I wonder if there's a way to romanticize the monotony of motherhood. The day-to-day "hello darlin'" that I coo. The repetitive announcements of how tired I feel. The constant, never-ending forever of it all. Right now Baby Dzedze is wrapped to her Papa's heart. Mama is about to lay down and I'm catching a whisp of sanity, by typing.

Yesterday I went to the gym for the first time. Met the layers of me that were asked to step aside when my daughter arrived to my body. It was good to see those parts of me again, and I also felt the ache of how life has changed. I missed my little one, felt the cells of my being speak to how I am a mother now and wondered how much weight I could push without compromising my already-limited milk supply. Softness spoke and I half-listened.

I think next time I go to the gym, I'll swim. Find my pace within the water and kick my way through emotion. Perhaps tomorrow. Today I didn't go. Spent time at the mall instead, piecing together a pamper pack for our dear friends Jacqlyne & Hamish. In a week they will marry and my heart sings for the way life keeps showing us what love looks like. Right now it shows us through them.

It's nice to let my fingers patter away on the keys and let my mind dance for a moment...

Pause. Insert another feed break. There's nothing that quite touches the tenderness of how powerful and utterly powerless she is at the same time. I feel it every time she suckles.

Mr Dzedze just finished watching the Week 3 content for an online program I'm running, The Tussling. Ten people are journeying the theme of whiteness with me, and this particular week delves into 'Wearing Whiteness' and exploring the internal landscape of whiteness through different archetypes. "What do you think?" I asked Mr Dzedze. He replied, "It's heavy, but you deliver it really well."

Tomorrow he flys to Durban again. Our time together has been precious. Last night we went out for a meal together and then drove our way through conversations and confessions in the rain. I rested my head upon his lap when we came home and slept there like a baby. I'll miss him. I'll cheer for him too. Right now our daughter looks up at him smiling as he speaks of leaving. "Why you smiling?" he asks. "Because you know I'm coming back" he continues, concluding his own sentence. Time for him to prepare his scenes. Time for me to cradle our child. Motherhood calls, again.