beckity

Today I spent the whole day alone with my litle girl. I haven't done that since October, and in the days leading up to today we have had so many people around taking Elsie off for walks, preparing her food, reading to her, that I was actually a bit concerned about how I'd manage it. Being 38 weeks pregnant and running around with a two year old is not everyone's idea of a restful holiday. I was totally unprepared for the fun we had. We made thank you cards with sticky glittery stars and photos. We rolled out pastry and used new Christmas cookie cutters to make little mince pie hearts and bells. We went out to the supermarket ('delHAIZE') and did the washing and unloaded the dishwasher - all the boring everyday things that are a tad more interesting when you have a little one shadowing you and pointing out the things you might miss ('Daddy t-shirt, WET!'). We had serious conversations ('Mummy tummy BIG!' 'Yes, because there's a baby inside i

Amul is still the strangest word in her vocabulary. It means yoghurt and it is possible that it always will to her. When she's finished her supper after creche, Elsie invariably asks for an 'amul' - 'Essie Amul!' 'what do you say?' 'peeeeeeeease?' (this last all-important word said with a head tilt and besseching expression.) 'You'd like a yoghurt?' Strong head nod. Slippers are piz-wizz and socks are choks (with the Scottish ch from loch ). This might be because 'sok' in Polish is juice, and she recognises the need for diffferentitation between these two important objects in her life. On the other hand, it might of course just be an idea she's got in her head and is finding hard to shake. Orange is 'oh-wince!' and banana is still missing the 'ba' but the rest of the fruit in our bowl she's got licked. Apple, pear, mango, are all present and correct. Even pineapple is nearly there (pie-apple!) In t

Elsie turns the baby doll towards her and looks into her face. 'Baby yum yum?' she asks, before shaking a sachet in the direction of the little bowl, stirring it with a tiny plastic spoon and blowing three short sharp blows over it. She thrusts the spoon into the doll's mouth a couple of times before deciding that's enough, and brings the bib up to wipe at her mouth. 'Mulk?' she checks, before carefully placing a finger over the top of the bottle and giving it a good shake. Elsie holds the doll's head steady with one hand while she puts the bottle between the plastic lips. Satisfied that the baby is fed and watered, she flashes me a grin and wanders over to play with something else. I sit, in awe. When did my baby turn into this little girl?

OK, let me get this straight. We pay the commune to reserve space outside our new house to make room for the movers. Despite it being a quiet road, we decide to pay the fee and have the signs so that we have an easy move. When the movers arrive however, your car is parked in the reserved space. The movers call the police, my husband asks round the neighbours to see if they know who the owner of the car is, and the movers have a cigarette break (paid for by us, 100 euros an hour). The police finally arrive, check the signs, and call someone to tow your car. The police tell us we can get a document to claim the money we've wasted on the movers while we wait for your car to be towed. We decide that would be a further waste of time and agree not to. Today, you come to our house, complaining that you didn't see the signs and demanding half of the fee charged to get your car back. We, who paid more because you didn't see what we paid for to be there. Not going to happen.

In a few weeks, when the dust has settled, remind me to tell you about the time I almost burned down the flat by leaving a pan of pasta on the hob while I went to a routine hospital appointment. For a few hours. And then ask about the insurance refusing to cover the repairs to the door the firemen broke down. If I'm a bit hazy on details, you can ground it in the week that one of the guys working on the house almost cut through his arm and had to be operated on for five hours, and how the ambulance guys, since they heard it was done with a knife, turned up with police cars in tow, to find out the full extent of this knife fight. At least Marek now knows where the police station in is our new neighbourhood. Remind me how relieved I was about having hired people here legally and covered by insurance. Once I've told you that story, you can ask about the time a couple of weeks later when we had three sets of house guests, and we moved house. By then, I'll be sitting back in our

I pass the hot crumpet quickly from hand to hand and drop it onto my plate. 'More!' Elsie says, pointing at it. 'More please Mummy,' I correct, and put a layer of margarine on it, allowing it to melt into the holes. 'Would you like honey on your crumpet?' I ask, and look at Elsie for her nod. Instead, she brings her hand to her mouth, makes a fist and starts tooting. I struggle to keep my face straight. 'Crumpet' I repeat. 'Not trumpet.'

