A letter from Steve Biddulph

I spent a beautiful and reflective afternoon reading the final entries in the Lives Touched by Breastfeeding Writers competition, often feeling strong waves of emotion as I recalled those early years of my own kids lives, and quite often laughing out loud at the good humour and wryness that is so finely developed in Australian mums.

I also soul-searched about how I felt about competitions, and winners, and writing, as having blithely accepted a judges role, I was now faced with the uneasy idea of valuing one story against another. I now realized I couldn't do this, every choice involved devaluing something precious, and wouldn't sit comfortably however hard I tried. What follows is how I solved this.

Among the finalists list,, there were some very diverse and enlightening entries. My New Sister by Cherie Rothery tackled the knack of getting a brother used to his new baby sister. Sunday Morning by Natalie Nicolas told the story of how successive babies healed the memory of a pregnancy loss. For Love of Charley by Vicki Pickering was a gritty story of the depression, when breastfeeding kept toddlers well when there was no better food. The Grandmaother's Role by Brooke Mc Reynolds was a cross cultural study in how grandmothers could and did breastfeed when the need arose- drawing on nursing experience in third world and aboriginal cultures. Waiting by Rosemary Pollock was a beautiful set piece, studying the varied effects on a doctors waiting room full of patients, when a young mother breastfeeds. A randy teenage boy, an old lady, a small girl mesmerized and delighted by the sight, showed the full range of attitudes to that most natural and nurturing of all human activities.

There was hilarity too - a cavewoman story by Story Time by Desley Hubner, and A Fairytale by Yvette O'Dowd's really wicked imagination -- Snow White breastfeeding amongst the seven dwarves while on the mobile phone to Cindarella for some peer support !

My selection came down to five really beautifully crafted stories, from which I could not choose. One Night by Jody Potter wrote about a family of four children getting used to a new baby on the first night, with great awareness - bone weary fatigue fighting with the specialness of this moment of a new family reforming itself to accommodate just one more. Reunited by Belinda Blackburn's stark, factual tale was heartrending as a very prem baby finally was able to be held and breastfed. Breast Beating by Elli Housden added to this sense of fragility and real danger that can never be absent from birth and babyhood, as breastfeeding seems to reverse a dangerous medical condition, but only after years of fear and concern. Like many of the stories, this was a true one, and a privelege to read another parent's journey of such heartache and triumph.

Nursing in the Park by Clare Valley was a very contemporary tale, a career woman fights the urge towards self-sacrifice in parenthood. As we know many young women are drawn away from motherhood, seeing it as somehow a lesser path, in these cold, materialistic times. Yet inner yearnings still make their call. And as an older person now, interested in spirit and the inner journey, I loved Floating on a Bark Boat by Linda Kelly's tale of overcoming rural isolation by exploring the ancient goddesses of human civilization, and the deep relaxation that comes from finding one's place in the cosmos.

Out of these last five, I would never be able to choose a winner, as they are beautiful and special in quite different ways. These stories show that the spirit of breastfeeding, the diversity and glory of young parents, the powerful river of motherlove, all seem very alive and well; and my admiration goes out to these writers for their creative willingness to share their lives.

Steve Biddulph
Tasmania May, 2006.

Winners

Children's Stories Top 10

1. B007 Where Did Mummy's Milk go? by Maura McInerney (SA)
2. B004 Dear Diary I am Never Going to Breastfeed by Honor Cowie (Vic)
3. B009 Favourite Times by Rosalie Stafford (QLD)
4. B006 The End of the Day by Louise Dwyer
5. B012 My Little Brother by Katherine Seers
6. B008 Mother Knows Breast by Jessica Westhorpe
7. B010 I like Ginger by Rosalie Stafford
8. B002 Story Time by Desley Hubner
9. B001 My New Sister by Cherie Rothery
10. B005 Just Like a Goat by Dianne Atkinson

Short Stories top 10

1. A053 For Love of Charley by Vicki Pickering (Qld)
2. A070 Sunday Morning by Natalie Nichols Askill (NSW)
3. A029 Reunited by Belinda Blackburn (Vic)
4. A009 One Night by Jody Potter
5. A013 Floating on a Bark Boat by Linda Kelly
6. A023 Waiting by Rosemary Pollock
7. A001 Breast Beating by Elli Housden
8. A021 Nursing in the Park by Clare Valley
9. A012 The Grandmaother's Role by Brooke Mc Reynolds
10. A044 A Fairytale by Yvette O'Dowd

** Six of our winning stories are published below for your enjoyment. The remaining stories will be published as a collection in the future.

