Secluded, dim and calming – like the waves from my white noise machine, I’ve been adrift on Baby Island for 5 weeks now. It can be a lonely place, where the days float by but minutes also last an eternity.
Sleep, eat, poo, repeat. The rhythm of my day.
Blurred naps in between.
Trying to catch my breath before the next wave engulfs me.
The riptide both terrifying and overflowing with joy.
Diapers and spit-up the landscape of this withdrawn place.
From the outside it seems like a prison.
But one smile – and I know I’m home.