I stick my head around the door and scan the little faces. Elsie's eyes meet mine and she grins, slowly rising from her sprawl on the floor next to a little blond boy. She points at him and explains, wide-eyed 'dwah-buh beri booli ooh.' I nod and smile as she walks over to me, open the little gate and kiss her head. After exchanging pleasantries with the lady on duty, we walk hand in hand out to the corridor, Elsie pausing briefly to wave her other hand and solemnly declare 'bah bayeee' as the lady smiles and replies with 'a demain'. I lift her onto a chair in the cloakroom and she tugs at her slippers. As she puts them in her shoe bag, I lace up her trainers and ask her how her day was. After a brief smile, a thumb is stuck in place and she listens patiently as I explain what's going to happen next. 'We'll walk home, and when we get back you can have something to eat.' I say 'Nana, kek?' she asks hopefully. 'Well, you've

The morning I woke up and *just* felt the familiar uncomfortable swell of morning sickness was strangely comforting. The tummy bug that had made me sick throughout the previous night had settled down, my tummy's gurgling brought to a standstill. The week before, part of the blob's placenta came away from my uterus panicking me into thinking I was miscarrying. Doctors put me on hormones (because that's clearly one thing pregnant women are lacking...) to slow me down and help the repair (read, 'knock me out') and since taking the final pill, they had finally worn off, and I was no longer seeing my world through a blur. A small triumph, I lifted my head from the pillow and faced another day.

I close the book and turn it over, half-expecting the 'geh-geh' Elsie's chosen to say for 'again' and has said every time I've finished the book for the last few days. It's her  book of the moment after all, with rich pictures on each page full of objects she can name. 'Ball! Bear! Shoe! Car!' I barely have to read it. Instead though, she points at the title, and clear as anything, says 'encore!' My jaw drops and I realise a week back at the creche has done its job. 'Sorry?' I ask, eyebrows raised, not believing my ears. Elsie blinks, looks right into my face and 'encore!' she repeats. I squeeze her tight, kiss her head and start the book again.

Elsie wanders round the flat sporting her sad face. 'Dah-dee' she says 'Dah-deeee'. 'Daddy's still at work, my love' I explain, getting a puzzle out of the box. 'He'll be home soon'. She wanders over and looks at the puzzle. 'Will you help me?' I ask, and she sadly shakes her head. 'Dah-dee' she continues to wonder. 'Shall we call him and see when he'll be back?' I ask, and get an enthusiastic nod. I dial the number and put the phone on loadspeaker. 'Are you going to say hello when he answers?' I ask and Elsie starts practising 'ello Dah-dee! Ello Dah-dee!' 'Hello?' he says and there's a moment of uncertainty when Elsie's eyes meet mine. I nod my encouragement. 'ELLO Dah-DEE!' she says into the phone, a huge grin spreading across her face as he tells her what a clever girl she is.

Elsie's language is slowly changing. The summer holidays with long stretches of hearing nothing but English have worked wonders. She now says 'chair' 'bear' 'Claire' 'Hair' 'air'... you see the theme. But we also get 'plane', 'car' and 'book'. She looks at me when I ask her to repeat, concentration in her clear eyes and a willingness to succeed that I can feel. 'Well done!' I say, 'clever girl!' and she smiles, a victory grin. If there is something she doesn't know the word for, which still applies to a lot, she'll study it and use her fail-safe standby word. 'Bai go goo' she'll say, eyebrows raised and pointing. 'Yes Elsie,' we encourage 'an umbrella'. A slight nod of agreement, 'bai go goo' she'll confirm.

Elsie puts down the pen and looks at her hands. 'Uh-oh!' 'What's up love?' I ask and she shows me the multi-coloured traces across her palms. 'Shall we wash your hands?' She nods and walks to the bathroom. 'Wait a minute, Ruth's in there. Let's wash your hands in the toilet instead.' She gives me an uncertain glance. I follow her in, and get there just in time to pull her back from the toilet bowl. The basin in the toilet, my love.' I explain, 'the basin ' and turn on the tap.

I struggle with pushing the door and pulling the pram, but eventually we are in. Elsie is twisting round in her seat and demanding more raisins: 'more! more!' but I tell her to wait until we have finished in the shop. She moans, pulling at her straps in a vain attempt to be out, and I scan the shelves. No tea of the kind I want - something with ginger to ease the nauseous lump that has taken up residence inside me in recent days. I push Elsie over to the bread and weigh up the pros and cons of white baguette versus multi-grain baguette. Avoiding taking a decision, I stick one of each under the pram hood and go to pay. Out of the shop and back on the street, Elsie has lost interest in raisins and sticks her thumb in her mouth; the other hand stroking and pulling at doudou, her blue comfort toy. I swear under my breath as I note the escalator to the metro is not working and carefully ease the pram wheels down each oversized step until we reach the bottom. A girl in a long ski

I push the door open and Elsie walks cautiously through. She takes Daddy's hand as I rummage in my bag for my purse, and hand over the coins to the man on the desk. Spotting our friends, I go forward to greet them, (your little one has grown! what a big boy!) and Marek takes Elsie's shoes off and stores them on a shelf. 'Ooh look, Elsie!' I gush. 'a ball pool!' I love those things. She looks up at me with a blank expression, and only wanders over when I lead her. Ignoring her friend, she stands in the middle of the play area, staring at the kids rushing past. The noise, and colours, seem to overwhelm her, and she just stands. Takes it all in. Absorbs the madness. More friends arrive, and we sit down to chat about the sleeping newborn in her carseat, upcoming holiday plans and the ridiculous size of our firstborns. The two boys from our party join the buzzing crowd, rushing about, sliding down slides and jumping into the pool of plastic balls. Our little gi

'Ssssssssssss' Elsie hisses, pointing at a long snakey animal in her book. 'Yes,' I agree, 'it does look like a snake doesn't it, but it's actually a caterpillar' she looks at me uncertainly. 'ouww?' she wonders, unconvinced. 'No' I laugh, it's not a cat! A caterpillar. Remember the very hungry caterpillar in one of your other books?' She looks into my face, confused. 'Remember how the hungry caterpillar eats lots and lots and then turns into a butterfly?' Her features relax into comprehension. 'Mo-mo!'

