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A letter to my 21-month-old son
May. 12th, 2009 | 01:15 pm
Dear Arthur
Oh WOW! (your favourite phrase), you are amazing. The past weeks have been an avalanche of new things - words, actions, emotions - everything is coming thick and fast, and you are beguiling and intriguing and a complete fascination. The learning part of this job is one of the most interesting to me. Getting to know you, understanding what you're saying, realising your desire to learn and grow and develop is like a fast train that cannot be derailed. It's addictive. You continue to enchant and bewitch, too, you seem to really enjoy human contact and the attention you receive. It bothered me at first but I've now come to accept it as part of you and to enjoy it while it lasts, it wont go on forever I'm sure.
Our family holiday to St Ives a couple of weeks ago really solidified our relationship, the three of us. We got lucky with the weather, and most days were spent on Porthminster beach where you busied yourself in the sand (staying well clear of the scary sea), making sandcastles with your daddy, laughing at the sea gulls who came a little too close. Then, mid-afternoon, you'd point to the cafe and say 'Tea?'. Oh, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have such a civilised child, one who understands the finer things in life. Ditto our trip to the Tate, where you enthusiastically took part in all their lovely creative activities. It was a joy to behold. Such a fun holiday, despite it totally messing up your sleep for the following month.
Night times have been less fun recently - it takes so long for you to go off to sleep, you'd begun waking in the night again which was difficult to cope with, and this morning you woke at 5.20am. Not good. But then you come into our bedroom each morning, so happy to see us again. You point to each of us, 'Ma!' and 'Ga!' and seem very pleased with this identification. Then you clamber up into the bed and, if we're lucky, we get a great big bear hug. That is one of my favourite moments in the world.
More and more, though, I realise that you are not mine. You are you, and you are yours, but you are not mine. This makes me sad, but I understand and respect it. You still think I am yours which kind of makes up for it though - I will go along with that until you tell me otherwise, which will be a sorry day indeed.
Just as you have been learning fast, so have I, and it's a trying task at times but I am thankful of you every day.
I love you,
Mama x
Oh WOW! (your favourite phrase), you are amazing. The past weeks have been an avalanche of new things - words, actions, emotions - everything is coming thick and fast, and you are beguiling and intriguing and a complete fascination. The learning part of this job is one of the most interesting to me. Getting to know you, understanding what you're saying, realising your desire to learn and grow and develop is like a fast train that cannot be derailed. It's addictive. You continue to enchant and bewitch, too, you seem to really enjoy human contact and the attention you receive. It bothered me at first but I've now come to accept it as part of you and to enjoy it while it lasts, it wont go on forever I'm sure.
Our family holiday to St Ives a couple of weeks ago really solidified our relationship, the three of us. We got lucky with the weather, and most days were spent on Porthminster beach where you busied yourself in the sand (staying well clear of the scary sea), making sandcastles with your daddy, laughing at the sea gulls who came a little too close. Then, mid-afternoon, you'd point to the cafe and say 'Tea?'. Oh, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have such a civilised child, one who understands the finer things in life. Ditto our trip to the Tate, where you enthusiastically took part in all their lovely creative activities. It was a joy to behold. Such a fun holiday, despite it totally messing up your sleep for the following month.
Night times have been less fun recently - it takes so long for you to go off to sleep, you'd begun waking in the night again which was difficult to cope with, and this morning you woke at 5.20am. Not good. But then you come into our bedroom each morning, so happy to see us again. You point to each of us, 'Ma!' and 'Ga!' and seem very pleased with this identification. Then you clamber up into the bed and, if we're lucky, we get a great big bear hug. That is one of my favourite moments in the world.
More and more, though, I realise that you are not mine. You are you, and you are yours, but you are not mine. This makes me sad, but I understand and respect it. You still think I am yours which kind of makes up for it though - I will go along with that until you tell me otherwise, which will be a sorry day indeed.
Just as you have been learning fast, so have I, and it's a trying task at times but I am thankful of you every day.
I love you,
Mama x
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A letter to my 18-month-old son
Feb. 3rd, 2009 | 01:58 pm
Dear Arthur
Wow! You're one-and-a-half! I can't believe it. Well, I can - you are becoming such a little boy now, and those chubby baby days are getting further away all the time. But it seems so strange when I look at pictures of you as a tiny baby and seeing how far you've come in such a short space of time.
The past two months have been a mixed bag, with some absolutely joyful times and other rather depressing and bleak moments. But, as always, the good outweighs the bad and what more can we hope for than that? You've been a lot stronger this Winter, with less colds (or maybe the same amount but neither of us are as bothered by them as last year) and generally more resilience to the elements. You hate the pushchair now and want to walk everywhere which I can understand but I'm reluctant to relinquish the ease of pushing rather than coaxing and conversing and stopping and starting and, ultimately, carrying that comes with the walking. Putting you into the pushchair heralded the beginning of a new phase - the tantrum. Ooh, you're a monkey sometimes. I've had to master the technique of putting my knee into your chest while strapping you in at the same time as singing a distracting song while you scream. Horrible. I hate it. But, apparently, it's a phase, much like crawling or any other phase. I'm hoping it's shortlived although I fear it's only going to get worse. You're a devil with nappy changes too - I can understand that, it's not much fun for either of us - so roll on potty training.
But the good things - you love people, your family and your friends, you love animals (especially pigs, and you do a mean pig snort), and your latest favourite is the train set. However down I might be feeling, one 'COO COOOOO!' from you and I can't help but laugh with you. Everyone says how happy and bright you are, and you are a joy to be around.
