Imaginary friends

Z's imaginary friend is called 'babyr baba' and sometimes she talks to him on the phone (possibly because she grew up watching the women around her talk to their baby's baba on the phone). He's a doctor (coincidentally, so is her dad!) and works at a hospital. He also lives in London (possibly sourced from her great uncle and aunty's visit from London). Today, she told me he has no nose. And that he's a fish. And he has a tail.

We pretended to be lions today. It was Z's idea - I was just being silly and making sounds with my mouth, and she asked me, 'are you a lion?'.
'Yes.'
'me too!'
'I'm a khammi lion.'
'And I'm a baby lion.'

Then it was dogs, turtles, cows and giraffes.

She told me that she remembers my wedding - but the only thing she remembers is that I wore a sari and had a big round thing on my forehead. Then we looked through my wedding photos together, and she got so happy seeing herself in them!

She slept on my bed this afternoon. When she sleeps, she curls up, like I do. She's like me in so many ways. She remembers words, remembers the way they feel. Her imagination is much more vivid though. I can't remember having an imaginary friend that early.

Growing up

Today is my first proper day off after I officially started working. I have done a few things here and there - tutoring, ABA therapy, chucking leaflets at mailboxes - but that was when I got paid in two digits. Getting paid in four digits is a whole different deal. There's contracts to sign and long term future to think about. I have to iron my clothes before I wear them to work, make sure I get in the car early enough to get there on time and all other grown up things that come along with it. But I still feel like the same old L with a messy room and comfort chocolate stash in my drawer.

I am flying off again today! Mr H told me to start a travel blog and I don't think its such a bad idea. There's always new people that we meet and different things we learn, or relearn. I feel like my writing skills have declined though. I want to start writing poetry again but I am not sure how to string the right words together any more. Maybe this is a side effect of becoming an adult?

I realised something today. Irrespective of a two digit or a four digit pay, I always seem to be broke. It has been 8 days since I got paid and I don't seem to have much money left at all. I realised this will always be the case. Even if you earn a six digit salary, you will still feel like its leaving you too fast, because your commitments will increase. This is why I hate the concept of money. We work so hard to increase those numbers in our bank account, but they decrease so, so easily. This is why if you only work for money you would never, ever be happy. I know this is a classic cliche, but yes, I just had that realisation again.

I need to read The Little Prince again.