beckity

As I pushed the pram over the rough ground, I breathed in deeply and smiled to myself. This is what I had imagined, those days last year when the belly was pushing at my waistband and my feet were swelling. The sky was blue, the sun was shining down on us and a smattering of t-shirt clad youths were spread over the grass, making the most of the beautiful weather. Elsie let out a sudden cry and I frowned. That wasn't in my hazy daydream of spring. I looked round the pram hood and saw her looking out, big eyes taking in the springlike scene, thumb hovering ready for when her eyelids grew too heavy. She was ok. I carried on, zigzagging along the park's many paths, trying to slow my legs to the pace of someone who has nowhere to go. This doesn't come naturally. I always walk as if I'm on my way to work, or late for a meeting. A man stood, juggling five balls and I watched as he kept them all airbound. I noticed the other mums, and dads, silently pushing prams or chatting...

Dear Elsie, Before you were born I had this idea that I'd mutate into a full-blown mummy blogger; unable to contain myself, documenting every little change and development that my darling child went through. You are five months old, and that just hasn't happened. There are countless photos and a youtube channel, but very few blog posts have gone up with you as the star. One reason is that there just hasn't been time. It's incredible how days disappear in minutes, weeks merge into each other and before we know it, you've notched up another month. The other reason is that I don't feel up to the task. Everyone knows that blogging about your offspring is dull, unless it is done with considerable skill and wit. That is daunting. You are the most precious thing I have, and I don't want to do you a disservice by reducing your magic to tired cliches. Having said that I'm afraid that the months and years will pass and we'll forget the littl...