Three weeks, five days.

I used to support my husband with self-tapes. Then pregnancy weighed heavy on my body and in our third trimester, he called on others to support him instead. I no longer had capacity and I've been mostly alone since then. A sense of loneliness has brewed over time.

Yesterday Nyaniso called our friend Mbali to ask her to shoot a tape with him. The last time I saw her I was big-bellied and we sat on the couch in my home talking all things traditions, marriage, motherhood and birth. She beamed sharing stories of her daughter, how it was to hold her in her arms for the first time and how big she's grown now. I've always felt taken care of and connected in our friendship, despite how few and far-between our greetings are.

Nyaniso communicated to Mbali ahead of time that our baby is still young and being kept close to our hearts in light of culture. That it was likely she wouldn't meet our daughter. She understood. Today I felt differently though and I voiced it. I shared that I'd like for our friend to meet our child and expressed my intentions; to diffuse the feeling of isolation that has been sweeping over me for weeks now. We asked our little one how she feels and she communicated that she's happy to meet a new Aunt. Nyaniso understood. Agreed. He held me close and reminded my tear-filled face that in our home, all and any traditions or customs can be discussed, debated and explored. That we are free to choose for ourselves what is true to us. I've known this. Hearing him speak it yet again initiated a deep exhale.

It's been difficult trying to know what to ask for in the last few weeks. Social life and time with friends feels like new terrain now. How does it work with a baby in arms? What happens when she needs to feed? Do I let her suckle in company, or do I take time to sit with her alone? What feels truest to us as a mama-baby duo, and as a family? How could I possibly know until I get there? What to ask for has been a riddle I've been puzzling the whole time. Tugging with two ends of the same truth - wanting to bask in the safety of alone time and wanting to immerse in company too.

"Mbali's arriving soon" Nyaniso told me, after a morning of preparing his scripts. I sat in the rocking chair, freshly-changed baby in arms, sleeping with her eyes wide open. It feels spiritual seeing her brown eyes dart around the room with REM sleep dreams. I stroked her back gently, letting her know a new visitor was arriving soon.

Mbali came, greeted Mr Dzedze and received the news that we welcome her visit. She washed her hands and walked through to the sun room to find us rocking gently. She danced a happy dance and let joy move all the way through her to our hearts. "She's beautiful! She's so small! can I hold her?" she smiled. I smiled. Passed our baby to her hands. She bounced her, gently cooing, reminiscing on the times when her own daughter was just as small. I felt calm.

No need for lengthily conversation or full stories. Just her presence made a difference. I saw myself reflected back in her: A mother. My trust in her hands to hold my child echoed the trust I hold in myself too. I thought of the significance of my baby girl seeing herself in the face of a strong, creative, beautiful South African black woman, the way she sees herself in my own face too. I felt the coming together of so many worlds, facilitated in the existence of my child. In Mbali's visit, my body softened. She returned to the room where her and Nyaniso would be shooting the audition tape and I scuttled back to my bedroom.

I lay under the blankets, snuggled up to my daughter and listened to scripts being read in the next room. As I drifted into dream-time, I realized that alone with my baby is exactly where I wish to be. I simply needed the freedom to choose it and feel that choice in the depth of my bones.