Winner of Adult Short Story category

For Love of Charley

The piano was slightly out of tune. As the last notes faded, there was a stirring in the room. Withered muscles stretched, chairs creaked and rheumy eyes blinked as the inhabitants came back from wherever the music had taken them.

Grace jumped slightly as a hand rested on her shoulder. "Mrs Coleman- look who's here to see you." Capable hands spun the wheelchair around to face the door. Grace raised her eyes, confusion giving way to a tentative smile of recognition.

The nurse spoke a quick aside to the visitors as she passed, in a voice she fondly believed was inaudible to patients. "She's having a good day today. Better make the most of it," she said as she bustled away.

"Hello Mum," Jeanine said with a quick peck on the cheek. "Guess who Rebecca has brought with her?"

Grace reached over into the pram and gently stroked the satin cheek of her great-granddaughter. Large purple eyes opened and gazed back at her, steady and unblinking.

Her voice caught in her throat. "Charley" she breathed, "you've got Charley's eyes."

"Her name's Isabella, Grandma - Isabella Grace. after you and her dad's grandmother." Rebecca lifted the baby from her blankets, cooing as she pulled up a chair and undid her shirt. "Who's a hungry girl? She's a little piggy, is this one." A small grunt of satisfaction was the only sound as pink lips fastened around her mother's breast.

Grace watched the baby feed. Her vision blurred and she saw another baby, held in loving arms. A small boy-child, pulling at her skirts for attention. And Joe- who could forget Joe? A wicked grin and eyes a girl could drown in, a man she married at the age of nineteen, not knowing much about the world or men. It didn't matter that neither of them had any family- they had each other. Until the crash of '29, when Joe lost his job and went on the road, looking for work and sending home a share of his dole payments.

Even then it wasn't too bad. She was strong and healthy. The dole paid the rent. With room for a vegetable garden and a few chickens they were better off than many, and she could barter eggs for things like flour and sugar when the hens were laying. Never mind that every living creature seemed to eat the vegetables before she could get to them - crows, bandicoots, possums, not to mention the bugs - there was still usually enough to make up a meal. The baby needed only her milk, and little Charley had learned very early in his young life to eat what was put in front of him.

Then something got the chickens. She never found out for sure what it was - a cat, a fox, someone's hungry dog. All that was left were scraps of bone and lots of feathers. Not even enough to salvage for the stew pot.

Joe's next letter came with twice the usual amount of money. He was in western Queensland, had the chance of work on a cattle station, but would be out of touch for a while. The station manager only travelled to town for mail and supplies once every two months. So the turnaround time for a reply might be four months. "But if I can pull this off, love we'll have money by Christmas. Take care of yourself and little Charley and the baby...."

Christmas was eight months away. The money would just about cover the rent, but the weather was getting colder and the garden was past its best. There was wood in the shed, enough to last if she was careful. Some vegetables would grow in winter if they were planted now. She could survive on cabbage and pumpkins and potatoes until the warmer weather, but what about Charley?

As the weeks went by she watched him grow thinner. He was already small for his three years, and he seemed to be shrinking before her eyes. His eyes looked too big for his face./ He had a nasty cough and there was no money for a doctor. Constant physical work and inadequate food was also taking its toll on Grace. The tiredness never seemed to go away, and her fear grew.

July arrived, with frosty nights and cool clear days. In a rare restful moment, Grace sat on the ground in a sunny corner feeding the baby, now a plump and rosy seven months old, with Charley making mudpies in the dirt beside her. "Thirsty, Mama, Charely wants a drink," he chirped as he tried to climb into her lap.

