By Mel Moss, Founder of Minó · Rest with Minó Series
Petra is one of those people who seems to put her personality into everything she touches.
There is the food, obviously. As a pastry chef, cookbook author and creative force behind Mother, she spends her days thinking about flavour, texture, colour and detail — creating things that are beautiful, but never feel too serious.
Her creativity extends far beyond the kitchen. Petra and Dave live in a beautifully restored villa in Ponsonby, surrounded by art. Everywhere you look, there is something interesting: something collected, something with a story. Their home feels considered, but never overly styled.
And then there’s Bear.
Bear is Petra and Dave’s first "baby”, and he was determined to make sure we didn't forget it. He completely dominated the shoot, appearing wherever there was a camera and generally behaving as though the entire day had been organised around him.
But this time, the spotlight was meant for someone else.
Jasper is ten weeks old.
And I couldn’t wait to take you inside his room.
In Petra’s eyes, the room isn’t finished. But I don’t think it needs to be.
There’s a beautiful hand-painted cloud mural, soft colours, little pieces she’s collected along the way, and a few things that were bought in the slightly manic nesting phase before Jasper arrived.
“I got these god awful shelves from Bunnings,” she tells me, “’cause I was, nesting, like a psycho pregnant person.”
That’s Petra.
She has an incredible eye for beauty, but absolutely no interest in taking herself too seriously.
And I think that’s what I love about Jasper’s room. It feels like a room that is becoming his, rather than a room that was designed for him.
Because at ten weeks old, Jasper is only just beginning to reveal himself.
He loves the bath. He stares at the sky. He’s discovered his hands. He has a collection of nicknames that seem to have very little to do with his actual name.
And he already has a bedtime ritual.
Which is where this story really begins.
The beginning
Before Jasper arrived, Petra thought she was ready.
“I was so cocky,” she laughs. “I was like, ‘I am match fit for this shit. I am ready to rumble.’”
She had spent years working long hours at Mother and knew she could function on very little sleep. She expected broken nights. She knew it would be hard.
What she hadn't anticipated was quite how relentless it would feel.
“The only thing that surprised me with the sleep is actually, it’s fucking hard. Like, just the relentlessness of it. I didn’t twig to that before.”
And then there was the noise.
He’s so noisy. It’s like a truffle pig that you sleep with.”
There are the little sounds you learn to listen for, the moments when you can't quite tell whether they're breathing, and the inevitable panic when you get too close and wake them.
“You can’t see when they’re breathing. You just sit in and you get closer and closer and closer, and then they sense you, and then they wake up and you’re just like, fuck, disaster.”
The first few weeks are carried by adrenaline.
“For three weeks, you’re kind of fine, ’cause you’re running on adrenaline.”
And then week five arrives.
“And then, you’re like, ‘The heads will roll if I don’t get more than three hours of sleep.’”
It was around this point that Petra began to understand sleep differently.
Not as something nice to have.
Something fundamental.
I appreciate sleep so much more. But even just actually resting — if I can’t sleep, just having even an hour to lie down and close your eyes and try not to think about anything.”
Before Jasper, she says, she didn't put much value in sleep.
Now:
“I am not a very nice person if I don’t get sleep.”
And that realisation has changed the way she thinks about the rest of the day, too.
She likes routine. In fact, she tells me:
“I’m quite anxious, so routine thrills me.”
But a newborn isn't particularly interested in your preferred operating system.
So Petra is learning to let go of the idea that every day needs to look the same.
And slowly, without really planning it, she and Dave have found their own rhythm.
Creating Jasper’s space
Petra wanted Jasper’s room to feel calm and tranquil.
“Cosy,” she says. “I just wanted it to feel really snuggly.”
The starting point was the cloud wall. Hand-painted by the talented Hal Cheshire.
It wasn't an entirely practical decision. It was partly nostalgic, inspired by the painted ceilings in Petra's childhood bedroom.
“I just remember loving the ceiling so much. I used to just lie there looking at it like, oh, so fun.”
And partly, she admits, it was for her.
“Maybe the wall was selfishly for me, so I can see the wall.”
There was also a tiny hope that it might somehow help Jasper sleep.
The cloud idea, stupidly based on nothing, was, ‘Maybe this will help him sleep because it’s so tranquil and peaceful.’”
Now that Jasper is actually here, Petra is noticing the room differently.
Things she hadn't thought about before suddenly matter.
Blackout curtains, for example.
“I didn’t think of this at all, but I’m now thinking, do I need a little blackout curtain situation?”
This is what I love about the room.
It isn't a finished nursery.
It's a space being figured out alongside him.
Petra has chosen things because they look beautiful, because they remind her of something, because they feel right — and now she is discovering what Jasper actually responds to.
And, of course, she knows she may eventually have to surrender the whole thing to his own personality.