I am unloading the dishwasher when I hear Elsie's footsteps thundering through the apartment, all the way from our bedroom, along the corridor, through the sitting room and towards me. 'Hello you' I say, but she ignores me, grabbing a cloth we keep handy for clearing up what ever she's dropped during mealtimes, and running back the way she came. Wondering what she could possibly have dreamed up for herself now with such urgency, I leave the dishes and wander after her. When I get to our bedroom doorway, I see her at the window, where raindrops are running down the outside of the pane. She is enthusiastically wiping at the drops. On the inside.

Elsie points at the table, where the blooming bunch of peonies sit, pink and luxurious. She sniffs, expectantly, and motions at the flowers. I pull the vase towards me, and gently place it on the floor, so that Elsie can get up close. Elsie carefully puts her face down towards the flowers and breathes in. She moves from one flower to the next, comparing fluffy flower head with fluffy flower head. When she's smelt most of them, she lifts her head and gives her verdict. 'Hmm, yum yum!'

I love the glimpses I get into how the world works according to my little girl. It has a simplicity that I admire, and is full of good intentions that the reality usually lacks. One afternoon walking home from the creche, Elsie tugged her hand away from mine and pointed at a stationary car. I looked through the drizzle to see what had caught her eye, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary other than the fact that the car's wipers were going steadily against the rain. When I turned back to Elsie, she had a big grin on her face and was happily waving back. My heart smiled.

Our daughter gets English from her Mummy, Polish from her Daddy and French from the creche and much of the outside world. The poor kid is drowning in languages but instead of picking one, or using some words from each Elsie has decided the way to approach this is to add her own language to the mix. Ah-Duh is hello. She says it mostly when holding a phone (mobiles, toy phones, remote controls... the kid's world is FULL of phones) up to her ear, but has also been known to use it while waving to welcome someone in. Give her a real phone with someone on the other end though and Elsie is at a loss. She goes quiet, gives you a worried look and backs away. Phones are supposed to be talked at - they are not supposed to answer. Also, she has been perfecting her phone chat over the months and now can go for several minutes, chatting, laughing at her imaginary counterpart's jokes and 'mm'ing in agreement on occasion. I love it. Mo-mo is butterfly; accompanied by hand-flutterin

As we got onto the bus to the airport before 7am on the day the Big Canadian Adventure was due to begin, I couldn't help but sigh at all those hours ahead of us. Work had managed to keep me so occupied in the days before our departure that I had managed, until that point, to put off thinking about what 16 hours of travelling with an 18 month old would be like. Not just any 18-month old either. Our daughter - remember? the one with the big lungs and stubborn will? Now, over 24 hours later, as I sit in the dark of a Vancouver night - my body confused into being awake when all the extended hours of the previous day should have been more than sufficient to persuade it of the benefits of being asleep - I cannot believe how quickly the time passed. The short connecting flight was a dream. Ok, the baby belt was not a big hit and it took some serious book and food diversionary tactics to stop the tears, but baby did good! We got to Frankfurt with our spirit and smiles intact. The thr

I turn away from the laptop as I feel the tissue tugged from my hand and Elsie trundles off with it in both hands. As I watch, she brings it up to her nose and wipes side to side. I can't help but smile as she hauls herself up the step to the toilet, throws the tissue down into the bowl and drops to her knees, shuffling backwards back down the step. She's got the routine down perfectly.

Chat Elsie holds her toy telephone to her ear... if her ear were on the back of her head. 'Uh-der!' she says, pausing for the response 'thuh-beliting-no-limi-nuh' her face is deadly serious. 'ah-nuh' she finishes. 'Puh-sh, puh-sh' she says, holding it out to Marek. 'There's the Polish coming out' I smile as Marek takes the phone. Prosze! 'Ra ra!' she exclaims, seeing her puppy. I move it to one side and recover Bagpuss from the toy box 'Ooow!' she says, right on cue. 'Me!' I correct, 'meouw'. She gives me the kind of look she's honed. It says 'whatever.' Eat We know when she's hungry because she tells us; one hand, finger ends brought together, comes quickly and sharply up to her mouth several times. Once she's delivered the message, she takes herself off to the kitchen, just to underline the urgency. She no longer wants help getting the food to her mouth though. Once you've prep