By the time baby two was standing in front of the cameras at Milk,
turning,
walking,
profile,
full length,
I had spent the weekend with baby two in London.
The year before,
I had shown her the London I got to love.
This time
I let her lead.
Tower Bridge.
The British Museum.
Paddington.
She stopped at the book shop window
from Notting Hill.
She found a piano
and played.
We went to the theatre.
We crossed London
on foot,
on the Underground,
her camera in her hand,
my purple emu leather handbag I bought in Hong Kong
over her shoulder.
By the time we got to Milk,
a year had passed since she was
scouted,
contracted,
invited to an intake day scheduled around her schooling, travel, competitions.
Photographs inside.
Photographs outside.
Her front.
Her sides.
Her profile.
Full length.
Hair down.
Hair back.
Hair up,
her elbows held high
above her head,
pouting like a French girl.
Dresses.
Jeans.
Fitted clothes.
Very little clothing to measure her.
Standing.
Walking.
Turning.
Again.
Another outfit.
Again.
Again.
Again.
"Look at the camera,
over here,
not there,
get out of your head."
She talked to other models.
She walked with them.
She waited with them.
Watched them.
Studied them.
They watched her.
I had modelled in Australia.
I watched the people around her.
I watched the photographer.
I watched the staff.
I watched my baby at fifteen.
Standing strong and tall,
hips appearing,
breasts developing.
By the time Milk was done,
I took her shopping for underwear.
Back to the woman,
looking like Mary Poppins aged with grace,
the woman who had pulled me into a dressing room,
fitted me,
had me standing tall and full.
She studied my baby's frame.
She took her into the fitting room.
Measured her.
Brought bras.
Wide back bands.
Adjusted the straps.
Looked from the front.
Looked from the side.
Showed her how to scoop and swoop.
Another bra.
Another size.
Another adjustment.
Chatting with my daughter like she might with her own, or her grandchild.
By the time my baby and I left the department store,
she was wearing the correct bra,
more in her shopping bag,
my purple emu leather handbag
over her shoulder.