You seem much happier at nursery now, which is something we're really pleased about and grateful too. We went to the nursery Christmas party with you one Saturday morning and you were so proud, showing us around, your favourite toys and haunts. You didn't really understand Father Christmas though, although I'm sure you'll be more excited about the festivities next Christmas.
Christmas day was spent at Nana and Pappy's, with all the family - Nana and Grumpy, Auntie Charlie, Uncle Chris, cousin Noah and his grandparents too. You and Noah had a brilliant time together, playing really kindly and sweetly together for most of the day. At one point you both decided to watch television together and Noah got a cushion down for you to sit on. It felt like such a breakthrough after more than 6 months of scrapping. Sadly it didn't continue - you came away with a nasty cut after your last run-in with Noah, and the whole terrible business has caused a major rift in the family. I really hope it can be sorted out, and I'm doing everything I can to make sure it is, as the relationship you build with him (and his new baby cousin!) is so important to us all.
Daddy and I have both talked a lot recently about the relationships you're building with your family - the excitement you show when one of the nanas comes to collect you for the day is testament to your love for them, and that makes us so happy and proud of you. I'm glad that we never moved away from our families, that those roots that run so deep in this place we call home have had such an amazing result in terms of the closeness you have with our parents. Long may it continue.
New Year's Eve wasn't such a success. We went to London to visit Joe, Kate and Jackson, who organised a baby-friendly party. They'd decided to let Jackson stay up as late as he wanted, and we did the same with you. 11.50, my boy. You nearly killed me. I had no idea it was you screaming up there for over an hour, that you were so unhappy and so overtired, that we failed you by putting our needs over yours. I'm sorry as well that you then woke at 6am - that was BAD. But we left London, drove along the Thames in near-solitude which was actually rather lovely. And you slept all the way home, and for another 3 hours that afternoon, and we did too. We know now where your boundaries are, and we're glad about that.
This parenthood thing is so much more difficult than I'd ever thought, but every day with you makes us know you better, brings us closer, and sharpens our knowledge and skills. I've changed in ways I never thought possible, and it's all because of you. Thank you.
I love you,
Mama x
Wow! You're one-and-a-half! I can't believe it. Well, I can - you are becoming such a little boy now, and those chubby baby days are getting further away all the time. But it seems so strange when I look at pictures of you as a tiny baby and seeing how far you've come in such a short space of time.
The past two months have been a mixed bag, with some absolutely joyful times and other rather depressing and bleak moments. But, as always, the good outweighs the bad and what more can we hope for than that? You've been a lot stronger this Winter, with less colds (or maybe the same amount but neither of us are as bothered by them as last year) and generally more resilience to the elements. You hate the pushchair now and want to walk everywhere which I can understand but I'm reluctant to relinquish the ease of pushing rather than coaxing and conversing and stopping and starting and, ultimately, carrying that comes with the walking. Putting you into the pushchair heralded the beginning of a new phase - the tantrum. Ooh, you're a monkey sometimes. I've had to master the technique of putting my knee into your chest while strapping you in at the same time as singing a distracting song while you scream. Horrible. I hate it. But, apparently, it's a phase, much like crawling or any other phase. I'm hoping it's shortlived although I fear it's only going to get worse. You're a devil with nappy changes too - I can understand that, it's not much fun for either of us - so roll on potty training.
But the good things - you love people, your family and your friends, you love animals (especially pigs, and you do a mean pig snort), and your latest favourite is the train set. However down I might be feeling, one 'COO COOOOO!' from you and I can't help but laugh with you. Everyone says how happy and bright you are, and you are a joy to be around.
You seem much happier at nursery now, which is something we're really pleased about and grateful too. We went to the nursery Christmas party with you one Saturday morning and you were so proud, showing us around, your favourite toys and haunts. You didn't really understand Father Christmas though, although I'm sure you'll be more excited about the festivities next Christmas.
Christmas day was spent at Nana and Pappy's, with all the family - Nana and Grumpy, Auntie Charlie, Uncle Chris, cousin Noah and his grandparents too. You and Noah had a brilliant time together, playing really kindly and sweetly together for most of the day. At one point you both decided to watch television together and Noah got a cushion down for you to sit on. It felt like such a breakthrough after more than 6 months of scrapping. Sadly it didn't continue - you came away with a nasty cut after your last run-in with Noah, and the whole terrible business has caused a major rift in the family. I really hope it can be sorted out, and I'm doing everything I can to make sure it is, as the relationship you build with him (and his new baby cousin!) is so important to us all.
Daddy and I have both talked a lot recently about the relationships you're building with your family - the excitement you show when one of the nanas comes to collect you for the day is testament to your love for them, and that makes us so happy and proud of you. I'm glad that we never moved away from our families, that those roots that run so deep in this place we call home have had such an amazing result in terms of the closeness you have with our parents. Long may it continue.
New Year's Eve wasn't such a success. We went to London to visit Joe, Kate and Jackson, who organised a baby-friendly party. They'd decided to let Jackson stay up as late as he wanted, and we did the same with you. 11.50, my boy. You nearly killed me. I had no idea it was you screaming up there for over an hour, that you were so unhappy and so overtired, that we failed you by putting our needs over yours. I'm sorry as well that you then woke at 6am - that was BAD. But we left London, drove along the Thames in near-solitude which was actually rather lovely. And you slept all the way home, and for another 3 hours that afternoon, and we did too. We know now where your boundaries are, and we're glad about that.
This parenthood thing is so much more difficult than I'd ever thought, but every day with you makes us know you better, brings us closer, and sharpens our knowledge and skills. I've changed in ways I never thought possible, and it's all because of you. Thank you.
