Mayday - 2019

I haven’t written to you for a while. I do it when I feel it. Sometimes it’s not there, and then it returns, on a breeze, willing me to put down our memories for the future. To write is to fulfil the requirement, and then I blow it away again, like a dandelion seed head.

So, you’re 8 years old. I’ve just been to watch you dance around the Maypole for the Mayday celebrations at your school. I will treasure these memories. You’ll be grown up before I know it and I can feel it coming. I don’t fear it, as such. I just feel it. The passing of time once happened way up in the stratosphere. It happened without me noticing. Like wispy white clouds blowing away in a blue sky. Now I feel it all around me like a paper thin silk veil blowing and draping over my body as I walk. It touches my face, my arms, my body and my legs. It’s soft and gentle, not heavy, just there to lightly remind me.

You have seemed older recently. You are moving from young child to older girl so seamlessly and effortlessly that I barely notice. But if I stop for a moment, and pay attention to your chatter, I notice that it has changed. You ask if I am ok a lot. You tell me about your learning at school. You tell me what’s happened that day on the playground and who has been kind and who hasn’t. You still want to write, to paint and to draw. You talk about creation. You ponder on the big questions. You talk kindly about everyone and you care so much. You put other people’s needs before yours and you care about those with less than you. You adore your cat, Penny, with everything you have and I will be forever grateful for that funny and impulsive day when we looked at each other and said “shall we get a cat?”

You playing 'rock paper scissors' with Penny

You read everything and you devour books with such joy, especially Tom Gates books. You also love Lord of the Rings and Minecraft. I never tried to steer you, and never will, but, somehow, I knew that you wouldn’t be a princess and unicorn kind of girl.

Tonight you asked if you and Annie could be sisters. I said it wouldnt be possible because a Mummy needs 9 months to grow a baby and you and Annie only have a month between you. You thought for a moment and responded with, “Mummy, tapir babies take 13 months to grow in their Mummies’ tummies!”

You still love babies and you talk incessantly about having your own one day. It was Easter a couple of weeks ago. We discussed that the Easter bunny is actually Mummy. You were grateful that you knew the truth because, apparently, if I’d never told you, you would have waitied for him when you had your own children and they wouldn’t have got any eggs! Oliver did your Easter egg hunt this year and he was much better than any rabbit anyway.

I’ve just tucked you into bed. I read The Royal Rabbits of London for your bedtime story. I’ve read to you every night that I could, since you were born and we still do our “moon and back million times” routine and sing “You are my sunshine.” You are changing every day before my very eyes, but you hold tightly to our funny little ways and traditions and that is one of the many reasons that I love you with every fibre of my being. See you in the morning sweetie x

“And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.” 
- Galadriel: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings

A new year begins

The other day I read an old post from when you had just turned three. I can't quite believe that are now six. Six whole years old. To me, you are the most brilliant, caring and wonderful six year old. You cherish everything and I never want that to stop. School, family, friends, home, learning, adventures, music and stories. 

Whilst I had a coffee the other day, you decided to read a book filled with paintings. Well, you looked at the pictures. You said that one picture you looked at made you think of somewhere really calm. Where the day goes slowly and no one needs to rush.Then you got to one which made you feel lonely, tired and empty. "It kind of makes me feel invisible Mummy." I could listen to your chatter for hours. Your six year old thoughts are so mesmerising to me.

There is a lot being written at the moment about kids being kids, toys being toys, and gender stereotypes being outlawed. I want to see us really letting kids be kids. I have an overwhelming desire for us all to stop intervening. You should pick your own toys, pink or blue, dinosaur or princess. I want, more than anything, to just let you be. Sometimes I want to shout out loud for people to give you some space. I don't because interaction with other people is important and, well, it would be rude! I am also very aware that my need for peace is not yours. It is just a very strong instinct in me. I am most relaxed when you have the space to exist at your own pace and in your own way. 