It was as if a light clicked on inside her head. "Why not?" she thought, and pulled open the other side of her dress. Charley gave her a puzzled look, then stroked her breast and grinned before wriggling down to take a great mouthful. "Just like baby Jeanine, Mama" he mumbled. There were a couple of false starts as he worked out what to do, then she felt the milk begin to flow. Jeanine looked up in surprise at the unexpected company and reached out a hand to pat her big brother.

Grace felt a warm glow from head to toe that had nothing to do with the physical act of feeding. She watched her son sucking greedily at the warm sweet milk, and tears welled in her eyes as she realised what this meant. They could manage until the next letter came. There might even be some money in it, perhaps enough to replace the chickens......

"Charley...." she murmured again.

"Mum, are you OK? Mum?" A gentle touch on her arm shattered the waking dream.

"Jeanine? I saw you and Charley..."

"I'm here, Mum. Charley's fine - he couldn't come today. This is Isabella, remember? Rebecca's baby, Isabella."

Grace dabbed her eyes with a tissue and looked up at her daughter.

"Rebecca and Isabella," she said firmly. "I will remember. Rebecca and Isabella."

Back to Winners list

Sunday Morning

The paperbark tickled her skin as she leaned against the tree. Sitting in the shade, feeling the soft, easterly breeze on her body, she relaxed. Staring at the ocean noticing the different blues in the water, when her attention was drawn to her chest. A little hand was tapping. He was cuddled into her. His head tenderly cradled by her arm and his little toddler body spread across her lap. Her eyes met his and his cheeky grin appeared, with her nipple still held firmly in his mouth. Again he tapped, but this time lower onto her other breast. Tanya stroked the long, smooth, blonde curls that fell onto his face.

Josh sat up. "Finish boobie!" he said. She looked into his face, golden skin streaked with sunscreen, sparkling eyes and milk-wet baby lips. He turned his head and picked up a leaf near him and started to blow it. She pulled him close and tickled his ribs. " Got some kisses for mummy? ", she teased tucking her breast away. "No" he replied with a shrieking giggle, tossing his head back. He swivelled his body around and began to lift her still damp swimming top in search of her other breast. Tanya helped Josh attach. He reached up his little arm, fingers outstretched, placed it around her neck and pulled her into his embrace. She nuzzled his cheek as he suckled and kissed him.

Tanya sat up, pushed back her syrup-brown hair and tucked it behind her ear. She looked along the beach, through the colours and shapes of people and their paraphernalia. Then she saw Ben holding Darcy's hand. As they danced in the waves together, she admired their daughter's lean, supple body moving in the shallow water.

Darcy was now seven. When she was born there was relief to have a baby so vigorously suck at Tanya's breast. It was overwhelming, reassuring, and quietly healing the milk tears that had fallen the year before.

It had not been easy fighting off the comments from friends and relatives about continuing to breastfeed Darcy until she was just over three years old. Tanya's auntie had informed her that Darcy would never become independent. Demand feeding would mean that Darcy would never be patient, never learn to wait for a bus. Another friend asked if Tanya was worried that Darcy would become a lesbian by feeding her for so long!

Now Tanya dealt with a new lot of questions and accusations about feeding Josh. All from others who never seemed to ask how she felt about it or why she wanted to commit to long-term breastfeeding. Tanya had always felt quite blessed that she had been able to breastfed without any major problems. Then there were the people who felt they had to speak up on behalf of Ben. Wasn't breastfeeding getting in the way of their relationship? Ironically, Ben completely supported her and believed breastfeeding to be best for his children. And in the end it was always about their family, the strong feeling of connection to their children and following their instincts.

They knew the preciousness of life. The doctors had told them at 23 weeks of their first pregnancy that their baby had a condition that was 'not compatible with life'. Tanya blamed herself and her body that failed to grow a healthy baby. There was the disbelief that this could happen to them. Ben cried in the doctor's room and Tanya cried for him and his sadness. It was only later that she cried for her baby and herself. At twenty-four and a half weeks, the pregnancy was now over, but she woke up one night and her t-shirt was wet. After a few moments of confusion, she realised it was her milk. It had come to feed a baby that was not there. She wept with her body.

