It's no use looking out the window, punkin. Your grandma won't be here for a few days yet.
The visit of grandparents is something that will no doubt occur on many occasions throughout your life, and likely take many different forms.
Take, for example, the following case. Your Grandad and Fabulous Aunt Jann came over to look after you for a few hours on Sunday. Ostensibly, it was so that your mother and I could go and visit a lovely photographic exhibition, but I think there may have been an ulterior motive, namely your dad's giant TV and the Carlton game.
Your mum and I got home, after grabbing some food on the way, to find our house occupied by your Unky Dave as well. Luckily your father had had the foresight to buy a sixpack of lovely beer to go with lunch, so everyone was happy. It's this kind of shambolic happy coincidence of food and wine that makes weekends so fabulous sometimes. We all sat and talked and watched the footy (yes, punkin, Carlton lost) and ate and drank and laughed.
On its way now is an extended edition of that type of joy. Your grandparents, your cousin Declan, your Aunt Marie, your Great Aunt Anne, your mum and me, we'll all be spending time with you in the coming days. Your grandparents will be arriving on Thusday morning, which is two sleeps for me, but about 9 for you, and Declan and his mob will turn up on Monday.
No-one has to go to work, no-one has any other commitments. I forsee autumn walks in the park, I see going to the market, I see long lunches and sleeping in. I see you and Declan getting more than your fair share of snuggles and tickles, cuddles and kisses. I see the pop of flashbulbs and hear the whirr of cameras working overtime. I hear the pop of winecorks and the raucous laughter of extended families.
In short, punkin, we're going to have a ball.
Love you.
August 09, 2005
August 05, 2005
Exploring Extremities
It's been a joy and a privilege previously discussed, punkin, getting to watch you grow and become more aware of your surroundings. Your latest discovery belongs at the end of your legs, and are called feet. You're incredibly interested in the workings of these devices, but I'm not sure that you've figured out that they're permanently attached yet. Given that it's the middle of winter, you don't get to see them very often, so perhaps you will get better acquainted with them in the summer.
Speaking of summer, we got some very exciting news last night. Your Aunt Emma phoned us (yes, you have an Aunt Emma, don't worry about the details right now, suffice to say that she's been there for many of the most momentous moments in your mum's life, and that she's anxious to see you). Emma lives in Scotland and England (which is pretty clever of her, if you ask me, to live in two countries at once), and it seems that she and her beau Adam have come into some funds. I immediately said that they should spend said fundage on something ludicrously expensive, like spending summertime in Australia.
This struck as a particularly good idea, especially given how icky the winter is in Engerland (there's this cold, wet stuff called SNOW, punkin, and it's NOT NICE), and so it seems that Emma and Adam will be coming to spend Christmas with us.
This will make your first Christmas, punkin, very exciting, because all kinds of people will be here to meet you, along with your other 900,000,000 relatives. Of course, next Christmas could be a little bit different, but we'll talk about that later.
You'll notice that I haven't said anything about the fact that your grandparents are getting here in SIX DAYS.
That's because I'm terrified, and I'm trying to avoid thinking about it.
Love you.
Speaking of summer, we got some very exciting news last night. Your Aunt Emma phoned us (yes, you have an Aunt Emma, don't worry about the details right now, suffice to say that she's been there for many of the most momentous moments in your mum's life, and that she's anxious to see you). Emma lives in Scotland and England (which is pretty clever of her, if you ask me, to live in two countries at once), and it seems that she and her beau Adam have come into some funds. I immediately said that they should spend said fundage on something ludicrously expensive, like spending summertime in Australia.
This struck as a particularly good idea, especially given how icky the winter is in Engerland (there's this cold, wet stuff called SNOW, punkin, and it's NOT NICE), and so it seems that Emma and Adam will be coming to spend Christmas with us.
This will make your first Christmas, punkin, very exciting, because all kinds of people will be here to meet you, along with your other 900,000,000 relatives. Of course, next Christmas could be a little bit different, but we'll talk about that later.
