In my husband's culture, it's custom to keep a baby home for the first three months of their life. To hardly let the world meet them, see them, know them. It's a way of keeping a child spiritually safe and protected. That's what's expected. It's the norm.

There's a journal entry in a black book I own that my Dad wrote. It reads, "Happy Birthday Yana! Today you are three months old. At the moment we are all waiting for the plane to Cuenca, in Quito airport. So far you have been a brilliant traveller, much happier on the move than stuck at home. Which is a good thing, as you have already been with us to Peru, Ecuador and Germany. I used to be worried that the pressure differences in the planes would cause you problems, but you've now been on six different flights and stayed happy all the way."

Whilst I'm certain that my deepest desire for this early time together is not to travel to four countries in three months, (The cancerian homebody in me is strong) I do feel conflicted by this cultural difference. Sitting on our bed last night I gently raised my feelings with Nyaniso, to be witnessed and to let my inner world flow. I explained that I'm struggling to decipher what would be truest to me in this time and that my expression wasn't coming with any requests at that point, as I wasn't sure of what I'd be asking for.

Sometimes I feel lonely and desire company, all the while feeling exhausted by the thought of people around me and conversations. Sometimes I want to share her with the whole world and yell from the rooftops gleefully about how mighty my child is, all the while wanting to tuck her into my belly and hide her away from the world. Sometimes I wish to host friends and family, cook for them and catch up on how things have been, all the while spending most of my days in bed so my body can fully recover.

Today marks two weeks since our baby's birth. She hasn't met anyone in person yet. Just one of our midwives and our doula during post-partum checkups. I'm certain of the blessings that my parents chose for me as they ventured around the world with me on their backs twenty-nine years ago. I'm equally certain of the blessings we are choosing for our baby, keeping our child at home, tucked away close to our hearts and hidden from the vast everyone-else. And all the while, whilst I know the blessings, I sit smothered in questions. What do I truly wish for? What is truest to our family, aside from culture? What is our child's request?

As I type, I feel grateful for the years of work Nyaniso and I have invested in learning to communicate clearly through our cultural differences. At times they feel non-existent, the gap between our ways of life is minuscule. Other times it presents as a cavernous trench. Even then, we have time and time again found a way to assert care and consideration, to weave our worlds together into something new. Wholly me, wholly him. I guess, there's no greater manifestation of that togetherness than our baby girl.