Josh continued to suck as he began humming and twinkling his fingers in the air. Tanya loved this about breastfeeding, the gentleness that comes with sitting down to feed. The calm that seemed to well up in her and Josh, especially in those hot afternoons that seem to stretch in the heat.

Ben waved at them. "Look at daddy," Tanya said. Josh sat up, at first not wanting to let go of her nipple, but realising it wouldn't quite stretch that far. He reluctantly let it go and propelled himself upright to find the vision of his daddy. "Look down there", she said. Placing her face next to his, she stretched out her slender arm speckled with sea salt, pointing towards the water. "See Darcy?" she said. Tanya watched his eyes search and then the joyous smile as he came across his dad and sister waving up to him. "Dadda", Josh said as he lifted his hand cautiously and started to wave. Darcy called out through her dripping eyelids to her mother and motioned for them to come to the water.

Josh turned into his mother and snuggled into her bosom. "Boobie mama", he said grappling with her gluey top. " Shall we go and have a swim with daddy? We have to go home soon, sunny sun is getting very hot," she asked. " Otay", he said. She helped him up then pushed herself up. As Tanya stretched upwards a wave of nausea come over her. She took a breath and knew there wasn't time to give it her full attention as her little boy began to toddle pulling at her hand. There had been a break from breastfeeding between Darcy and Josh, now she thought about tandem feeding. An image flashed through her mind of herself sitting in the same spot on the beach under the trees feeding Josh and a new baby. The picture sharply broken as Josh tripped over his feet on the mixture of leaves and sand and began to cry. Tanya picked him up kissing his face. "Oh darling", she said as she cuddled him and re-positioned his sunhat on his head.

Back to Winners list

Reunited

The rhythmic thumping sound of the breast pump is soothing, I close my eyes, breathe deeply and picture rivers of milk flowing from my breasts. The peace is broken by frantic cries from the baby in the next room. The mother's tired voice responds and I feel a stab of jealousy towards her. To have my baby here with me would be wonderful. Instead she's in the special care nursery and I'm trying to come to terms with all that's happened and with the fact that tomorrow I have to go home without her.

I finish expressing and shuffle quietly down the corridor, impatient to see Kelsea, my beautiful tiny baby. At the nurse's station a solo nurse is reading the paper, she sees me and says "While you were asleep the nursery called, I know you wanted me to wake you but you really need your sleep." Dread seeps through me and I feel like I'm made of lead, what has happened to my little girl? "It's nothing major, your baby's bilirubin levels came back and they were a bit high so they've put her under lights. I just wanted you to be prepared for when you see her."

"Thank you" I manage, and walk away, not happy that I wasn't woken but relieved that Kelsea's OK. I arrive at the SCN and wash my hands thoroughly before going in. Then I put my milk in the fridge and finally go to her isolette.

The nurse's casual warning did nothing to prepare me for the sight of Kelsea under lights. She is naked except for a nappy and an eye mask. The blue glow from the lights and the lack of clothes emphasize how frail she looks. The IV on her tiny arm looks huge and she is covered with wires from the many monitors. She appears to be sleeping but not peacefully as a baby should sleep, she twitches and startles often and her ribcage is heaving with the effort required to breathe.

I pull over a stool so I can sit at her bedside and suddenly feel my composure slipping. It wasn't meant to be like this. I should have Kelsea in my room, feeding at my breast, held in my arms. We should be getting to know each other. How will she know who I am when she is cared for by a constantly changing shift of nurses? I know she is safe and is in the best of care, but I am her mother, she belongs with me. She is three days old and I haven't even held her yet. Tears begin to flow and once they start they won't stop.

This shifts nurse has come to introduce herself but instead brings me a box of tissues. I can't manage the words to thank her as she gently pats my back and leaves me to my grief. My defenses slip as the events of the past three days come crashing down over me and the sobs rack my body, the rush to hospital, the terrible fear that my baby may not survive, the constantly monitored labour which I fought with every ounce of strength in me - I was not having this baby now, neither of us was ready, the birth despite my efforts to prevent it, the deep blue eyes gazing so briefly into mine as a tiny hand grabbed my nightie before she was whisked away, surrounded by medical personal. I didn't even get to see what sex the baby was. An anonymous voice called out from the press of white coats surrounding her that it was a girl. My body shudders uncontrollably and the tears pour down.

