Don’t Quote Me – But this is wonderful
Sleep, the final frontier. That undiscovered country from whose Bourne no traveller has returned that makes us rather seek out new planets, soft you now. Hold on. I’m getting Shatner and Shakespeare mixed up again. It’s sleep depravation.
The constant whine of the parent. Hello, I ‘m Didsbury Dad and I was face down in the focaccia after a night with so much bed-hopping it was like Freshers Week at the Borgias. Even the cats moved from one side of the couch to the other chasing the final hurrah of the summer sun before they hibernate and get jabbed by the babies.
The twins are 1 this week. They stumble around the house with robotic lurches and fear-free charges. The cats’ bowl, flap and tails are magnets and watching the two nappy-wrapped bottoms take the stairs like a climbing wall is one of life’s indulgent little pleasures. Didsbury Son and I commentate as they wriggle past the “Welcome Home” banner that is now a permanent artwork and family heirloom. Even my own Didsbury Dad won the bet on a visit as Pearl-Haired girl nimbly left my little tank trailing in her wake. Their delight when they reach the top – with no plan as to what they do next is a fabulous antidote to the time-coded minutiae of everyday life.
Each movement is now accompanied by a babbling soundtrack of ascending intensity. My little blondini girl sways and dances to everything from the dishwasher to the 30th daily rendition of. “If You’re Happy and You Know It”. My tank boy sat transfixed through a whole Champions League match, knowing in 10 years we will be in the same position, doing the same thing, with our hands on the same packet of snacks.
Aah – Had we but world and time, a small step for a grown up – a giant leap for a baby. If only Everyday was like Sunday; we could mooch all day.
(Play Morrissey – Everyday is Like Sunday here and hum gracefully)