Her joys must be as high as her sorrows are deep

This is a world of dreams and reverie, where I felt the stars explode around me. A grass blade flashed with a gleam as it slashed open a moonbeam, and I stared back breathlessly. As mountains of fruit tumbled out, I barely had the chance to shout; a lingonberry avalanche crashed over me.

Yesterday our neighbour's almost two year-old ran from playing outside in the backyard into our house, proceeded to refer to everything as "ball" while throwing said objects simultaneously, dashed into my bedroom, happily clambered on with her dirty hands and feet, rolled among my fortress of bedsheets, pillows, comforters and soft toys, kicked both my pillows down the length of my bed with her exertions, inadvertently wiped her snot and drool on my fresh bedspread, managed to get little flecks of grass and dirt everywhere, and plopped down on my giant banana plushie from Korea.

All this done while shrieking her head off.

I have never felt more inclined to yell at/hit/maul/maim a baby before. I'm not a person who condones child abuse okay! It's just, she was so annoying. Plus, she was dripping snot and drool and germs everywhere. Also, it would have helped if the baby in question was slightly cute.

I'm seriously starting to think that I can't ever be a mother.

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I like windy days. I like the smell of spring. I like airmail paper. I like watching my fingers while I type. I like nonsense. I like vintage underwear. I like things that are strawberry flavoured (including strawberries). I like dreaming of flying. I like receiving letters. I like songs that make you want to dance. I like daydreaming. I like newborn flowers. I like friendly cats nudging along my ankles. I like skirts that swish. I like the clink of teacups. I like fluttering eyelashes. I like smudgy eyes. I like old suitcases. I like postcards. I like the sea. I like secrets. I like honey eyes. I like ribbons and lace. I like beautiful chains of words. I like fluffy morning clouds. I like the calm after the storm. I like Paris. I like pronouncing "Paris" the French way (it dances on my tongue). I like velvety skies. I like birdsong. I like the sound of typewriters. I like the smell of magazines. I like the light that filters through leaves. I like dewy grass. I like red nails. I like new books. I like reading past midnight. I like the night air. I like stargazing. I like promises that are kept. I like new leaves. I like double consonants. I like blossom trees. I like men with brogues. I like ankle socks. I like listening to music by myself. I like masks. I like finding feathers. I like buttons. I like writing these. I like people who remember my name. I like you, dearest.

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Then I'd be your harmony

Catharina.
I enjoy lie-ins, witty snark, scribbling cryptic notes on the back of old receipts, and dancing when I think nobody is looking.

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I'm only a girl trying to find my place in this world.

Beneath the candy coated clouds

All this done while shrieking her head off.

I'm seriously starting to think that I can't ever be a mother.

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