I love you,
Mama x
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A letter to my 16-month-old son
Nov. 11th, 2008 | 09:20 am
Dear Arthur,
My baby Artu, you have been an absolute pleasure these past few weeks. In fact I have definitely become one of those people who go on and on about how brilliant their progeny is and tell endless anecdotes which are probably mildly amusing to other people but hugely interesting and exciting to us. But I'm not going to apologise about that. It's been a long time since I've had a subject matter about which I am unswervingly enthusiastic most of the time.
Your words have come on so much and you're desperate to point out the things you recognise, both in real life but mainly in books. One of the words you now know is 'parp' which you pronounce 'bar-puh', oh you make me laugh. You find it all very serious though, parp is not a funny word in your world, it's a serious investigation into what happens when you pull an elephant's tail. Or unravel a tape measure. You are obsessed with books, and would gladly sit and read rather than play with other toys. This makes me very happy. Although I was worried you maybe needed other types of stimulation, in activities that wouldn't be our first choice to initiate like sports, but I think you'll come to that in your own time whatever we do at this stage.
It's lovely to see your relationships with other people grow as well - with both sets of grandparents, with Noah, with the staff at your nursery, and with your friends. You and Willow are a pair - you've spent a lot of time kissing recently, which is a vast improvement on the scrapping you were doing before. Last month, we stayed at Nanna and Grumpy's house while the kitchen was being destroyed and re-built, and Uncle Sam was there as well as Sophie and Sylvie. You and Sylvie found each other hilarious, laughing at everything the other one did. It was strange to live somewhere else for a while, and to see you live and interact in a different environment with different company. Not quite so lovely when you were waking at 5am but there we go.
I think it's important for you to know what I've been doing this month, as it's been the busiest time of your life so far. A lot has changed and progressed and developed, a lot of projects have come to fruition, and I feel I have clawed back some of the person I was before I had you, or at least a reincarnation of that person combined with the person you have made me. These developments are both creative and practical, things that further our community, friendships, a better environment for our family, and things that could be in the future. It's been jam-packed. But I feel better for it and I think you will benefit from that change in me as well as some of the things that are more external. Like your hair. The mullet is gone, at last.
One of the big changes, which I hope you will come to understand as being a huge shift in the way of the world, has been the US election of Barack Obama. It's difficult for me to try to begin to explain this one, but I think you'll look back and find it hard to believe that things were the way they were before. I have high hopes that this will make the world a better place for you.
I'm not sure how much more to say. There are things to note, like your allergy tests, like the fireworks fiasco, but in the shadow of what else has happened these seem like minor matters. The other day I walked into the living room to see you sitting playing with your toys. You seemed so self-contained, such a proper person, that it sort of scared me - the weight of responsibility on my shoulders to deliver you safely into adulthood. I find it amazing to think of how life will be for you in the future. I promise to do everything in my power to make it as good as it can be.
I love you,
Mama x
My baby Artu, you have been an absolute pleasure these past few weeks. In fact I have definitely become one of those people who go on and on about how brilliant their progeny is and tell endless anecdotes which are probably mildly amusing to other people but hugely interesting and exciting to us. But I'm not going to apologise about that. It's been a long time since I've had a subject matter about which I am unswervingly enthusiastic most of the time.
Your words have come on so much and you're desperate to point out the things you recognise, both in real life but mainly in books. One of the words you now know is 'parp' which you pronounce 'bar-puh', oh you make me laugh. You find it all very serious though, parp is not a funny word in your world, it's a serious investigation into what happens when you pull an elephant's tail. Or unravel a tape measure. You are obsessed with books, and would gladly sit and read rather than play with other toys. This makes me very happy. Although I was worried you maybe needed other types of stimulation, in activities that wouldn't be our first choice to initiate like sports, but I think you'll come to that in your own time whatever we do at this stage.
It's lovely to see your relationships with other people grow as well - with both sets of grandparents, with Noah, with the staff at your nursery, and with your friends. You and Willow are a pair - you've spent a lot of time kissing recently, which is a vast improvement on the scrapping you were doing before. Last month, we stayed at Nanna and Grumpy's house while the kitchen was being destroyed and re-built, and Uncle Sam was there as well as Sophie and Sylvie. You and Sylvie found each other hilarious, laughing at everything the other one did. It was strange to live somewhere else for a while, and to see you live and interact in a different environment with different company. Not quite so lovely when you were waking at 5am but there we go.
I think it's important for you to know what I've been doing this month, as it's been the busiest time of your life so far. A lot has changed and progressed and developed, a lot of projects have come to fruition, and I feel I have clawed back some of the person I was before I had you, or at least a reincarnation of that person combined with the person you have made me. These developments are both creative and practical, things that further our community, friendships, a better environment for our family, and things that could be in the future. It's been jam-packed. But I feel better for it and I think you will benefit from that change in me as well as some of the things that are more external. Like your hair. The mullet is gone, at last.
One of the big changes, which I hope you will come to understand as being a huge shift in the way of the world, has been the US election of Barack Obama. It's difficult for me to try to begin to explain this one, but I think you'll look back and find it hard to believe that things were the way they were before. I have high hopes that this will make the world a better place for you.
I'm not sure how much more to say. There are things to note, like your allergy tests, like the fireworks fiasco, but in the shadow of what else has happened these seem like minor matters. The other day I walked into the living room to see you sitting playing with your toys. You seemed so self-contained, such a proper person, that it sort of scared me - the weight of responsibility on my shoulders to deliver you safely into adulthood. I find it amazing to think of how life will be for you in the future. I promise to do everything in my power to make it as good as it can be.
