Rebecca Barry: Fear and loathing in heartland Brisbane

It's 32C in August. Smoke rises from the side of the road as workers back-burn the brush.

Not far from Caloundra we turn off the new highway which two years ago was a pile of stones. The cul-de-sac is full of prams and trikes, the houses are the same age as the kids who live there.

The suitcase I'm heaving is soon replaced by a 2-year-old who I'm not convinced recognises me. I've known her mum since we were in nappies. She married an Aussie.

I meet their baby for the first time. The next morning news breaks that a 14-year-old has died after a beating at school. This gets us talking about the sorry state back home.

It feels odd discussing violence against children, on a sunny day, on a beach, as the baby goes to put sand in her mouth.

The kids play. We get the house ready for the grown-ups' party. It's a dress-up.

We go to the local department store, which is near Red Rooster and Supercheap. It stocks towels, paints, ornaments.

This being young familyville, it also has seven aisles of ladybird costumes, party poppers, Barbie wigs. We leave with plastic jewellery and a balloon the size of Australia.

I go for a nap and 10 minutes later wake up to a child staring at me. Someone outside the room is discussing the optimal time to buy ice.

The TV is on. California has wild fires. A woman abducted as an 11-year-old has been found, 18 years later. Outside there's a squawking galah, inside some young Aussies have arrived to see the decorations going up.

The 7-year-old is having a birthday party too. We check out her decorations to compare. Hers looks more sophisticated. Her mum is one of those supermums. A large table is covered in homemade confectionery.

The girls are jumping on the disco floor shouting, "I just came here to party. But now we're rockin' on the dancefloor actin' naughty."

That night there are four parties in the street, mate, we almost went to the wrong one, mate. Sonny and Cher help clean up at midnight because the girls are being christened in the morning. Red Bull cans, duty-free vodka and punch is put away. Pink cupcakes, pink cheesecake, pink biscuits come out.

The christening is another world. It's in a church called Kawana Waters. An elderly lady sways with open arms, eyes closed as she sings the hymns. I almost consider baptising myself to cool off.

The baby is wearing the same dress my friend wore at her christening nearly 30 years ago. The congregation sings about joy and purity as a woman dances around the church twirling psychedelic purple flags. They queue up for the red wine.

Afterwards I ask if anyone's going to Kallangur, only I pronounce it wrong and it takes a while to organise a ride. A young couple offer their back seat next to their baby who falls asleep as we pass Deception Bay, which they call Depression Bay.

They drop me off on the side of the road next to an abandoned Holden. My other friends pick me up.

I've known them since we were 16. They have a 1-year-old. We replace the gas bottle. At her parents' house I catch up with one of my first boyfriends who lives here too, and now drinks XXXX beer.

I saw him at the airport, coincidentally, when he was collecting his mum. We're all 10 years older but not much different.

We swim in the pool and look at the hole in the earth next door which is filling up with new brick homes.

The toddler walks in his nana's high heels. The Bulldogs thrash the Warriors and we get caught up by a doco about a form of therapy that connects you to your inner child.

After connecting, some people turn psychotic and leap out of buildings.

That night I go to sleep under a cowboys and Indians duvet.

The next day we drive back up the coast, past Caloundra, to visit her sister. When we get there her 4-year-old and baby are in the lounge but she's in bed, in severe pain. It takes the ambulance an hour to arrive. They think it's kidney stones and give her morphine.

Later we drive back down the coast, to a shopping mall where the toddler can play on a plastic slide. When I get home to New Zealand I hear it wasn't kidney stones but bad morning sickness.

When I wake in the morning it is cold and there are no children. But a huge Romanian baby has made the news.