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.

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.