I love you,
Mama x
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A letter to my fourteen-month-old son
Sep. 14th, 2008 | 03:50 pm
Dear, dear Arthur
Another month goes by, another letter to write, and I'm finding it hard to keep up with all the new things you've learned. I know the newborn bit is pretty special, but it's nothing compared to this - watching you emerge, one day, one minute at a time, like the hungry caterpillar turning into the beautiful butterfly (that's one of your favourite tales at the moment, mainly because you love putting those tiny fingers of yours through the holes and I tickle them from the next page).
Books have become a really important part of your life over the past few weeks, and you have ones that you want to hear and ones that you are so fed up with you shake your head and push them away. You've been really excited by the pop-up books Dear Zoo and Elephant Wellyphant, and have pretty much destroyed them both, ripping pieces off and finding nothing wrong in that. I have to take a deep breath because I was brought up to believe that books are sacred and that you should never destroy them. But I expect I used to do the very same when I was your age. In fact I'm almost sure of it, as my grandmother, your great grandmother, used to call me The Wrecker. She even put a sign on the door of the bedroom I used to sleep in in her house which said that. I wish I had that sign, or even took a photograph of it, because it was so long ago now that it exists only in my memory.
Anyway, you request up to 5 or 6 books a night now, and so we take it in turns putting you to bed because there really are only so many times you can read Where the Wild Things Are before you go crazy. Actually that was a bad example, there are far worse ones than that, although I do know it (and many others) off by heart now. But mine is a heart that's proud and glad of your interest in books, and I can't wait to be able to read to you chapters of my favourite childhood books - His Dark Materials, Narnia, and all the classics. It's something I have wanted to share with you since the day you were born.
You've also started to be really interested in animals now, and have moo-ed along with us, you point out fish and ducks in books, and Ben cut some pictures of lions out of the paper and taped them to a wall at just the right height for you. We ask where the lions are and you scoot over and jab them with your pudgy little fingers, looking all pleased and excited.
Your other new trick is kissing. We say 'give mummy a kiss' and you look slightly apprehensive, tip your chin up and press your face up to mine with your mouth open, and then you start giggling. It is definitely a winner with the grannies. You seem to be finding a lot funny at the moment, especially triking and trundling around on your various vehicles, on which you are remarkably proficient. Sometimes I come home on a Wednesday to find you on the trike, Ben on the bee, and the pair of you hiding from each other at opposite ends of the house, shrieking with laughter when you trick each other and creep up behind the other one who is hiding from you. Brilliant. I love your sense of humour - a bit mischievous, fairly boisterous, and totally genuine and wholehearted.
The other game you've played this month has been piling up blocks - you can pile ten in a row now and you understand that you have to be careful to place them centrally to stop them from tumbling down, and you keep your arm wide of the tower when placing the top ones to make sure you don't accidentally knock it down. And I was cooking the other day, and you came over, opened the food cupboard and took out three jars of varying sizes, and spent the next ten minutes investigating them, trying to stack them up in different orders and watching and learning as the tumbled down time after time. But you didn't give up - you tried every combination until you found one that worked, and when it stayed up you sat back and gave yourself a round of applause. I'm not sure who was more proud - you or me. I'm sure it was just me that shed a tear though.
I love you,
Mama x
Another month goes by, another letter to write, and I'm finding it hard to keep up with all the new things you've learned. I know the newborn bit is pretty special, but it's nothing compared to this - watching you emerge, one day, one minute at a time, like the hungry caterpillar turning into the beautiful butterfly (that's one of your favourite tales at the moment, mainly because you love putting those tiny fingers of yours through the holes and I tickle them from the next page).
Books have become a really important part of your life over the past few weeks, and you have ones that you want to hear and ones that you are so fed up with you shake your head and push them away. You've been really excited by the pop-up books Dear Zoo and Elephant Wellyphant, and have pretty much destroyed them both, ripping pieces off and finding nothing wrong in that. I have to take a deep breath because I was brought up to believe that books are sacred and that you should never destroy them. But I expect I used to do the very same when I was your age. In fact I'm almost sure of it, as my grandmother, your great grandmother, used to call me The Wrecker. She even put a sign on the door of the bedroom I used to sleep in in her house which said that. I wish I had that sign, or even took a photograph of it, because it was so long ago now that it exists only in my memory.
Anyway, you request up to 5 or 6 books a night now, and so we take it in turns putting you to bed because there really are only so many times you can read Where the Wild Things Are before you go crazy. Actually that was a bad example, there are far worse ones than that, although I do know it (and many others) off by heart now. But mine is a heart that's proud and glad of your interest in books, and I can't wait to be able to read to you chapters of my favourite childhood books - His Dark Materials, Narnia, and all the classics. It's something I have wanted to share with you since the day you were born.
You've also started to be really interested in animals now, and have moo-ed along with us, you point out fish and ducks in books, and Ben cut some pictures of lions out of the paper and taped them to a wall at just the right height for you. We ask where the lions are and you scoot over and jab them with your pudgy little fingers, looking all pleased and excited.
Your other new trick is kissing. We say 'give mummy a kiss' and you look slightly apprehensive, tip your chin up and press your face up to mine with your mouth open, and then you start giggling. It is definitely a winner with the grannies. You seem to be finding a lot funny at the moment, especially triking and trundling around on your various vehicles, on which you are remarkably proficient. Sometimes I come home on a Wednesday to find you on the trike, Ben on the bee, and the pair of you hiding from each other at opposite ends of the house, shrieking with laughter when you trick each other and creep up behind the other one who is hiding from you. Brilliant. I love your sense of humour - a bit mischievous, fairly boisterous, and totally genuine and wholehearted.
