Love

Amelie said she loves me. She wasn’t prompted, or under duress. It just came out yesterday while we were watching Come Dine with Me. Sadly, I wasn’t in the best of moods through one thing or another, mainly work, so the gravity of the statement was diluted and its weight added much later when Carla explained the moment again. It was a monumental statement that was lost due to issues that shouldn’t affect me as much as they do. And for that, I’m sorry Amelie.

On the way to work today I thought about this in great detail, and I wondered if Amelie knew what she meant by the word love. We’ve been saying it to her a lot. I generally tell her I love her before she goes to bed and before I leave for work. Carla, if Amelie hasn’t reciprocated, will prompt her to tell me she loves me too. But it’s forced and while nice to hear, I assume to Amelie it is no different than her saying hello, or asking to watch Baby Jake or Gigglebiz.

So when does saying love actually hold within it emotion? I’ll assume for the moment it is still a set response logged in Amelie’s mind that she has memorised and will deliver when it seems right. It’s hard for me to believe that Amelie knows what love is, when in actual fact the term is so wholly at times and infinite in its meaning. One person who declares they love another person might not be measured in the same way I measure my love for Amelie and Carla. Either could be at different strengths, or potency. I base my love on a visceral feeling. It has to stir every part of me and leave the spectrum of emotion in tatters. It can be at times an awful thing and makes me feel I would be better not to have ever loved. The reason being, I have two people in my life that I live for, and should anything happen to either of them every part of me would die, little by little, day by day, until I am wrecked and collapsed in pain. To love someone means to ache, to be bent over in agony, and to live out circumstances and scenarios that damage the heart forever. I do this a lot. If I’m travelling back home in my car and a traffic report details a crash on a road I know Carla might take after she’s picked up Amelie from nursery, the scenario plays out that she was the one involved in the crash, and it is not long before my eyes well and my throat aches. Illness, or the threat of something terminal, is another that bleeds me dry.

But love can also ascend you to the highest plain, mentally and emotionally. It is the best high and the worst downer. Loving someone means your life is never your own. It is someone else’s. If they become depressed, so do you. If they are happy, it lifts your heels. It is the need to exist and the want for an end. Love is a terrible thing, and some days, it best never to have had it. And this is why I am sure Amelie cannot comprehend its meaning.

But that said, recently she’s been running toward me, wrapping her arms around my leg and saying, “My daddy.” Amelie will do this in nursery, as if marking her territory and telling every other child that I am hers. She will also do it while I am talking to the neighbour, or Carla. To me, this is love in its infancy. She realises that I am someone special in her life, someone she can trust and who incites within her emotion that stretch from simple laughter to the comfort of protection. Maybe love does hold a meaning to her. Maybe her perfect little heart contains the vestiges of that which consumes mine. I am under no illusion there will be days she will hate me, but hopefully under all the angst, the bitterness, and apathy, the seed that is growing now will have developed strong roots, and when I’m gone, they will remains forevermore feeding her of my love.

The Flower That Refused To Be Red

Amelie, should you ever doubt yourself for being unique, or ever be criticised by others for looking at the world in a different way; if you ever find yourself on the fringe of life looking in at everyone else, or feel alone because no one else understands you, remember that you are never abandoned when you are loved, and that the loneliness you may feel is my own, so you will never be far from my hand.

Read the poem here. Don’t ever compromise. And know that flowers don’t always need to be red, nor green leaves be green. Always be the child who sees all the colours. I love you.


The little boy went first day of school
He got some crayons and started to draw
He put colors all over the paper
For colors was what he saw
And the teacher said.. What you doin’ young man
I’m paintin’ flowers he said
She said… It’s not the time for art young man
And anyway flowers are green and red
There’s a time for everything young man
And a way it should be done
You’ve got to show concern for everyone else
For you’re not the only one And she said…
Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than they way they always have been seen

But the little boy said…
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one

Well the teacher said.. You’re sassy
There’s ways that things should be
And you’ll paint flowers the way they are
So repeat after me…..

And she said…
Flowers are red young man
Green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they've always been seen

But the little boy said…
There are so many colors in the rainbow
So many colors in the morning sun
So many colors in the flower and I see every one

The teacher put him in a corner
She said.. It’s for your own good..
And you won’t come out ’til you get it right
And are responding like you should
Well finally he got lonely
Frightened thoughts filled his head
And he went up to the teacher
And this is what he said..

And he said…
Flowers are red, green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen

Time went by like it always does
And they moved to another town
And the little boy went to another school
And this is what he found
The teacher there was smilin’
She said…Painting should be fun
And there are so many colors in a flower
So let’s use every one

But that little boy painted flowers
In neat rows of green and red
And when the teacher asked him why
This is what he said..

And he said…
Flowers are red, green leaves are green
There’s no need to see flowers any other way
Than the way they always have been seen.

–Harry Chapin

Going Potty

That time has come around to potty training. Parents who have been through this process generally adopt a look of commiseration when you tell them this, or I have found that those who reflect on their own experiences age radically about ten years right before my eyes. I don’t really understand what the problem could be. How hard can it be to get your child to empty bowels and bladder on their potty? Well, very, is the short answer.

