Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 (31 page)

It’s all very well, but I’m the one who’s going to have to put the fucking thing up, aren’t I?

Baby’s first birthday also gives friends and relatives the chance to celebrate… and in certain cases, a chance to alleviate the guilt of avoiding you like the plague for a year because you now have a screaming ball of mucus and poo with you at all times.

Our lounge is veritably
stuffed
with expensive plastic brightly coloured crap when we bring Pops down at seven in the morning.

‘Ooh! Look Poppy! Look at all the lovely presents!’ Laura says in as excited a voice as she can muster at this hour.

Naturally Poppy couldn’t give a monkey’s about any of it, and is far more interested in the water stain on the ceiling I’ve been meaning to paint over for months. Her little finger points at it imperiously – a damning indictment on my DIY skills.

‘I’m making coffee,’ I say and shuffle off into the kitchen.

By the time I’ve put together two cups of awful coffee and shuffled back into the lounge, Poppy is cruising – sorry, wobble-grabbing – her way around the room while her mother desperately tries to elicit some kind of interest regarding the hundreds of pounds worth of baby toys now littering every surface.

‘Look at this Poppy!’ Laura waggles a badly wrapped stuffed giraffe in Poppy’s face. ‘You want to open it with mummy?’

Not a fucking chance. Poppy’s far more interested in the bloody Sky Plus box again. I hustle over to stop her electrocuting herself.

Laura then takes it upon herself to open the giraffe and hand it to Poppy, who gives it a squeeze, points at the water stain again and goes in search of more mischief, abandoning the poor stuffed giraffe to its own devices behind the fish tank.

For the next twenty minutes, Laura and I unwrap everything, while Poppy ignores us. She means to wobble-grab her way around the room at least five times this morning dammit – and there’s not a thing we can do to stop her. It’s like she’s decided on her daily work-out regime and intends to stick to it come hell or high water.

I eventually give up on trying to interest her and start unwrapping presents on the sofa. Poppy is across the other side of the room with Laura, pointing up at the fish tank and calling the clown fish a cunt.

…we’re really going to have to wean her off that at some point.

I’m down to the last present. It’s a small one, from my idiot brother Chris.

It’s amazing we even have a gift from him. He’s missed my birthday six years in a row now. He must have felt really guilty about not visiting us more this year.

It’s a ball of some kind. Even Chris’s hideous attempt at wrapping can’t disguise it.

I open it and give it a once over. It’s purple and squishy, and when you whack it with your hand a light comes on at its centre and it plays a tinkley little tune.

I give the thing a half-hearted wallop and hold it out while it glows and sings to itself.

‘Jamie look,’ I hear Laura say.

I gaze over and see Poppy absolutely transfixed. Gone are thoughts of water stains and Sky boxes. If the clown fish is a cunt, my daughter no longer cares. The purple squishy ball is her entire life now.

From where she stands leaning against the television, Poppy takes a step towards me. Laura’s arms shoot out.

‘Hang on! Let’s see what happens,’ I say.

‘I don’t want her to hurt herself.’

‘Sweetheart, this baby has survived a bout of pneumonia, being abandoned in a department store and near drowning… I’m sure she’ll be fine.’

Laura sits back on her heels.

‘Poppy!’ I call. ‘You want this?’ I hold out the ball. ‘Come and get it Poppy.’

She’s not sure. You can see the cogs in her brain whirring. She wants the ball, but there’s nothing between her and it. It will require walking without a handy couch or TV to lean on.

‘C’mon Poppy!’ I repeat, vaguely aware that I sound like I’m calling a dog.

‘Go on Pops. Go to daddy,’ Laura says, getting into the spirit of it.

‘Munna wobba mummy dadda,’ Poppy tells us in a serious voice.

I waggle the ball again.

Poppy holds out one hand…

And then, ever so carefully, ever so
daintily
, my gorgeous, glorious, wonderful daughter – the centre of my universe – takes her first step forward.

Laura’s Diary

Sunday, November 30th

It was incredible, Mum.

One second she was clinging to the telly for support, the next she was walking.

It was wobbly, slightly unsure and threatened to send her into the fireplace at any moment, but they were Poppy’s first true steps.

And what a day to happen!

My heart leapt into my mouth and I could see Jamie trembling as Poppy reached out one podgy little hand and tottered towards her father, eyes fixed on the weird little purple ball Jamie’s brother had bought.