The other game you've played this month has been piling up blocks - you can pile ten in a row now and you understand that you have to be careful to place them centrally to stop them from tumbling down, and you keep your arm wide of the tower when placing the top ones to make sure you don't accidentally knock it down. And I was cooking the other day, and you came over, opened the food cupboard and took out three jars of varying sizes, and spent the next ten minutes investigating them, trying to stack them up in different orders and watching and learning as the tumbled down time after time. But you didn't give up - you tried every combination until you found one that worked, and when it stayed up you sat back and gave yourself a round of applause. I'm not sure who was more proud - you or me. I'm sure it was just me that shed a tear though.
I love you,
Mama x
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A letter to my 13-month-old son
Sep. 9th, 2008 | 02:49 pm
Dear Arthur
The past month has whizzed by, partly because I've been back at work and partly I think because we were so focused on your birthday and what a milestone that was, that we forgot to think about what came after. We've had some lovely moments - one that stands out in particular was when we all had lunch at Wagamama's which was the first time it was how we'd thought it would be.
Being back at work has been strange, leaving you for three days a week instead of one has been hard in some ways, but I think we're both beginning to get used to it. You've had a bit of a tough time at nursery and the fact that you're going just one day a week will inevitably mean it takes you longer to get used to and harder to settle each week. But I take comfort in the tales of your friends, like Jackson and Adam, who also cried every time their parents left them there, just like you do, but who now love nursery and get a lot out of it. I think we had a break-through this week though - you seemed much more cheerful when I picked you up, and the staff said you'd been much happier. Even though you only slept for an hour. The whole day! What were you thinking??
Ah, the sleep thing. You have challenged us this month, oh yes, it has not been easy. I know that it must be the change of routine, maybe a bit poorly or teething, you must be unsettled by it and the long and torturous journey to the Lake District didn't help, but before last Thursday you'd been waking up in the night so much it was beginning to feel like you were a newborn baby again. One night last week we were up FIVE times with you. That was the worst example but it has been about a month since you slept through. Life is never as much fun when we're all groggy, but you've started sleeping better again and the past five nights have been a huge improvement for all of us. You seem happier, we are happier, even if we are going to bed at 9 o'clock.
That bank holiday in the Lake District showed us that we can push you to a point but that even you, lovely laid-back, happy you, have boundaries and it was tough for all of us. The journey up was hellish, and you were tired. When we arrived you wouldn't be put down, and cried for your dad the whole time. Ben was so sweet with you and I think, on the positive side, your relationship is the stronger for it. You were fascinated by Jackson, and it was the first time I've watched you watching another child and seen evidence that you want to be able to do those things - to walk and run and chat and interact. It's a privilege to see that in you, and to recognise that you are so defiantly your own person, that you will (as the famous quote goes) grow up despite us not because of us.
This month has also seen your communication shift up a gear, and you have begun to shake your head to say 'no', mainly when it comes to food, and mama seems to be your favourite word. This morning you were crawling around in our bedroom and I heard a bumping sound. You crawled over saying 'mama mama' and pointing at your head so that I knew you'd knocked it. It doesn't sound much but it's such an acceleration when we're so used to talking and listening but not truly interacting. I am looking forward to more of this (perhaps Willow will teach you how to sing the Blue Danube...).
The other turning point this month has been the street party on Sunday. Again, you were pretty fazed by it when you woke up and we brought you out into the street, which was transformed into a car-free, busy, noisy fair. It took you a little while to warm up, and you were very clingy and nervous, a side we rarely see of you, but when you got used to the idea you were lovely as usual. We watched you shuffle off down the road, getting grubby and watching the big kids riding their bikes. I was very proud of you that day, as you came out of your shell far more quickly than at the Lake District. And in turn I think it has fed and nourished you, made you crave more independence and encourage an adventurousness you didn't have before. It has encouraged me too, made me realise that pushing you a little is of real benefit. Well, isn't that true of us all? How is it that you embody that at 13 months, and I still have trouble coming to terms with that concept at 31 years? You've got a head start.
I love you,
Mama x
The past month has whizzed by, partly because I've been back at work and partly I think because we were so focused on your birthday and what a milestone that was, that we forgot to think about what came after. We've had some lovely moments - one that stands out in particular was when we all had lunch at Wagamama's which was the first time it was how we'd thought it would be.
Being back at work has been strange, leaving you for three days a week instead of one has been hard in some ways, but I think we're both beginning to get used to it. You've had a bit of a tough time at nursery and the fact that you're going just one day a week will inevitably mean it takes you longer to get used to and harder to settle each week. But I take comfort in the tales of your friends, like Jackson and Adam, who also cried every time their parents left them there, just like you do, but who now love nursery and get a lot out of it. I think we had a break-through this week though - you seemed much more cheerful when I picked you up, and the staff said you'd been much happier. Even though you only slept for an hour. The whole day! What were you thinking??
Ah, the sleep thing. You have challenged us this month, oh yes, it has not been easy. I know that it must be the change of routine, maybe a bit poorly or teething, you must be unsettled by it and the long and torturous journey to the Lake District didn't help, but before last Thursday you'd been waking up in the night so much it was beginning to feel like you were a newborn baby again. One night last week we were up FIVE times with you. That was the worst example but it has been about a month since you slept through. Life is never as much fun when we're all groggy, but you've started sleeping better again and the past five nights have been a huge improvement for all of us. You seem happier, we are happier, even if we are going to bed at 9 o'clock.
That bank holiday in the Lake District showed us that we can push you to a point but that even you, lovely laid-back, happy you, have boundaries and it was tough for all of us. The journey up was hellish, and you were tired. When we arrived you wouldn't be put down, and cried for your dad the whole time. Ben was so sweet with you and I think, on the positive side, your relationship is the stronger for it. You were fascinated by Jackson, and it was the first time I've watched you watching another child and seen evidence that you want to be able to do those things - to walk and run and chat and interact. It's a privilege to see that in you, and to recognise that you are so defiantly your own person, that you will (as the famous quote goes) grow up despite us not because of us.