I want you to relish in a nature documentary as much as in an episode of Paw Patrol. To watch Harry Potter, Star Wars, The Sound of Music and Frozen. To visit art galleries and antique shops as well as toy shops and funfairs. I just want you to see, hear, smell and feel all that the world has to offer and not just a wrapped up, glitzy version of what grown-ups think is entertainment for you. It is a fine balance. I type this as we finish watching Minions together on a rainy day.

We spend the last day of 2016 in London together. A lot of people say that 2016 was a really bad year. There is a lot going on in the world right now and you'll learn about it soon enough. I just want you to always remember to not to be scared, to be proud, to care about people and to give everything to what you believe in. Gently change the world by giving everything that you can in your little corner and through positivity and hope. There isn't enough of that stuff and you, my little girl, are brimming with it. 

At six years old you mean the absolute world to me. I love every fibre of your being and can't bear the thought of you being disappointed or being scared and alone. But I do know that you will feel these things. It will shape you as a person, a brilliant and wonderful person. I will keep giving you as many experiences as I can. That is what I feel that my job is right now and I will never tire of your expectant little six year old face asking me, "where are we going to go next Mummy?" I can trace the outline of my heart and soul in your face. You embody all of my hopes and dreams and I just can't wait to see where you take them. 

Happy new year my darling little girl. Let's go and make some more memories.

"For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice" - T. S. Elliot

My baby

This weekend you have been very loving and stayed close to me. I've felt your soft little touch as I potter about the house, as I sit and relax, when we did Parkrun together and as I cook. Everywhere I've been, you haven't been far behind. I said to you that you'd been very cuddly. You said you just loved me a little bit more that day, with your palms upturned as they are when you're explaining something obvious. 

Me and you, Pescara, Italy ~ 2015

There are times when you drive me mad because you won't clean your teeth because your arms are too tired. Or you have a meltdown because you got ice cream on Right Bunny (screaming, "it didn't even land on her mouth so she could eat it. It's in her fuuuuuuuur!" - that happened today!) Or you behave as though I'm murdering you when I cut your finger nails, "not my little finger Mummy. It's just a baaaaaby!" Or you lose the tiniest dead leaf that you'd been keeping safe in your dungarees pocket and you scream that I have to find it, until something else catches your attention (that happened yesterday too!) 

But in spite of all that, my love for you is unquantifiable. It's beyond my reach. It's like outer space and it consumes me every day. You are part of me. My insides. Right now I want to hold you close and keep you there for ever. I want to freeze time with you at 4 years old. My beautiful 4 year old. I don't want to forget your sweet little voice chatting to yourself with your felt tips, your toys or your imaginary friends. Your perfect curls. Your big blue eyes. You told me that your little finger had grown a bit today. I said I wanted you to stay small and you said "I can't Mummy but I'll always be your baby."

My baby at Kokopelli Camping, Serramonacesca, Italy ~ 2015

Watching films together today 

I love you sweetheart.

My girl

I didn't give you life, I think that it gave you to me. That's how I see it anyway. You are just growing up, like any kid does. But whilst you do it, you are changing me, in a way that only having you can. You took the fragmented pieces of me when you were born and you held them in your little hands and gave them back to me, a completed puzzle. It all makes sense. I'm not superstitious, or religious, or all that spritual, but I believe that I was meant to have you. 

This morning you seemed sad. I asked you what was wrong and you said, "the thing is Mummy, there was going to be a carnival today in our house but all the actors are sick and it's cancelled." You looked so serious and sad. I couldn't reduce your make-believe carnival to something that's not real and doesn't matter, so I gave you a cuddle and we talked about rescheduling the carnival. 

I feel your emotions, as strongly as I feel my own. I laugh when you do, your tears are my tears, I feel your pain and share in your excitement. What I long for is that you will somehow see yourself through my eyes as you grow up. Care about yourself as much as I do and always want for yourself as much as I want for you. My little girl, my world. 

