beckity

2011 didn't start off too well. I was lying on a camp bed on the floor of a children's hospital ward as the fireworks screamed all around. I got a 'bonne année' from the mummy of the baby in the next cot, and the nurses popped champagne corks in the corridors, but I wasn't too thrilled about this new year. Baby Elsie was red and sweating in her cot, overcome with a fatigue I wasn't used to seeing, and I was sick with worry about this little creature who had only been alive a few precious months. Those sleepless nights in the hospital gave me plenty of time to worry about another central figure in my life. I thought about Mum; in between chemo, the prospect of a transplant and difficult months of recovery ahead. We spoke on the hospital phone; words of encouragement about Elsie doing little to calm my distracted mind. Elsie recovered, the hospital non the wiser for what had brought her in. We continued to get used to our new roles as paren...

She knocks the tower over, triumphant squeals despite the fact that this is not the first, not even the tenth time this has happened in the past few minutes. She toddles over to the scattered blocks and I scan the shelves for something else. Elsie may not be bored of the build-tower-topple-tower-build-tower game, but Mummy needs something new. Spotting the perfect thing to draw my little girl away from her beloved blocks, I bring the bird to my lips and give a short sharp blow. The bird lets out a squawk and Elsie turns her head quickly, letting the blocks fall to the ground and allowing herself to be drawn to this new game. She comes over quickly, head tilted slightly, the edge of her mouth drawn upwards giving away the anticipation she feels. I bring the bird back to my mouth and blow into the wooden whistle again, seeing her face lift as the magic repeats. Soon her hand is out, reaching for the toy and I hand it over explaining what to do. ‘Just like bubbles’ I explain, as she p...

She looks over to the box, filled with its furry bodies, legs and ears poking out of the top, a muddle of genderless animals waiting to be cuddled. She toddles over and, not seeing what she wants, starts pulling at the limbs, flinging the teddies to the left and right as she searches for Teddy, her special bear. Once he has been located with a triumphant ‘Eddy!’ she clutches him to her body with an arm, left hand holding on to a fluffy ear, right thumb locked firmly in her mouth. She wanders into the hall and catching sight of herself in the mirrored cupboard door, pauses a moment, watching herself cuddling the bear. She seems to like what she sees and gives herself a grin, even takes out the thumb in order to see her whole face. A sideways glance as she moves away and she’s on to the next thing, trailing Teddy behind her.

I got three presents for Elsie's birthday. When Elsie started at nursery, she was miserable. She cried when she was dropped off, she cried when the nursery staff put her on the ground to play, she cried when she was picked up and she was clingy and nervous at home. The first two weeks were not fun. Slowly though, slowly it improved. First I noticed the changes at home. Instead of needing to see us at all times, Elsie started toddling off to other rooms while we got on with other things. She cried less, clung less. Next the reports from the nursery staff changed. She stopped crying when they put her down to play and seemed more settled. On Elsie's birthday I went to pick her up as usual. Generally when I show up, Elsie has been put in a highchair and is watching the other children, tired after a long day, her thumb in her mouth and the other hand clutching her doudou. On her birthday for the first time, I looked into the room and saw her before she saw me. She had her doudou i...

One minute the biscuits are on the table, the empty pot lying discarded by the beaker. The next, she's scooped the biscuits into the pot, the top is on and she's shaking them like a rattle. Impressed, I congratulate her on her genius and pick her up, out of her highchair. When I set her down on the floor she sets off at quite a pace. Straight into the wall.

I cut half the mango into baby-hand sized chunks, and use the knife to push them into Elsie's bowl. 'Mango?' I ask her, as she follows me out to the dining table. She looks up expectantly, so I scoop her up, slotting her legs into her highchair holes and her arms into her long-sleeved big. She leans towards the mango, and soon has a chunk in each hand, the juice dripping off her chin and a look of content concentration as she chews. I bring the other half from the kitchen and take a bite. It's a good ripe one. For a moment the two of us share a happy quiet moment. Suddenly, Elsie stops chewing, drops one of her chunks and points her finger at my hand, and the remainder of the mango. 'Elsie', I start, 'this is Mummy's mango. It's exactly the same as yours, just not cut up. You eat yours and if you want some more later, I'll give you some.' Her mouth pouts, but she follows my pointing finger and takes a fresh chunk from her bowl. I put mine...

In Brussels shops and on the streets The people point and stare Oh Elsie, what are we to do About your crazy hair? It sticks straight up, no brush or breeze Persuade it to lie flat And you just smile out at the world Despite being laughed at It doesn't bother me at all I think it's cute as hell Your eyes and smile so beautiful A punk with no hair gel I just hope all that sniggering Does not upset your mood You're not defined by how you look That pointing is just rude Hold up your head, ignore them all Keep your happy face Be proud of it, that fuzzy crown That takes up so much space And if it starts a complex, chick We'll all be here for you With kisses, love and, if you want Some shrink therapy too