This month has also seen your communication shift up a gear, and you have begun to shake your head to say 'no', mainly when it comes to food, and mama seems to be your favourite word. This morning you were crawling around in our bedroom and I heard a bumping sound. You crawled over saying 'mama mama' and pointing at your head so that I knew you'd knocked it. It doesn't sound much but it's such an acceleration when we're so used to talking and listening but not truly interacting. I am looking forward to more of this (perhaps Willow will teach you how to sing the Blue Danube...).
The other turning point this month has been the street party on Sunday. Again, you were pretty fazed by it when you woke up and we brought you out into the street, which was transformed into a car-free, busy, noisy fair. It took you a little while to warm up, and you were very clingy and nervous, a side we rarely see of you, but when you got used to the idea you were lovely as usual. We watched you shuffle off down the road, getting grubby and watching the big kids riding their bikes. I was very proud of you that day, as you came out of your shell far more quickly than at the Lake District. And in turn I think it has fed and nourished you, made you crave more independence and encourage an adventurousness you didn't have before. It has encouraged me too, made me realise that pushing you a little is of real benefit. Well, isn't that true of us all? How is it that you embody that at 13 months, and I still have trouble coming to terms with that concept at 31 years? You've got a head start.
I love you,
Mama x
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A letter to my one year-old son
Jul. 28th, 2008 | 12:55 pm
Dear Arthur
On Friday it was your first birthday. Neither of us can believe that it was one year ago that I gave birth to you, the sound of the rain thundering in through the hospital window, just me, Ben and the midwife. You came into the world in such a quiet way (quiet for someone who went on to change our lives so completely) and we both fell in love with you instantly.
Despite this, we had a hard time adjusting to your arrival. You stopped being quiet and started crying a lot, mainly I think because you were hungry and I had so many problems trying to feed you, but we managed. We sung a lot of songs to you - when you're older you will either LOVE Neil Young or you'll hate him - and we rocked you and cuddled you and fell asleep with you on the sofa. We were a little bit scared of you and (I feel a bit bad saying this) we wondered whether we should have had a baby at all, we missed our old lives so much.
But I'm saying it because a year on and nothing could be further from the truth. You enrich our lives in so many ways, you are a joy to be around, you have made me feel things I never thought I could feel - so much love for you, and you make me laugh so much. One of my favourite moments of the day is checking on you before we go to bed (I can't imagine a time that I won't do that). You look so peaceful and yet so robust, not fragile like so many babies. And that robustness gives me so much strength. When you were diagnosed so clumsily with pneumonia at less than 24 hours old I didn't know what that meant. I think my brain found it hard to take in the information and to process the fact that you were ill, that you didn't yet have a name, and that they had to take you off for tests alone and tiny in that plastic cot on wheels. It has stayed with me for a long time and, I think, contributed to the difficulties we experienced in those first few weeks. I think it might always be here, woven into my life experience permanently, but now that I look at you I can see that you are strong and healthy. And you have a name, a good strong name. You were named after two of my great uncles, and because you had such a cross furrowed old man look when you were born, as though someone had been scrumping from your allotment. We think you might wear a wax jacket and drink real ale when you're older.
Now you can crawl in your funny, lopsided way, and stand on your own, if only for a few seconds, and you are far too good at going up and down stairs already. You sit in such a sweet, neat way with one foot crossed over the other, and you like putting one foot up on the highchair tray while you're eating. Sometimes you put both legs up on the handle of the pushchair - I think you might well be a bit double-jointed. When you get frustrated you wave both hands in the air, and you waggle your hands around on the highchair tray, sending food flying, to let us know you've had enough.
Your favourite foods are melon, cream cheese, falafels (M&S finest), and bananas. You used to love peas but you've gone off them recently, and you're just beginning to like sandwiches. We started to wean you without purees, by feeding you bits of what we were having. It worked fairly well although we had a couple of quite scary moments when we thought you were choking... You took it in your stride and we had to hold our nerve. You make sweet noises when you eat, ones I can't really describe but I think it means you like your food. When we ask if you're hungry you pretend to munch and open and close your mouth. Recently we've give you a fork and you seem to know what to do.
You are the nosiest baby I've ever known, looking at everything, examining everyone, peeping round your pram until you look as though you're about to fall out. You love paintings and pictures on the wall. You've begun to recognise some - the two of you as a baby and the butterfly specimens are your favourites - and you also love books. Your favourite book is 'Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Can You See?' and we have to read it to you before you'll even entertain the idea of going to sleep. You've started to say something that sounds very much like 'bear' too. On your birthday you were given a book about ducks, and duck seems to be one of the words you can say. You pointed at the duck, said 'duck', and then we asked where the bird was and you pointed at that too. Ducks do seem to make you laugh though, and you were obsessed with the duck button on the baby einstein, which quacked, said 'duck' in both english and spanish, and then played a bit of electronic Vivaldi to which you look up at us and we do a silly dance which makes you laugh.
Music is one of your favourite things, although you don't dance like your friend Will you do clap your hands and sometimes sing along. You love Rhymetime - songs you like best are 'If you're happy and you know it', 'Hickory Dickory Dock', and 'Mummy and Daddy and Uncle John' (but I can't sing 'You are my sunshine' because although it's true it makes me cry) - and you love playing the piano. Your odd-parents, Jess and Matt, bought you a drum for your birthday and you love that too. Your other favourite toys are a ghastly plastic stereo that never stops, the Peppa Pig ball, and your wooden trike. You were given lots of toys for your birthday too, so I'm sure a few new favourites will be amongst those.