When the storm subsides the nurse comes back, I still can't speak but I hope she can sense how grateful I am to her for letting me cry. I have been trying to put on a brave face, as much for myself as for those around me. All the while feeling as though my heart is with Kelsea and I'm incomplete when away from her.

I can't leave Kelsea as I have every other night. That wonderful nurse, who introduces herself as Gloria, shows me how to hold her hand or foot firmly through the portal in the isolette and not be afraid to touch her. I feel connected to her doing this and she seems to sleep more peacefully, maybe she does know I'm here. The beeps and hums of the monitors provide background noise to my thoughts as I come to terms with the situation and my feelings. I can't tell how long I sit there, holding my daughters hand, time doesn't exist here, there is just me and Kelsea.

Eventually, I make my way back to my room and sleep better then I have since Kelsea's birth. I waken as the sky is lightening out the window and express impatiently before setting out to the nursery again.

Perfect timing, Kelsea is just stirring, Gloria comes over and says she thinks I could have a cuddle. The idea of it brings tears to my eyes again, this time tears of joy. I settle into a chair and undo my top. Kelsea is handed to me, crying tiny kitten mews. My nipple looks huge next to her exquisite little mouth, I was only thinking of offering skin contact but her instincts kick in and with no help at all she attaches to my breast. She sucks weakly three times then rests, so it goes for nearly 20 minutes. Then she lets go, snuggles up to my breast, heaves a huge sigh and drifts peacefully of to sleep. I feel drained of emotion yet somehow strengthened. I have a sense deep within me that we will be alright now. We are reunited, for the first time in days I feel complete, and I'm sure Kelsea feels the same way.

Back to Winners list

Winner of Children's category

Where did Mummy's milk go?

I don't drink milk from my mummy any more. I'm too big. I drink milk from my cup and I hardly ever spill any. But where did Mummy's milk go? I know I can't drink it anymore, but I wouldn't mind saying hello.

Mummy says the best thing we can do is go searching. We go to our dress-ups box and find things to wear that make us look like detectives searching for clues. I'm wearing a yellow raincoat, my black boots and a red cap. Mummy is wearing her big black overcoat, pointy red shoes and a black hat pulled down over her eyes. We each have a magnifying glass so that we can look very carefully at the things we find. Mummy's face looks very funny through my magnifying glass. She puts her magnifying glass right up close to my eye and says she's sure she can see my brain. I think she's joking but I might have a look in the mirror later, just to be sure.

First we look in the kitchen. Mummy's milk is a drink, so perhaps we will find it in a cupboard or in the fridge. We find the juice, we find the cocoa, we find the cows' milk, we find a jug of water, but no Mummy's milk. I tell Mummy that, even though I love to have a big glass of water with ice in it, I miss the taste of the milk she made for me. It was sweet and warm and made my tummy feel good. Mummy hugs me and tells me she was very happy to make that milk for me.

Next, we look in my bedroom. Drinking Mummy's milk at night-time always made me feel cosy and warm and sleepy, so perhaps we will find it under my bed, or behind my wardrobe. We find some toys, we find my soccer ball, we find some dust and a cobweb, but no Mummy's milk. I tell Mummy that I really like sleeping in my bed with my toys all around me and my night light smiling at me, but cuddling her while I drank her milk was even nicer. Mummy hugs me and tells me that I can cuddle her anytime I want to, night or day.

Next, we look in the office. Drinking Mummy's milk always made me feel safe, so perhaps we will find it in the tin box where Mummy keeps some important things - the box even has a lock on it. We find some money, we find our passports, we find some jewellery and some paper clips, but no Mummy's milk. I tell Mummy that I'd rather she put me in her arms than in a locked tin box to keep me safe. Mummy hugs me and says that she would never put me in a box and that, even when I'm a hundred years old, her arms will still be around me, keeping me safe.