You'll notice that I haven't said anything about the fact that your grandparents are getting here in SIX DAYS.
That's because I'm terrified, and I'm trying to avoid thinking about it.
Love you.
August 03, 2005
Quarterly Results
Bramston Pickle. Today is your 12 weekth birthday. This appears to be the point at which we swap from using weeks as the primary indicator for how old you are, to months. In which case your birthday isn't until tomorrow, at which point you will be officially 1/4 as of 1:32pm AEST.
I don't know that 1/4 is necessarily one of one's lifetime milestone birthdays, certainly to me it seems simultaneously like you've been here for no time at all, and that you've been here forever. My memories of your birth are as fresh as if they were yesterday, but your presence in our lives is so utterly overwhelming that it seems a lifetime ago that we were without you.
Posts that I wrote before you arrived strike me now as being written by a completely different person, one who had no concept of how astonishing you would be. I know that I keep harping on about my joy at being able to feel like I'm communicating with you, but I'm just trying to get across how I feel.
I got a chance this morning to talk to another new dad. A man I work with was able to say hello to his son (Tyson Jet L., if you don't mind) on the weekend, and his enthusiasm at showing me photos of his boy brought home to me how far we've both come in such a relatively short time. The mantle of 'dad' now hangs easier on my shoulders, the sound of it rolling around in my mouth no longer feels so strange.
At the same time, I feel like we're starting to get to know each other. I know that, when I lean over your bassinette in the moments after you wake, your smile is for me, that you know I'm your dad. When you snuggle closer to me while we're out and about, with you strapped onto my chest, it fills me with unspeakable pride that I'm the man you choose as your safe haven.
I haven't told you about this before, but here's a story about the day you were born.
After your various aunts and uncles had departed, your mother (who, unsurprisingly, was exhausted) had fallen asleep and I was left "holding the baby". When I took you to my chest, I was careful to hold you in my left arm. This, punkin, was so that I could use my right to fight off any wild dogs that burst into our hospital room. The strength that flowed through me in that moment, knowing that it was my job for the rest of my life to protect you, was more powerful than any emotion I'd felt before.
Since that moment, I've felt that way for every minute of every one of the days that you've been alive.
Love you.
I don't know that 1/4 is necessarily one of one's lifetime milestone birthdays, certainly to me it seems simultaneously like you've been here for no time at all, and that you've been here forever. My memories of your birth are as fresh as if they were yesterday, but your presence in our lives is so utterly overwhelming that it seems a lifetime ago that we were without you.
Posts that I wrote before you arrived strike me now as being written by a completely different person, one who had no concept of how astonishing you would be. I know that I keep harping on about my joy at being able to feel like I'm communicating with you, but I'm just trying to get across how I feel.
I got a chance this morning to talk to another new dad. A man I work with was able to say hello to his son (Tyson Jet L., if you don't mind) on the weekend, and his enthusiasm at showing me photos of his boy brought home to me how far we've both come in such a relatively short time. The mantle of 'dad' now hangs easier on my shoulders, the sound of it rolling around in my mouth no longer feels so strange.
At the same time, I feel like we're starting to get to know each other. I know that, when I lean over your bassinette in the moments after you wake, your smile is for me, that you know I'm your dad. When you snuggle closer to me while we're out and about, with you strapped onto my chest, it fills me with unspeakable pride that I'm the man you choose as your safe haven.
I haven't told you about this before, but here's a story about the day you were born.
After your various aunts and uncles had departed, your mother (who, unsurprisingly, was exhausted) had fallen asleep and I was left "holding the baby". When I took you to my chest, I was careful to hold you in my left arm. This, punkin, was so that I could use my right to fight off any wild dogs that burst into our hospital room. The strength that flowed through me in that moment, knowing that it was my job for the rest of my life to protect you, was more powerful than any emotion I'd felt before.
Since that moment, I've felt that way for every minute of every one of the days that you've been alive.
Love you.
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