As I watched her cross the room, tears filled my eyes.

Mostly tears of happiness of course, but I think there was a part of me that felt a slight sense of loss in those brief moments between television and sofa. Everything would change now. Poppy would no longer be a baby, she was entering into the uncertain – but wholly fascinating – world of the toddler.

This no doubt meant my stress levels were about to rise even higher, but that’s par for the course when you have children, I suppose.

The most beautiful part of Poppy’s first walk is when she reaches Jamie. I was expecting her to simply grab the ball and bounce into the sofa next to him, but instead her pace actually slows as she reaches him. One gentle hand goes onto the ball and she looks up at him, face full of wonder.

‘Daddy,’ she says in the sweetest, clearest tone I’d ever heard her use.

‘Yes honey, it’s daddy.’ Jamie’s voice is thick with emotion. ‘You want the ball?’

Her other hand reaches out and she lifts the ball from his grasp, staring at it intently.

Jamie looks at me over her. It’s the same look he had on his face when he asked me to marry him.

I wish –
oh God, I only wish
– that I will see that look on his face a thousand more times in my life.

Poppy simply stands studying her new toy. It probably cost all of a fiver, but is providing her with more joy than the plethora of expensive gifts that surround us.

‘Poppy,’ I say in a quiet voice. ‘Why don’t you show mummy the ball?’

Jamie is standing slowly and reaching for the digital camera.

I put my arms out.

Tears are rolling down my face, so I smile broadly. I don’t want my newly ambulant daughter to think I’m upset. ‘Come here Poppy. Come and show mummy.’

‘Mummy!’ Poppy cries and giggles, holding the ball towards me.

Now I’m shaking. It’s all a bit too much for this girl. We expected to be giving Poppy presents today, but she’s given us the best gift imaginable.

Pops starts to make a move back over to me.

It seems that with each and every step she gets stronger, her gait steadier. Not for the first time I am reminded of how fast babies develop - of how quickly they change.

Jamie knows this too, as he snaps away with the camera like a man possessed.

We ended up taking over one hundred pictures of
Poppy
walking on her birthday. Our Facebook profiles will not know what’s hit them.

Although it takes her but a few seconds to toddle back to my waiting arms, I savour each and every moment, each and every detail – burning them into my brain:

The bright, innocent smile on her face.

The minute wobble in her knees.

Her hair lifting from her forehead as she moves.

The way the purple ball pulses gently, lighting her perfect little fingers as she grasps its rubbery surface.

And above all, the sublime, high, happy laugh that seems to emanate from every part of her.

If a baby’s heartbeat is the sound of the universe, then her laughter is surely the sound of its creator.

I take my giggling daughter in my arms and wrap her tightly in them.

Jamie joins us, crouches down and puts one arm around me. The camera is forgotten for the moment.

As Poppy plays with her new toy, Jamie kisses my forehead. ‘I think we did alright sweetheart,’ he says in a soft voice.

‘Yeah.’ I offer him a lop-sided smile. ‘So far, anyway.’

I believe it too.

We
have
done alright.

In fact, we’ve done
better
than alright in my book.

For two people completely ill-equipped to bring a baby into the world, we’ve negotiated ourselves to this happy point, where our daughter is healthy, happy and loved.

Through illness, calamity, embarrassment and exhaustion we’ve stayed together – all three of us - keeping smiles on our faces most of the time.

I don’t know what lies in the future.

There are bound to be hiccups along the way.

Given how ridiculously her parents have behaved in the past, I’m sure Poppy will make her fair share of mistakes.

But that’s okay, because Jamie and I will always be there for her.

That’s what we do now.

And knowing that – more than anything else – makes me love and miss you harder and deeper than ever before, Mum.

If I can do half as good a job of loving Poppy as you did with me, I’ll be the best mother in the world.

To the future, to the past, and to this wonderful moment with the sound of my daughter’s laughter ringing in my ears.

Your happy daughter – and an even happier mother – Laura.

xxx

Poppy’s iTalk

December 02 2031

OMG!

I’m spacing, Hayles.

Full on weirded out here…

The units gave me this messed up present for the b-day.

On a flashy I got dad’s blog he used to write way back in the day. Mum scanned her old diary onto it as well.