Next, we go outside into the garden. Drinking Mummy's milk in the morning always made me feel full of energy and ready to play and have fun, so perhaps we will find it in one of my play places. We find some big orange leaves under the swing, we find a tiny lizard sunning itself in the sandpit, we find a rock in the shape of a camel, but no Mummy's milk. I tell Mummy that, even though I still have lots of energy to play all day, I miss starting the day in her arms, filling up my tummy with her milk. Mummy hugs me and says that she misses that too. She's very quiet for a moment then she tickles me until we are both laughing and rolling all over the lawn.

I'm getting tired now. Mummy must be getting tired too, because she takes my hand and we go inside. After we're back in our regular clothes, we go and lie on the lounge together. Mummy holds me close and I rest against her, listening to her heart beating and feeling her breath shifting the hair on my head. I'm a bit worried that we haven't found Mummy's milk, but not really, really worried because I'm feeling warm and cosy and safe and sleepy. Just like I used to feel when I was drinking Mummy's milk. I remember those feelings. And suddenly I know.

I know where Mummy's milk went! Into my memory. That's the place inside me where I keep the things I remember. Sometimes I think my memory is a big box. Sometimes I think it's a bookshelf. I've got lots of things in my memory. I used to sleep in a cot. Then I got too big and moved into my bed. In my memory lives that little me in the cot. My favourite toy used to be a floppy, white teddy called Blue. Now I love my green ball best of all. In my memory lives the little me holding Blue by his squishy paw. The best thing about my memory is that I can look in there any time I want. I can wave to Blue and I can rock little baby me in my cot. All I have to do is remember.

So, as I lie next to my Mummy, I shut my eyes. Instead of looking outside, I look inside and I remember. I can see little me cuddling close to my mummy while I drink the milk she made especially for me. Hello Mummy's milk. It's good to see you again.

Back to Winners list

Dear Diary, I am never going to breastfeed!

This is a teenager's story of how her life was touched by breastfeeding in just one week.

02/12/05
Dear Diary, some people are so rude! Sal and I were at café waiting to having lunch-when a mum and her baby sat right beside us on the next table. Just when the meals came out the baby began to cry. We couldn't even hear each other speak, so we decided to leave and not worry about our lunch. When we left our seats, the lady started breastfeeding! We couldn't believe it-exposing herself. How disgusting!! I will never breastfeed when I have kids. Mum's telling me to get in the car now because we are going to grandma's place for tea- will write later.

03/12/05
Dear Diary, end of the weekend. I hate Sunday nights, especially because it's double maths first up. Mr Byrne is so boring and he smells! This morning I had a chat to mum about the lady breastfeeding in the café. She doesn't think breastfeeding is disgusting at all and said that most of my friends were probably breastfed. She also said that I was very weak when I was born, but I became really strong after six months of breast milk. Apparently mother's milk is best - it has stacks of nutrients and very nurturing for the newborn- something like that. I am going to tell everyone at school that I nearly died when I was born. Mum said I was weak, not dying- but I am going to tell them that anyway. I guess mum had a point when she said that Sal and I were able to finish our lunch in peace and that everyone in the café were probably happy that the baby was quiet whilst being feed. I guess you could only see the baby when she was feeding it- not that I was looking or anything. Still, I am never going to breastfeed.

06/12/05
Dear Diary, sorry I haven't written in a while- Grade eight is so full on. It's nearly the end of the year and they are still giving us stacks of homework. Told everyone in my class how I nearly died when I was born. A few people gave me hugs and everyone was pretty shocked. I didn't tell them about the breastfeeding part - it might have freaked them out. I have to play my trumpet at the end of year concert next week. I am going to be so nervous playing in front of all those people! I hope Justin isn't there, that would be so embarrassing. He would never look at me again- he would probably tease me. Oh Justin, Justin.