Love you  x

A Mummy/Molly Sunday

My story began in 1977. Yours in 2010. Separated by 33 years but intrinsically linked by the fibres of our beings. I relate to your questions and thoughts like I had them once myself. 

We watched the 1961 version of 101 Dalmations today. I remember being little, like you, and being frightened of Cruella De Vil and scared for the puppies. The voice of the narrator, the music and characters bring all those feelings back to me. The years between us dissolve away and I am 4 with you.

You absorbed every piece of the drama, emotion, plot and characters, talking your way through your obervations.

"Why doesn't the daddy doggy have puppies Mummy? Do Daddies not have babies from their tummies?" 

"Cruella's wand looks stinky Mummy" (cigarette)

"The nasty men know the puppies are disguised now do they Mummy?"

"Pongo's pets will be happy to have the puppies home for Christmas will they Mummy?"

"90 puppies and 2 grown up doggies makes 100 does it Mummy?" 

I love that my childhood memories can become yours

Today you called lasagne, lasagne instead of vasagne as you always used to. And you asked for breakfast in the conservatory, when it always used to be the inservatory. I've realised that one day you won't reach up to hold my hand, or want me to sit with you as you fall asleep or need Righty with you at night. I probably won't notice these things happen, like vasagne. So I'll treasure them while they do. 

Sweet dreams baby

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." ~ Roald Dahl

Growing up

I have come to learn, and strongly believe, that having you no more makes me a parent than having a cello would make me a cellist. To me, being your parent is about the guidance, inspiration, protection and support that I try to provide to you every day. I have had to learn and to change and better myself in order to be the person that I want you to learn from, and will continue to do so. The biggest job I want to excel at is teaching you to get along without me. That's really difficult when you're 4 and you look to me for everything. Subtly and gently though, I want to show you that women are independent, strong, and healthy with views on the world and no limits on what they can do. If I achieve nothing else, I want that message to be ingrained in your soul.

Sometimes people can fall short of their dreams, not be who they want to be or deny themselves opportunities. Not through any deliberate actions but through other people's preconceived ideas of the world and how things, how we, should be. My promise to you is that I will try to give you the tools and environment that you need to become who you want to be and I won't ever smother you with my own ideals or standards. I might be wrong (I sometimes am!) but it seems to me that inspiration and the space for free expression are the most important things that I can give to you. As I see it, if I'm wrong about that, it's better than being wrong about telling you how and who to be.

The other day I found you crying proper tears on your own in the lounge. You told me that your pretend baby girl had eaten a magic apple and died. You've asked about death a lot lately and it is hard for me to see your pure little mind working through such a difficult subject. But, it is all part of your development and we talk and I listen. And I will continue to listen as you grow and want to know about the world around you.

The next morning you woke up with some "sad news." Apparently, "Bluey had been bitten by a lobster." You look for a reason to care for those around you and Bluey's distress at being bitten by a lobster meant that she needed you. I love that you wanted to be there for her.

Bluey

I know that I will play a part in giving you the strength to grow. I feel that most when I go to you at night. You are too scared to leave your room with it's butterfly fairly lights providing a safe glow. Then you put your soft little hand in mine and you march into that dark hallway with purpose. At the moment, my hand can protect you from the dark, from big dogs, from roads and from monsters. That makes me so very happy.  

Sweet dreams baby. 

In Cambridge on my birthday

"You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls." ~ J M Barrie, Peter Pan

A number of tricky subjects....

One of my hardest challenges, as your mummy, is to fight my overwhelming urge to protect you from everything. To wrap you up in the softest wool and to keep you warm and happy as I did when you were born. 

The easiest thing is to try and protect you from experiencing sadness, rejection or disappointment and to shield you from the world, the real world. But that would be wrong. I cannot bear you being sad but, more than that, I cannot bear the thought of you living in a sterile bubble in which you don’t feel the raw emotions which will shape you as a little person. It is a battle though. A battle against my instincts. I can't fight them but I can work hard to manage them so that they don't smother you. Tell me if I smother you. I'll try to stop. Nature's not my call. Nurture is the one I can work on. This is where I can try to prepare you for the world in the best way I know how whilst giving you the space to find your own way too  

Yesterday you told me about your day at school, well, the bit that stood out for you: 

"My best friend got shut in a drawer. I told the teacher and she helped him to get out"

I told you it was good to look out for your friends.