Your hair probably needs a cut really, but it's lovely - blond, straight and it used to be very spiky on top but now it's too long to spike. It's so long that it's becoming a mullet. We'll sort it out soon, I promise. Your smile is wide, and genuine, and gappy, and you make everyone else around you smile so much too. The grannies love you, in fact I think they might be a little besotted with you, and you love them too. We wait in the window for people - grannies, dad - and you stand tall holding on to the black leather sofa, watching closely for anyone you know. When you spot them your grin is as wide as it can be. Grumpy and Pappy love you too, they think you're pretty special too, so much so that they expect great things of you, don't you know? Cousin Noah loves you too, calls you A'ra, and asks if he's going to see you every day. Isaac is your best friend, and even though babies your age aren't supposed to know how to play together, me and Auntie Kaz think you two are very advanced and that you are the best of friends.
Your party on Saturday was a Monkey Party and you looked so sweet in your costume. I made you a monkey cake and you seemed to take everything in your stride, coming down from your nap and finding 40 people in the house didn't seem to concern you at all and you motored off to investigate. You're independent like that. I'm glad that you have that temperament, especially now that you're one and I have to go back to work and you have new adventures ahead with nursery. I hope you'll be ok. Actually, you'll love it. I hope I'll be ok.
I love you,
Mama x
On Friday it was your first birthday. Neither of us can believe that it was one year ago that I gave birth to you, the sound of the rain thundering in through the hospital window, just me, Ben and the midwife. You came into the world in such a quiet way (quiet for someone who went on to change our lives so completely) and we both fell in love with you instantly.
Despite this, we had a hard time adjusting to your arrival. You stopped being quiet and started crying a lot, mainly I think because you were hungry and I had so many problems trying to feed you, but we managed. We sung a lot of songs to you - when you're older you will either LOVE Neil Young or you'll hate him - and we rocked you and cuddled you and fell asleep with you on the sofa. We were a little bit scared of you and (I feel a bit bad saying this) we wondered whether we should have had a baby at all, we missed our old lives so much.
But I'm saying it because a year on and nothing could be further from the truth. You enrich our lives in so many ways, you are a joy to be around, you have made me feel things I never thought I could feel - so much love for you, and you make me laugh so much. One of my favourite moments of the day is checking on you before we go to bed (I can't imagine a time that I won't do that). You look so peaceful and yet so robust, not fragile like so many babies. And that robustness gives me so much strength. When you were diagnosed so clumsily with pneumonia at less than 24 hours old I didn't know what that meant. I think my brain found it hard to take in the information and to process the fact that you were ill, that you didn't yet have a name, and that they had to take you off for tests alone and tiny in that plastic cot on wheels. It has stayed with me for a long time and, I think, contributed to the difficulties we experienced in those first few weeks. I think it might always be here, woven into my life experience permanently, but now that I look at you I can see that you are strong and healthy. And you have a name, a good strong name. You were named after two of my great uncles, and because you had such a cross furrowed old man look when you were born, as though someone had been scrumping from your allotment. We think you might wear a wax jacket and drink real ale when you're older.
Now you can crawl in your funny, lopsided way, and stand on your own, if only for a few seconds, and you are far too good at going up and down stairs already. You sit in such a sweet, neat way with one foot crossed over the other, and you like putting one foot up on the highchair tray while you're eating. Sometimes you put both legs up on the handle of the pushchair - I think you might well be a bit double-jointed. When you get frustrated you wave both hands in the air, and you waggle your hands around on the highchair tray, sending food flying, to let us know you've had enough.
Your favourite foods are melon, cream cheese, falafels (M&S finest), and bananas. You used to love peas but you've gone off them recently, and you're just beginning to like sandwiches. We started to wean you without purees, by feeding you bits of what we were having. It worked fairly well although we had a couple of quite scary moments when we thought you were choking... You took it in your stride and we had to hold our nerve. You make sweet noises when you eat, ones I can't really describe but I think it means you like your food. When we ask if you're hungry you pretend to munch and open and close your mouth. Recently we've give you a fork and you seem to know what to do.
You are the nosiest baby I've ever known, looking at everything, examining everyone, peeping round your pram until you look as though you're about to fall out. You love paintings and pictures on the wall. You've begun to recognise some - the two of you as a baby and the butterfly specimens are your favourites - and you also love books. Your favourite book is 'Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Can You See?' and we have to read it to you before you'll even entertain the idea of going to sleep. You've started to say something that sounds very much like 'bear' too. On your birthday you were given a book about ducks, and duck seems to be one of the words you can say. You pointed at the duck, said 'duck', and then we asked where the bird was and you pointed at that too. Ducks do seem to make you laugh though, and you were obsessed with the duck button on the baby einstein, which quacked, said 'duck' in both english and spanish, and then played a bit of electronic Vivaldi to which you look up at us and we do a silly dance which makes you laugh.
Music is one of your favourite things, although you don't dance like your friend Will you do clap your hands and sometimes sing along. You love Rhymetime - songs you like best are 'If you're happy and you know it', 'Hickory Dickory Dock', and 'Mummy and Daddy and Uncle John' (but I can't sing 'You are my sunshine' because although it's true it makes me cry) - and you love playing the piano. Your odd-parents, Jess and Matt, bought you a drum for your birthday and you love that too. Your other favourite toys are a ghastly plastic stereo that never stops, the Peppa Pig ball, and your wooden trike. You were given lots of toys for your birthday too, so I'm sure a few new favourites will be amongst those.