“I mean, gosh, he might be one of those kids who is obsessed with dinosaurs, God help me. That chic cloud mural begone, place for the baby T-Rex…”
For now, though, the clouds seem to suit him.
Every afternoon, Petra takes him outside. He stares at the sky.
“He just looks like he’s marvelling at it, you know? Like, he loves looking at the sky.”
And suddenly that cloud wall makes a little more sense.
The bedtime ritual
If the room is still evolving, the bedtime ritual is already beginning to take shape.
Around 6:30, Jasper has a bottle.
Then comes the bath.
The first attempt at bathing him was, by Petra's own account, a disaster.
She was severely sleep deprived, decided it was time for his first bath, and somehow ended up putting the baby bath inside the actual bath.
“Like a boat.”
After that, they abandoned the baby bath altogether.
“Fuck the baby bath… let’s just try him in the kitchen sink.”
He loves it.
And every night, they play Nick Cave's Into My Arms.
Jasper only likes Dave to bath him, which Petra says is lovely for them. They look at each other, and then he gets bundled up into what Petra calls a:
“ludicrous little towel with ears.”
After that comes moisturiser, a little massage, pyjamas, another few plays of the song and a chat.
It's Petra's favourite part of the day.
And somewhere in amongst all of those small things, a ritual has appeared.
When I ask whether she thinks of it as a routine, she corrects me.
It’s not so much like a routine, it’s just… a rhythm. A little ritual.”
The Nick Cave song is part of that.
“And I think too — not to make it all about Nick Cave — but I do think having a particular song is helpful in some ways.”
As soon as she puts it on, he knows.
“Oh, it’s like, ‘This is bedtime now.’”
She pauses.
“It’s actually like a thing.”
“It’s a sense.”
That, to me, is the beautiful thing about a ritual.
It doesn't have to be complicated.
It doesn't have to be perfect.
It just has to become familiar.
What makes it Jasper?
And perhaps that's what the first few months of parenthood really are: collecting all the tiny things that make this particular person who they are.
Jasper loves his hands.
He loves the bath (or kitchen sink).
He stares at the sky.
He makes funny little noises and loves when they make them back.
He has somehow become Punkin — or Punky, for short — and Petra admits she barely calls him Jasper anymore.
And he smiles. A lot.
“You spend hours trying to get smiles out of them because it’s the most gorgeous thing in the world.”
Then comes Petra's summary of the entire experience:
“This is why it’s a toxic relationship. They are satanic sometimes, and then they smile and you forget everything.”
She laughs.
“You’re like, I love you so.”
And that's Jasper right now.
Still tiny. Still changing every day. Still revealing little bits of himself.
His room is becoming his.
His bedtime is becoming theirs.
And Petra is learning who he is at exactly the same time.
What we’re learning about rest
The longer we talk, the more it becomes clear that Petra isn't really interested in finding the perfect routine.
She is learning to notice.
When Jasper is tired.
What settles him.
What makes him happy.
What helps him transition from one part of the day to the next.
And, perhaps most importantly, when she needs to stop trying to control it.
“I’ve learned now, finally, to catch him when he starts to yawn.”
Not when he’s “having a mare”.
She has also started to understand that rest isn't only sleep.
Sometimes it's lying down for an hour.
Sometimes it's putting the earplugs in and the eye mask on.
Sometimes it's accepting that you're exhausted and not making the exhaustion another thing to fight.
When I ask what she would tell herself before Jasper was born, her answer is very Petra.
“Batten down the hatches, babe.”
She knew it would be hard.
What she wishes she'd known was not to become anxious about how much sleep she was getting.
Because, she says, we all do it.
You lie awake looking at the clock, calculating how many hours you have left.
“You’ve got to fucking relax.”
And then:
You just actually resign to the fact that, you know what? I’m in the tired seat. I’m in sleepy season.”
You’re going to be tired.
And once you stop fighting that, she thinks, it becomes much more manageable.
There is another thing she is trying to hold onto, too.
The fact that this stage won't last.
The other night, Jasper was asleep on her at three in the morning.
She was exhausted.
But instead of wishing the night away, she tried to remember how he felt.
“I need to remember. I want to remember the feeling of his weight on me and his tiny little body because he’s growing so fast.”
She is trying to be more present.
And perhaps that is what rest looks like for Petra right now.
Not necessarily more sleep.
Not a perfect routine.
Just learning to notice the moments that are already here.
Minó in Jasper’s Room
When I started Minó, I wanted to think about children's bedrooms a little differently.
Not simply as rooms to decorate, but as environments children experience every day — the light, the textures, the sounds, the familiar cues and the little rituals that gradually become part of how they rest.
So it felt particularly special to see a little of Minó become part of Jasper’s first sleep environment.
Not as a finished room.
Not as a formula.
Just as one small part of the world Petra and Dave are creating around him as they get to know him.
A room that will change.
A ritual that will evolve.
A little person who is only just beginning to show us who he is.
And, for now, a very beautiful beginning