"It is Mummy. And if one is missing you should always check the drawers"

A good life lesson.

This week also saw you asking me what the army do? I explained that they protect our country and keep us safe. "From aliens, and bears and dragons you mean Mummy?" You're not ready to hear about holy wars and the liberation of far off nations from oppressive regimes. We'll stick with bears for now. "Mummy? Bears only live in hot countries, right? It's cold here isn't it?" It's ok sweetie, there are no bears here....aside from the friendly one from Peru that is....

And tonight, my biggest parenting challenge to date. "Mummy, you won't ever die, will you?" Help! Caught off guard, I couldn't speak. You saw my panic. You read my facial expression. The edges of your mouth turned down. The tears started rolling. I spluttered some incoherent words about everyone dying one day and moved on as fast as I could. You were sobbing. Too late. Through the sobs, "I don't want you to die Mummy." What do I do? What do I do? "MUMMIES NEVER DIE!" I blurted. Ahhh, calm. That went well. Another day maybe? We've got loads of time.

My crazy-haired baby

Night night baby. I love you.

"Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly 

Birds fly over the rainbow 
Why then, oh why can't I?" ~ Judy Garland (1939)

Happy New Year ~ 2015

When you came along I began to experience everything again. Yet for the first time. Through your eyes. Through your questions:

"Mummy, how does the sugar factory make sugar?"

"Mummy, is Rudolph's nose bright to light the way so Father Christmas doesn't crash the sleigh and drop all the children's presents?"

"Mummy, when I was a baby, how did I tell you if I was cross?" 

We were listening to Simon & Garfunkel in the car today. You laughed "A person can't be an island, can they Mummy?" 

I try to impartially explain the world to you in a way you will understand. You have so much to learn. You missed going to "big school" in September because you were born in October. I hated your disappointment when your friends went up but now I see you, the oldest in playgroup. Helping the new "little ones". Looking after them. Showing them the way and taking on responsibilities. The curriculum can wait. I love watching you care and grow as a person. A brilliant little person. 

You don't ever want anyone to be disappointed. You won't ever pitch those around you against each other and won't tell anyone that they have failed or lost without rubbing their arm to comfort them and telling them that "practice makes perfect". No prejudices. You just care. I can't quite believe that my tiny little baby is now someone that I learn from every single day.

At 4 years old, with 2 imaginary friends, a keeness for all things pirate, a strong sense of empathy, an unbreakable bond with a rabbit comforter and the prettiest bright blonde curls you are a perfect mixture of your own personality and the world around you. Don't ever change baby. 

Because of you I've learnt to look after myself, to better myself, to be strong and to be your inspiration. I want you, my little girl, to be whoever you want to be and to aim for the stars. If I don't, I can't expect you to. 

Happy New Year sweetheart. I love you.

"For last year's words belong to last year's language 

And next year's words await another voice." ~ T.S.Eliot, Little Gidding (1942)

We're nearly there

When you had been in my tummy for 20 weeks, they took your picture inside my tummy and they told me that you had Talipes (Clubfoot). I was scared and sad. Now, I read posts on sites from other parents who are scared and sad at the beginning of their journeys. I want to share our journey to help the other mummies and daddies. I've written about this before (http://laurahigh1977.blogspot.com/2014/06/chapter-1-talipes.html) but now...now we are less than a year from never having to wear your boots and bar again and we should always remember this journey, for us and for others. 

I took this picture today. 4 years ago, we didn't know what our Talipes journey had in store for us

A lot of people don't know what Talipes is. A lot of people think that Clubfoot means one big foot. It doesn't. Here's a picture. It just means that your foot is twisted around the wrong way.