07/12/05
Dear Diary, today was full on. Mandy came back to our school with her baby. She was in grade ten last year when she got pregnant. I didn't know her or anything but someone three years older getting pregnant! It was such a shock! Anyway, Mandy was at school with her baby at lunchtime. All the teacher's and older student's were crowding around her saying "Isn't she beautiful" and "She's got your good looks". The baby had no hair at all- Sal and I though it didn't look that special. Anyway, when we were standing near them, the baby started crying. Mandy asked Mrs Davis if she could get a chair because she needed to feed her. I though Mandy (being so cool and all) would have a bottle- but she started to breastfeed. Most people gave her space but she still breastfeed in front of everyone, even Mr Byrne! Justin walked past and started laughing really loudly and said something rude to Tim. I screamed at him saying. "Shut up! You were probably breastfed too!" Mandy heard this and she winked at me a smiled. I felt really embarrassed yelling at Justin -it just came out. I was feeling pretty down all afternoon but at the end of the day Mandy was still at school and she came up to me and started chatting! I told her when I was born I nearly died and how I got better because I was breastfed. Mandy really respects me and thinks I am very mature for my age. Wow! I can't believe Mandy spoke to me!!

08/12/05
Dear Diary, Told mum what I said to Justin and how Mandy thought I was mature for my age. Mum is super proud of me. Apparently lots of people saw me talking to Mandy, so when I got to school the next day they were all asking me what we were chatting about (Mandy never speaks to kids who are in grades seven and eight). I told them that she thought I was cool for sticking up for her when she was breastfeeding. I don't like Justin any more. He is such a loser and so immature- I don't know why I liked him in the first place! Anyway I can't write much tonight as I have to practice my trumpet for the concert on Monday.

Back to Winners list

Favorite Times

Some mums and dads came to preschool today. And there was one very special visitor, Simon's brand new baby sister, Amy. She was sound asleep, her legs dangled all pink and new as her mum helped Simon put his things away.

The teacher's name was Miss Baroski and she wanted the children to tell her about their favorite times of day. It was getting close to Mothers Day and Miss Baroski wanted the children to draw a special picture for their mums.

'What's your favorite time Charlie?' she began, once everyone was settled.

'Waking up time: I climb in my mum and dad's bed, and my dad tickles me and we sing, 'There Were Four in the Bed'.'

'Waking up time, yes I like that to. What's about you Simon, What's your favorite time of day?'

'I like Breakfast time: Dad cooks boiled eggs just the way I like them and we eat them together, my dad eats the yellow part.'

'Waking up time, breakfast time: yes I like both those times too.'

'What about you Con?'

'Play time: I like it when we go to the park. I ride my bike and mum pushes the stroller.'

'Waking up time, breakfast time, play time: yes I like all those times too.'

'What time do you like best Ruby?'

'Bath time: sometimes mum gets in too with my little sister and we talk and sing and make up stories together.'

'Waking up time, breakfast time, play time, bath time: yes, I like all those times too.'

'Tegan, what's your favorite time?'

'Story Time: every night after my bath my mum brushes my teeth and then she reads me lots and lots of stories.'

'Waking up time, breakfast time, play time, bath time, and story time: yes I like all those times too.'

'Now let's ask some of the mums what their favorite times of day are?'

Simon's baby sister, Amy had started to stir. Everyone watched as she stretched out her arms and reached her head towards her mother's breast. Before her eyes were even open she was attached and making delicious gulping noises that reassured everyone that all was well.

With all eyes on Amy, her mum felt it was her turn to join the discussion.

'I just love feeding time. I get to sit down and relax and spend some quiet time with Simon or Amy. I love it even better when I can feed in bed or in the bath'.

The other mums watched ... and listened … and remembered. They remembered peaceful times waking up with their babies beside them in bed, snuggled together as a family; still times as they studied their babies faces, their curled-up fingers and toes, their sweet smell; tender times as they bathed their babies and felt their skin against theirs and gently dried each fold.

Would anyone else like to share a special time of day with us? the teacher asked, sensing the children were ready for action.

Well, how about we all go and draw some of those special times. What were they again? 'Waking up time, breakfast time, play time, bath time, story time and feed time,' the children chorused.

'Yes, I think we all do like those times don't we. Special times with our families are the best times aren't they?'

And so the children drew their pictures of their favorite times.

Waking up time, breakfast time, play time, bath time, story time and feed time … but in every picture there was also a picture of a baby. Maybe it was them, maybe it was their little brother or sister. Maybe it was Amy. What was the baby doing? Feeding and sleeping and smiling - all at the same time!

Back to Winners list

Top