I have been listening to Woman's Hour on Radio 4 again this morning, as I do most mornings. The discussion was about choosing to have children versus choosing to remain childless. I was reminded of a piece which I wrote a while ago. Coincidentally, my thoughts have been on babies and children for the past few days, as our younger child turned twenty yesterday. Finally, the teenage years are over. A new chapter is beginning. Here is the piece.
I Wish them Luck the young married couple next door have decided to have a baby good for them I wish them luck No really, I do But I also wish someone would tell them, and I know that no-one will and even if they did, the poor souls would not listen to a word of it, that they are not just having a baby – they will be having a tiny infant who cries in the night and demands their attention - their attention no-one else is going to attend to its needs they will have to and they alone or together if they choose a teething, gurning one year old who cries in the night and demands to be soothed not just once, but many times a defiant toddler who says No before he learns to say Yes, or please, who lies on his back on the floor and kicks his feet and screams very loudly when he does not get his own way, and produces large amounts of tears, snot and poo, generally into nappies and eventually, after you have worked out some sort of system or read a very clever book, but probably mostly just listened to your own mum, into the toilet. a small child who socialises with other small children and learns things from them, not just from you. Words like bum and fart and other useful terms for bodily functions a small child who has to go to school but may not understand why this is so who may go there the first day, come home and say – so, I’ve been there, where do I go tomorrow? a small child who asks interminable questions, usually in the car at roundabouts or hazardous crossings or while you are trying to remember who you are, where you work and what you should have with you in order to do that work. A functioning brain is often helpful, but scarily difficult to retain. a slightly larger child who likes to have friends round to play which necessitates conversing with other parents, which often leads to comparisons which are nearly always, no in fact are always distinctly unhelpful. Especially if their smart little Alec can read before he enters primary 1 So, the slightly larger child sounds a bit easier – yes and no – they still go to bed largely when you say so you know where they are all the time , as you have a calendar strapped to your person at all times so that you don’t forget to collect them from swimming/judo/karate/piano/French lessons, but they have by now decided what they do and don’t like to eat. So you eat what they eat. Do you like being an eight year old again? No, I didn’t think so. Best to feed then what you have, if you possibly can. Excellent. The even larger child is lurching towards being a teenager. A word that did not exist in recent times. well, when I was one, I wasn’t. It wasn’t. They weren’t. There weren’t any. Well, there were, but they didn’t know that they were. If you see what I mean. Maybe you still are one. And have just had a baby. How scary is that? So, the teenager emerges from the cocoon of puberty, only they don’t hide away much. And they’re quite noisy. Play loud music. Assert their rights. Without taking any responsibility. Treat parents like slaves. Only worse. But then that’s probably our fault. And then, eventually, this tiny infant, baby, small child, bigger child, big child, teenager, becomes a … human being so, not a baby, then? no, a lot, lot more than that. be careful what you wish for.
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Happy New Year. I hope that 2014 brings peace, health and happiness to you, wherever you may be.
I am constantly drawn to the sea. Whether it is stormy, calm or something in between it is constant and reassuring in a way that is hard to explain. Instead of trying to do so myself, here is a verse of "Sea Fever" by John Masefield. Which sums it up rather well, I think. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. PROCRASTINATION Putting off the evil hour Running away from chores Owing much to others Costing us much more. Running rings around ourselves And setting pointless tasks Stand and watch the world go by Till someone comes and asks… Is it you that does this job? Not I, you sadly say, Another does these things That I once did, one day I only think about it now Or talk about it, even Not doing things is not the way To get oneself to heaven. December 2001 gift-buying string-tying present-choosing list-losing too-much-costing fondant/frosting? card-sending never-ending friend-remembering bird-dismembering tree-trimming eyes-brimming mulled-wining over-dining stocking-filling jelly-chilling over-indulging belly-bulging Christmas Contemplating Oddness
The odder we are, the odder we think we are, But are we odd, or do we just think because Others aren’t the same - that we’re insane, Or somewhat odder than they are? But what is ‘odd’ And what is ‘sane’? The answer is odd itself. It cannot be found, For everyone’s bound To be odd, Some odder than others Because the others are, they think, Less odd than they are. This morning I read something online that reminded me of this poem, which I wrote in my teens. I still feel the same way. |
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