beckity

The baby was eight weeks old when we heard the diagnosis. We'd got through the worst of the sleepless nights and breastfeeding troubles, and were slowly surfacing after having been chucked overboard, nappies and teddy bears swirling in the churning waters around us. I remember her voice as she told me. A calm overtone almost covering the tremble. When she suggested I sit down, I didn't, not immediately. I held on to that moment just for a second. I knew I did not want to hear what she was going to say and I consciously allowed myself to feel that anticipation, enjoy the few moments I had left not knowing that someone so important to me was so fragile. If any of us could have taken away any of the pain that was to follow, if we could have swallowed the poison that coursed through her veins in the next weeks, borne the rashes and sickness, shivered with her fevers, we would have. I was sheltered from the worst of it - told to focus on this new life who depended on me, not to...

I don't know when you learned to do it; stick your tongue between your lips and blow out, a twinkle in your eye and excitement in the squeal that followed. It got a good reaction in Poland, when you were sitting proudly in your highchair, charming your grandparents with your concentrated chewing; stuffing handfuls of whatever you were given into your mouth. A pause, a swift look to check all eyes were on you, and then a big pthhhhhhheew! Food sprayed all over the table, shrieks from the assembled company, with your Daddy and me trying our best to look stern and not give into the sniggers that threatened to break out. Pleased, your face split into a wide grin, happy that you could provide such entertainment. When you finish a feed, and your head is on my shoulder, I sometimes feel a tickling high up on my arm. Your lips vibrate on my skin and slobber drips slowly. A low hum crescendos into an abrupt 'bah' as you lift your head and experience the sudden breaking of contac...

The concentration draws her eyebrows in over her eyes as she turns it over gently in her hands. First it goes one way and then she flips it over so the label appears. Her eyes widen and she grunts in satisfaction as she sees what she was after. She grabs the label and brings it towards her mouth. I catch her eye and she studies me solemnly, sucking on her prize. Sometimes I catch myself making expressions that I recognise from her own little face. Or a sudden look of Marek's brings her to mind. Her face is as familiar as my own mirror reflection and yet changes almost daily. Her round cheeks and dark features echo my own, but her eyes are her Daddy's. She is unique, herself, our daughter.

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...

I eyed the pump with a mixture of distaste and resignation. It had sat in its box for the last couple of months, but taking it out again brought it all flooding back. Elsie took almost a month to learn how to breastfeed. Before she was born, I had this vague notion that breastfeeding was a natural process that therefore came naturally . Ha. Ok, so I'd heard of cracked nipples and other monstrosities but assumed in my naivity that these minor discomforts would be brief, or not affect me at all. I'd put my baby to my breast and she'd feed. Right. The caesarean got us off to a shaky start. As I was wheeled to the recovery room, the baby was handed to me and she lay on my chest as tears and the corridor's bright lights blinded me. Daddy was left holding the baby as I was examined and almost an hour passed before I could join my new little family. The days in hospital, blurred by morphine and lack of sleep, were punctuated by midwives who encouraged us, squeezing and ...

Elsie makes the cutest awhoo when she thinks she has to sneeze... and then doesn't. When she actually sneezes, both arms pop up so her fists are round her ears. When upset or annoyed, Elsie starts crying, sticks out her bottom lip and stretches her body to its full length. Elsie produces the loudest burps and farts I have ever heard. Ever. If she gets really pissed off, Elsie turns purple and screams. She puts so much effort into it that she builds up to a point where she seems to take a moment too long to catch her breath and scares those around her. She always takes another breath, and  is usually so worn out by the screaming that she soon goes to sleep. Elsie has long fingers, a cute button nose and big grey-blue eyes. Elsie took over three weeks to learn how to breastfeed. When she feeds she squeaks. And on occasion glugs the milk as if from a bottle. Elsie was born with a head of dark hair that grows sideways at the back, like her mum's. Elsie's great gr...