A solo expedition... to the movies.

Last night, I went to the movies by myself and it felt both strange and glorious.

The last few weeks have been long. Chris has been working overtime and I have hardly had one moment to myself so when I saw that a movie I wanted to see was playing at our local cinema, the urge to go was too strong to resist.

I went to see "Tracks", an Australian movie based on the true story of Robyn Davidson who set off on a solo journey walking across almost 2000 miles of the West Australian desert, from Alice Springs to the Indian Ocean, with a black dog and 4 camels as her only companions.

On a Sunday night at our floundering cinema, I wasn't surprised to be almost the only person in the room, besides just one other person there. We each had plenty of space to get lost with Robyn in the vastness of the great outback and her own physical and emotional loneliness.

A loner by nature, Robyn just wanted to be by herself. She reminded me of Grenouille in Suskind's Perfume who, to escape the smell of humans, climbs to the most isolated mountain peak he is able to find, where finally, his nostrils are free of the nasal pollution of society.

Unwilling to rely on anyone, reluctant to share her journey with another soul, she sets off along her country's long and unwinding dirt tracks, as generations of Afghan cameleers had done before her, taking on the dry dusty desert, the searing sun high in the sky, the sandstorms, the wild camels, the almost total absence of water, and the distance. "Too long way," as some aboriginal elders remark to her along the way. "Too long way."

To that, as to any other suggestion of canceling/shortening/modifying her itinerary, she simply replies with a polite smile, "I'll be fine, thank you."

She survives but was she really "fine"? The general mood is sullen, like she is dragging a burden heavier than the gear strapped to her camels' backs. The intensity of the desert is only rivalled by her own desperation to, on one hand, get away from everything (with more or less success as she becomes something of a celebrity, "The Camel Lady") and, on the other hand, to keep going, to reach something, even if at times, it must have felt like she was heading straight for the end of the world. And then what? Jump?

As the sun rays dig into her cracked skin, she seems to flirt with craziness on a few occasions. Thirsty, exhausted, sunburnt, lonely... Her despair is both inflicted on her by the desert and something she brought along with her, when sadness is like an old companion.

Every few months, Rick Smolan, a photographer from the National Geographic meets up with her as a condition of the magazine sponsoring the trip. Reluctant at first, she eventually carves a little bit of space for him on the journey. At one point, towards the end, she tells him, "I am so alone," to which he replies, "we all are." She then breaks down and says, "I miss her so much."

She is talking about her mother whom she lost to suicide when she was only a child. Her life was inevitably set on a new path from then on but the loss and grieving remained unresolved. Her journey might have been the only way to access that grieving, free of any other distractions or expectations. Maybe being literally alone allowed her to feel that loss more strongly, to get to the source of the pain and gave her permission to miss her mother after a lifetime of keeping on.

There were moments of unbridled joy too and they were beautiful in their simplicity: jumping in a groundwater well for a refreshing swim, playing with her dog, endlessly listening to the animated Mr. Eddie, an aboriginal elder who walked with her through sacred land. In such a harsh environment, these moments of happiness felt like an oasis in the desert.

And eventually, 1700 miles from Alice Springs, she crosses perfectly white sand dunes to arrive at the edge of the Indian Ocean,where she is greeted by Smolan. Robyn leads her camels into the beautiful turquoise waters and plunges in, washing off weeks of dust and maybe, years of sadness.

I have no idea what happens to someone once they finish something like this. She says before setting off that she believes that, "ordinary people can do the impossible." I wonder if it changed her, humbled her, strengthened her - probably all and more. And then, as crazy and surreal as her experience must have been, she probably moved on.

In any case, I'll be ordering her book to hear the story from the horse's mouth... or is it the camel's?

My little boy.

Looking deprived? I don't think so. 

Hugo got his 12 months injections today. The jabs are always preceded by a growth check: weight, height, head circumference. The results are then logged into his health book on growth charts. The charts compare him with other children and more importantly with himself.

Hugo's growth rate has slowed down between the last injections at 6 months and today's. Rather than being an average baby in height and weight, he would now be considered fairly little.

This doesn't come as a complete surprise. For the last few months, I have been making mental notes to myself that when standing next to other babies his age, Hugo seems little. Babies just a few weeks older than him seem to tower over him.

The fact that he is little for his age doesn't worry me, nor does the fact that his growth has slowed down over the last few months. He has been very physically active in that time and more recently, he has been ill a lot. According to the doctor, it isn't uncommon for the charts to drop a little around that time for precisely those reasons: more exposure to illness and increased activity levels.

Besides his size, Hugo is thriving and reaching milestones. He is eating what seems like pretty large amounts of food everyday and he has been sleeping better than ever. I just don't think he is deprived in any way. His beautiful chubby thighs don't exactly scream, "feed me!"

And yet, it is impossible not to worry at least a little bit. We have another appointment in two months to monitor his growth and be sure he isn't dropping on the charts any more. In the meantime, we'll just keep doing what we do and hope this is just a temporary slump. We'll hope he picks up again, grows out of all of this clothes and that this isn't hiding anything more serious.

Until then, I'll just enjoy the fact that he is still light enough to carry comfortably and small enough to snuggle tightly. 

12 months of family selfies.

One year.

12 months!

Well, here we are. We made it. Hugo turned One this month. This whole year brought us right back to the 10th of March, but of course, everything is different.

Hugo is such a crucial part of our life that I struggle to remember that on that fall morning a year ago, we were just meeting him for the very first time.

I feel like I need to say something special. That with the One year milestone upon us, I should be able to somehow distill everything that has happened over the last 12 months into a neat couple of sentences, full of wisdom and wit.

I can't but there was one sentence that stayed with me throughout. It is simple, helpful and true. "The days are long but the years are short."

Oh yes, we have had long days and exhausting nights. There were plenty of times when I wanted to lock the door and drown the sound of crying by squishing a pillow over my ears.

I got angry and upset at the unfairness of being the only person who could solve the gazillions of small problems coming my way every single day.

I got jealous of young couples walking along the streets who could decide to do anything, anytime, anywhere.

I got desperate to get out of the house. On saturday mornings, I took myself to yoga. The exercise was great but what I was really craving was time alone. I would almost run out the door and once in the car, I would turn up the radio and soak in the first few minutes of freedom I had had all week.

I would stretch and breathe. My body and my mind, slowly unwinding to become calm, long and supple. I could feel myself relaxing and in the same moment, I would start to miss Hugo.

I would imagine Chris choosing his outfit for the day, or I would picture them playing on the floor. I would see him smiling back at me as I opened the door. I couldn't wait to get home.

All I needed were a few moments to myself for all these little bits of anger, frustration, boredom, exhaustion, to make room for the joy, delight, awe, wonder and surprise that have been a constant part of our life.

All those pieces of emotions, mixed and matched, all blurred into days, weeks, months and eventually, one whole year.

And the year did feel short, and fun and beautiful.

Hugo's first birthday present from us.

Hugo, five minutes after his birthday party ended.