beckity

We walk past the Italian restaurant at the end of our road and the waiter putting out tables, the nice one, waves us a friendly bonjour . I check the road and thank the driver who stops to let us across, steering the pram around the various parts of machinery that the guys working on the train extension have left strewn about. As I approach the corner pub, the lady who is always either working or drinking there spots us, and comes over 'Eeeeelsie! Eeeeeelsie!' she calls. 'How are you today?' She meets Elsie's solid stare with a smile and remarks on her hair. Again. We move off and wish her a good day. She got a wave from Elsie yesterday, but my little girl doesn't seem to be in the mood today. We pass the mini supermarket and I look out for the checkout girl but don't see her. Yesterday I left Elsie with Marek to pop in for some cold beers. The shop was full and the girl was stressed. When I said hello, she looked at me and asked where the little one was...

She looked at me and smiled. 'I think you might want her to walk more than she wants to herself!' My jaw dropped and I almost let go of the baby's hands. My little one had a look of gleeful concentration on her small face and was pulling me along, tugging at my fingers as her little legs trundled on, each foot taking one wobbly step at a time. Let's think about that. Hmm. If I had a baby who would sit and play quietly with toys, wouldn't that be preferable? If I had a baby who could be put down with a book and left to turn those pages over and over, satisfied with her own company, wouldn't I just let her get on with it? If I had a baby who would take the cues from the time we turn her onto her tummy and follow her little push ups with attempts to move herself around, rather than turning onto her back and screaming, wouldn't I leave her to sort herself out on the floor? Do I like spending my time bent double, trying to stop Elsie ramming herself into shar...

Please remind me, if we ever do this whole baby thing again, that I thought Elsie was a miserable sod for most of the first eight months. Just so I'm prepared. Don't get me wrong, I love that little moaner to pieces, but she has always been, shall we say, insistent. Her personality has shone through pretty much from day one, and she has always made it clear when something is not to her liking. Loudly. The midwives in the maternity ward were openly impressed by the noise that those little lungs powered in the first few days of Elsie's life. After hours of being thrust against closed bones by drug-induced contractions, she didn't have the smoothest entry into the world. Even so, her ability to go purple and apparently stop breathing out of pure rage, became notorious. I remember physically shaking and wondering what the hell I should try next, as she woke from a nap on one of those early days and snapped back into continuous heart-breaking cry mode. I always felt she wa...

'Come on, let's go and see how she's doing...' I nodded and followed him into the baby's room, quietly slipping through the door and peeking over into her cot. She was breathing calmly and steadily, her body turned to one side and her bedtime rabbit clasped tightly in one fist. Her long lashed eyes were tightly shut and in the darkness we could just make out her rounded cheeks, lips slightly parted, a look of pure innocence on her sleeping face. Marek smiled and turned to leave, but I couldn't resist a closer look. As I stepped towards her, she suddenly sighed, started and turned towards me. I couldn't see if her eyes had opened but I quickly slipped out, hoping she'd settle back without properly waking. My plan didn't work. I heard a wimper, a little cry and then what sounded like a thumb being sucked, a rabbit pulled in closer and muffled sounds of an upset baby moving around trying to find a comfortable position in which to go back to sleep....