Your hair probably needs a cut really, but it's lovely - blond, straight and it used to be very spiky on top but now it's too long to spike. It's so long that it's becoming a mullet. We'll sort it out soon, I promise. Your smile is wide, and genuine, and gappy, and you make everyone else around you smile so much too. The grannies love you, in fact I think they might be a little besotted with you, and you love them too. We wait in the window for people - grannies, dad - and you stand tall holding on to the black leather sofa, watching closely for anyone you know. When you spot them your grin is as wide as it can be. Grumpy and Pappy love you too, they think you're pretty special too, so much so that they expect great things of you, don't you know? Cousin Noah loves you too, calls you A'ra, and asks if he's going to see you every day. Isaac is your best friend, and even though babies your age aren't supposed to know how to play together, me and Auntie Kaz think you two are very advanced and that you are the best of friends.
Your party on Saturday was a Monkey Party and you looked so sweet in your costume. I made you a monkey cake and you seemed to take everything in your stride, coming down from your nap and finding 40 people in the house didn't seem to concern you at all and you motored off to investigate. You're independent like that. I'm glad that you have that temperament, especially now that you're one and I have to go back to work and you have new adventures ahead with nursery. I hope you'll be ok. Actually, you'll love it. I hope I'll be ok.
I love you,
Mama x
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A face like a wet weekend
Jul. 8th, 2008 | 01:18 pm
The cooker trip to John Lewis didn't go as planned. The cooker was, in person, just too cheap. The way it looked, the way it felt - we just couldn't do it. So we caked and coffeed, and then had a peek at the digital cameras. Both of us have been thinking about buying a better digital camera for a while now, and we've narrowed it down to 3 SLRs - the Nikon D60, the Canon 400D or a Sony one I can't remember. I'm going to hand this one over to the boy - he's far better than me at this sort of thing.
So it was a wet weekend, but a good one especially as it followed a gloomy week in quarantine, as piglet had hand, foot and mouth disease. Ugh. Let's not dwell. Sunday was the FROGS (Friends of Greville Smyth) Lazy Sunday in the park, and despite the torrential rain we went and sat and ate cake and watched people and their children watching each other. A band played. It conjured up exactly the feeling of summer in this country I remember from my childhood. I loved it and it made me glad to live in this lovely place. Afterwards we went to see Will, who was one on Sunday, and his parents, and it turned into a bit of an impromptu party, with 4 babies and 8 grown ups. Birthday cake and beer is a fabulous combination.
We've been trying to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of disease and rain, with happy, summer-y activities, like making ice lollies with freshly squeezed orange juice. And yesterday normal, post-illness life resumed with the best fun at Rhymetime, followed by jam tarts.
Oh, and we've bought a second-hand Rosieres range cooker on eBay for a fraction of the price of the cheapo JL one. Things are looking up.
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Happy Days
Jun. 25th, 2008 | 02:47 pm
Calm has returned. The baby sleeps. The sun has come out. The air smells of sweet orange essential oil.
The morning, although it started badly when our trip to the farmers' market was rained off, ended up as a charming and happy way to spend wet play. We bought scones from the deli and Alice and I had tea, scones with jam and a good old chat, while the babies played, scrapped, giggled and ate headless gingerbread men. Delightful.
After a perfectly simple lunch of soft boiled egg and soldiers, I pottered, and await the delivery of our new kitchen sinks.
And yesterday my parents came home after two months in France, and we ate jam tarts. They played with Piglet, who was thrilled to see them.
And Saturday morning we will take part in our new ritual, the ritual of the thirty-something, babied couple: coffee and cake in the espresso bar at John Lewis, before we choose our new cooker. Trente ans, cake-filled heaven.
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Courage Mon Brave
Jun. 24th, 2008 | 01:31 pm
Yesterday was challenging. I'll explain why, in brief, emotionless bullet-points.
1. Piglet woke at 4.15am, I had to cuddle him back to sleep. I didn't get back to sleep until gone 5am.
2. When he woke at 6am, he was very congested and his eyes were puffy and red.
3. At Rhymetime, he was being a bit of a show-off, scooted over to another baby around the same age who grabbed his eyes and nose, making him sob. The parents didn't apologise, which surprised me. He was also a bit sick.
4. We went to Emma's for a cuppa. Pigs smeared Dairylea down my skirt.
5. He then refused lunch, and struggled to go to sleep. I had to go and smooth him to make sure he didn't wake too soon.
6. I had a big shopping list, so when he woke we went out. I was planning to do the shopping on the way to meeting friends at the swings. I had a call back from the emergency doctor who told me to bring Piglet into the surgery.
7. The receptionist goofed up and thought I was there to see a different doctor, so we waited in the wrong waiting room for ages, before finally seeing the right doctor (who diagnosed conjunctivitis - no treatment).
8. The baby beaker leaked half its contents into my handbag. My lovely leather handbag.
9. Raced home, made some supper which Piglet threw all over the floor.
Not so much one specific thing that upset me but the cumulative effect of all of the above.
What better evening to make my encouraging banner? I have been doing some of the Learning To Love You More assignments, one of which is assignment 63, Make an Encouraging Banner. It was very soothing cutting all the letters out, compiling my words of encouragement, and sneaking out under cover of darkness to position it in a fairly prominent location. Very pleased with it indeed. Oh, and lots of country music helps too.
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Art
Jun. 20th, 2008 | 09:46 am
Alice and I took the babies to the UWE Degree Show at Bower Ashton yesterday. Whereas the Fine Art show was a little disappointing, the other media seemed to provide more interest. The babies were particularly taken with this piece, in which projections of paint poured down the plinth. Think it blew their minds a bit, and possibly their ear drums - I hadn't realised quite how loud it was in that room.
More art - one of the exhibitions I commissioned before going on maternity leave opens this weekend. Sophie Tarbuck has spent the past year and a half making work inspired by modern movement architecture in Cornwall. Can't wait to see it.
