeeding. There are posters, leaflets and books which tell you about the innumerable health benefits, the fact that you have the right to breastfeed in public, and encouraging you breastfeed for at least 6 months. Now I am no public health policy expert but I really think this message could go along way in Samoa. Especially as some of the very important benefits of breastfeeding are that it lessens the chance of both childhood obesity and diabetes. Obesity and diabetes people! These are the major health issues for us Samoans.

I just don't think the subtext in Samoa should be formula is fantastic. I don't think the subtext should be the only reason not to be on formula is the expense. It's important that everyone understands the full health benefits of breastfeeding, whether in Australia, or Samoa, or any other country and then make an informed choice.

Memoirs of a (youngish) mother

I have never been clucky. When I was about to hit 30, my biological clock didn't tell me it was time to procreate, it told me it was time to go to Cuba! So I understood the shock (and perhaps even horror) that some friends expressed on finding out I was knocked up. One friend literally fell off her chair. Literally. I'm still not quite sure how it happened, but as I was saying, she was really quite surprised. To say people didn't see me as the maternal type would be an extreme understatement.

But I knew I loved Lagi, pretty much as soon as I was pregnant. 11 weeks in, I had a nuchal translucency test. What can I say, I am an A type personality. I need to know everything that pertains to me, and the pregnancy was pertaining to me like a mother.... When they told me Lagi had a 13% chance of having down syndrome, I broke down. I knew in that moment just how much I already loved him, peanut that he was at that stage. I had been kind of blase' about the whole thing up until then. Maybe it's some kind of unacknowledged superstitiousness- you don't want to feel too happy, just in case. I know 13/100 doesn't seem that bad, but the normal odds for a woman my age was supposed to be 1/233 or something like that, and that made us HIGH RISK. The doctor broke it to me sympathetically (which is why I knew it was VERY bad- as we all know doctors are normally trying to hurry you out within 15 minutes, so they can hustle the next patient in- ka-ching!). After crying and calling my parents, I immediately launched into research mode. Because when you're a lawyer like me, that's what solves everything. Researching and reading (frantically). I comforted myself that the nuchal test, which consists of blood tests and measuring liquid at the back of the neck, probably didn't have many Polynesians in their samples. Sure enough, when I had the amnio (A type personality remember, there was never really a question) it turned out that my little munchkin just had a thick neck. The 23rd chromosome was A ok!

When Lagi was born I felt overwhelmingly possessive. Is that love? It certainly was primal. I wanted the doctors to give me my baby. Immediately! I wasn't even that keen on his father holding him (which was just delaying him being given to me, in my opinion). When they put him in my arms, my overriding thought was 'MINE!' Those hormones are pretty damn powerful. Looking back, I'm not sure how else you survive those first few weeks, let alone maintain your sanity. But at the time (again crazy powerful happy hormones) I was ecstatic despite the exhaustion!

Even during the 'feeding frenzy'. Yes, I know, when I heard that term, the day after Lagi was born, I thought (I'm a diver and have seen a few in my life) 'Surely it won't be that crazy'. That night, Lagi proved just how accurate that term was. It certainly felt like Jaws- 'da dum, da dum, da dum'. Despite his lack of teeth, Lagi managed to cause some serious damage. Now I don't blame my sweetheart. He was HUNGRY. And not just hungry, SAMOAN HUNGRY!!! And my milk (or more accurately his milk) hadn't come in yet. Here's the thing though, despite the lack of sleep, despite the pain that could only be described as excruciating, the thing that was the hardest, the thing that was heartbreaking, was not being able to give my baby what he needed at that moment.

I was only in hospital a few days. My love wasn't allowed to stay over night. At the time I found this very hard, but in hindsight it probably was very good for our relationship that he got to go home and sleep (so he could come back and cater to my every whim the next day). I live in the inner west. It's a popular and populated area. The ward at RPA Hospital was completely full to bursting, and the buzzers for the midwives went off all night long (though I would have slept through a fire alarm if my little gremlin had let me). My hat is off to the midwives at the hospital, who tried their very best, but it was obvious their numbers hadn't boomed along with the population and they were obviously understaffed. Suffice to say I wanted to go home.

When we brought Lagi home, it was in Moana the mini (because that's how unprepared we were/ are). Fortunately at home there was that wonderful thing- FAMILY! I will forever be grateful that my parents came all the way from Japan to welcome Lagi into the world. Because it meant they were also available for assistance that went well beyond adoration.

So that is the very first chapter. It seems strange not to finish a story, but I guess that's the awesome thing about being a mum, there's always something to look forward to, there's always another chapter to write. I may be able to do that, at some point, in between the normal joys of motherhood. Even though I've never ever been clucky.

You are my sunshine

The other day I met up with a friend and colleague who has a 16 month old. 'So' he asked about my darling child 'Is he sleeping once or twice during the day?'. I was like 'They sleep?!? During the day?!? But that would let you do stuff. Wait just a second, let me get my head around that mind-blowing concept..... Ok once again... They sleep?!?'

My darling child is not so enamoured with the sleeping. Night or day. The ONLY exception to this is when I am lying next to him, and my susu is firmly in his mouth. Then he'll sleep quite happily. Though if I try to be tricky and dislodge myself, first there is nuzzling with a wide open mouth, then the nuzzling gets super insistent (if you have never seen a Samoan baby nuzzle, it sort of resembles some sort of tackle, they really put their shoulder into it), and should the expected susu not be there.... the eyes open and outrage is expressed. LOUDLY!

It is probably (almost certainly) my fault. When my love is home he is like, "E! E ova ma le matagaga o lau pepe, you baby him!'.

'Hmmmm .... yes, because he is a....wait for it.... a baby! Moreover he's my first child, and my parent's first grandchild, my brothers' first nephew and your first-born son. He has been passed from adult to adoring adult ALL of of his life and he is not only accustomed to attention, he assumes the universe revolves around him. And to be honest, my universe certainly does.'

One of the things both the books, and your own helpful mum, will give you advice on is how your partner is likely to feel a little out shined by the baby. Out shined? Just a little? I am crazy-in-love with my partner but still I think 'You are like, a minor star and he is like the sun. And it is day time! All the time! Sometimes it is hard to see you for all the sun's (MY son's) brilliance (and just quietly, you are only allowed in the same galaxy because you may have had some small part in the sun's (my son's) creation (though I can't remember what that part is, so don't be reaching over for me like that! LOL!))'.

So it probably is my fault (although you know God needs to take some of the responsibility here for making my darling son so gorgeous). My son doesn't sleep that much. And we are attached at the hip (or more accurately by the susu). So the house is messy, the washing isn't out, the dishes are in the sink and I never seem to get anything done. It probably is my fault. But he looks at me with those big brown eyes, or flashes me a gummy smile, and you know, I just can't seem to mind.