Image via nursingcrib.com

After about 4 weeks of casting, the doctors had repositioned your little foot and you were ready for your boots and bar. These would hold your feet shoulder width apart with a metal bar for 23 hours a day for 3 months then 12 hours a day until you were 5. Until you were 5! That felt like forever. It may be a cliché but time flies by so fast. To the other Mummies and Daddies just starting out on this journey, never, ever dwell on the Talipes or you'll miss the other things and that stuff is way more precious. 

I cried all my tears when you were in my tummy. Once we had embarked on the journey together I was done with my tears and was ready to be strong with you. My only focus was making sure that your treatment was no big deal and as routine as putting on socks. It worked. You slept through for 13 hours a night from being a little baby until.....well, you still do. Your boots and bars are just like pyjamas. You don't question them. I mentioned tonight that you won't have them when you're 5. You looked sad and said that you'd miss them. You asked if we can keep them for your teddy.

Your boots and bar and Right Bunny

My amazing little girl who takes everything in her little, but perfect, stride x

"We can only look, behind from where we came...."

Today I have been more acutely aware of your advancing journey from being a baby to being a little girl. Your drawing has come on from just recognisable shapes to actual Father Christmas!

Your language is changing from the basic use of only the necessary words to, "my butterfly light catcher looks just so amazing Mummy" and, when I (clearly) won the race across The Brinkley Lion's carpark today you shouted, "we will see about this  Mummy" as you raced past me to the new finish line declaring, "better luck next time Mummy!" as you finished. Every day you sound more grown up and I don't see it happen. It's like trying to see a flower grow. 

In 2010, in your little Moses basket

This morning I watched you sing along to all of the words to Joni Mitchell's 'Circle Game'. 

I didn't know that you knew all the words but we've baked cakes, biscuits, quiches, jam tarts and all sorts of other things to Joni Mitchell for as long as you've been able to stand on a chair beside me. You call it "our baking music" and I am so happy that it has soaked into you. I know now that when you're older and you hear Joni Mitchell it will evoke memories of us. Her music will be woven into the tapestry of your being and will remain for ever. It's just how it works. 

You, today

"Yesterday a child came out to wonder

Caught a dragonfly inside a jar

Fearful when the sky was full of thunder

And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We're captive on the carousel of time

We can't return we can only look

Behind from where we came

And go round and round and round

In the circle game...."

Night night sweetie.

You're 4!

You have changed so much in this past year. From a squishy toddler into a beautiful, caring, inquisitive and thoughtful little girl with the apparent wisdom of someone far beyond her 4 years. 4, I can't believe you're 4! Although I am painfully aware that I'll be saying, I can't believe you're 14 before I know it so here's me, capturing our lives in letters so as to cherish each stage for ever. 

We went to Cambridge today to spend your birthday money. You chose a Mr Men book, a story about a boy who befriends a whale...

 ...a marble run game...

..,and a little bag of gemstones and a yo-yo. I can't pinpoint it exactly but a combination of the city, the season, the sunshine and you made me so very happy today. 

Sitting on the wall together by the little round church in Cambridge, we ate our jelly beans

In the lift in the car park today you, as you always do, clung to my leg in case the lift light went out and you wouldn't be able to find me, in the 2ft by 2ft space! I put my hand reassuringly on the side of your face holding you close to me, as if to try and stamp my protective instinct into you, like pushing a coin into clay, leaving an imprint forever. You must remember though, no single person should ever be your everything. That's not to say "don't love," just don't forget to be there for yourself. Look after yourself. Always know how to make yourself happy. Be considerate to others and never stop caring. If you can do this I know you'll be just fine. And then so will I. 

Have fun being 4 sweetie.

“She made herself stronger by fighting with the wind.” ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

"Is that a real pyramint Mummy?"

"Do you mean pyramid? 

"No Mummy, you're saying it wrong"

"But it's called a pyramid"

"I know Mummy, that's what I said" ~ Me and you, just now watching Despicable Me