All that said, the process has been very relaxed so far. We’ve bought a potty, left it in the living room, and had Amelie sit on it a few times. We tell her to have wee, and she normally sits on it, stares enthusiastically between her legs, and after 30 seconds gets up and declares to us both, “I weed!” That the potty is dry as a bone doesn’t falter the smile on her face, or the praise we bestow upon her - and a few stickers as a reward for trying. In all, Amelie has actually weed thrice. There is something very exciting about this. I didn’t think the sight of urine would provide me with so much happiness, but these past three occasions have proved me wrong. Not too sure how my reaction will change once we begin “number two” training, but at the moment, she’s doing great.

Also, we all recently went to McDonalds. Shock, horror! I know, here I am preaching the benefits of having your child eat healthily, and how much hassle we’ve had getting the nursery to conform to our way of thinking, and we’re in the den of hydrogenated inequity. There’s no way to defend eating there other than it was cheap. Money, or lack thereof, can sway even the most rational of minds. We bought Amelie a Happy Meal. It came with one of those cheap toys, one we assumed would be something cute, or perhaps practical. Instead, it was a small music box that had a one minute recording of a famous pop song. The song was Jason Derulo’s Whatcha Say. There was no doubt the toy wouldn’t be of any interest to Amelie. How wrong we were. During the past few days we have been subjected to that excerpt at least four or five times a day. Amelie loves the damn thing! She’s also began to dance and sing to the song, using a marker pen as a microphone. It’s very sweet and makes Carla and I smile each time she does it. The lyrics are hard to understand through the cheap plastic speakers, so Amelie just mumbles a lot and finishes with a noise that sounds like “H-h-haaaayyy.” We’re thinking of downloading the song (and the lyrics) for a present. Maybe it can be her “deification” treat?

Bed Bouncing

When my parents shouted at me for bouncing on the bed when I was young, I assumed it was because they didn’t want me to damage the mattress. It’s not until Amelie began doing the same thing that I realised it wasn’t the bed they were worried about getting damaged, but me. I only know this because on Saturday Amelie jumped on our bed, landed awkwardly, and damaged her leg. She was being supervised at the time. I was holding her hands, and helping her jump. But I guess some things are meant to happen, if only to teach us all a valuable lesson.

As soon as she landed on the mattress, Amelie began to cry. She rubbed her right leg and under the weight of chest contractions informed both Carla and I that it hurt. I picked her up and walked her around the room, asking her to name the pictures on the wall, a technique that usually distracts her enough to stop the tears. It took some time but eventually it reined in the sobs and turned off the internal stop tap behind her eyes. We assumed at first that she may have dislocated something, so we checked the leg, gently pressing the ankle, shin and knee. Amelie didn’t cry or yelp. We gave Calpol and then tried to get her to stand, but she wasn’t for putting any weight on her leg. It was late, so we left it and put her to bed. I spent the night fluctuating between slumber and then jumping awake whenever I heard her from the monitor. I was curious if the pain was still present, and if so, if it was causing her distress. I had no idea, and had to wait until the morning. Amelie awoke and her first words were, “My leg hurting”. Not a good start. We tried to get her to walk again, but she was reluctant and wanted instead for Carla and I to carry her. We decided it was time to pay a visit to the doctor. Sunday meant we needed to go to a walk-in centre. Carla found one in Todmorden, about a twenty minute drive from our home. It was a new build so we assumed it would be better equipped. We arrived to find that due to NHS cut backs which came into effect on April 1st, the hours for the walk-in centre had been reduced. This meant we had to go to Rochdale, a place not as well equipped or as modern, or for that matter, desirable in any shape or form. But any reservations had to be put on hold. It was Amelie, after all.

We arrived to a waiting room at the A&E department full of sorrowful faces. We waited in the children’s area. A young baby boy, no more than 10 months, called Callum and had the most infectious smile I have seen on a baby since Amelie was born. Every time his parents lowered him to the ground, he was off crawling at breakneck speed into the corridor. There another girl, around Amelie’s age, there too. And I guess it was seeing other children, or wanting to mimic their actions, but Amelie began to take tentative steps around the room, holding onto the backs of chairs for support. We tried not to draw attention to it all, and just watched with a look of amazement, pride, and indecision to whether or not we should stay. One can never be too cautious with falls, or maybe that’s bangs to the head? Regardless, we stayed and was seen some forty five minutes later. The doctor was a wonderfully kind and sympathetic woman that maybe, if I have a criticism to give, wore too much foundation. She was used to dealing with children and had a box filled with toys and trinkets. For hurting her leg, Amelie received a ring with large ersatz crystal, a purple heart-shaped bangle and a hand mirror. The items kept her quiet through the examination, until that is she was asked to lie down. Amelie freaked out at this stage and no amount of gaudy costume Jewellery was going to shut her up. The doctor believed nothing was broken, nor were there any fractures. Most likely she had bruised her leg somehow. Amelie was asked to walk a little so the doctor could assess her gait. Carla and I held her hands and we walked up and down the corridor. I was just happy Amelie obliged the request and didn’t through a hissy-fit in the assessment cubicle. After that we were told to encourage her walking, and to provide regular doses of Calpol, and should it get worse over the next few days, to return. Obviously, away from the children in the waiting room, and the doctor, Amelie began saying her leg was hurting again and wanted us to carry her again. She did this throughout the day and it was agreed that I would spent the day off work with her, in case it had got worse over night and she wouldn’t be about to attend nursery.

The following morning Amelie complained about her leg, but did begin to take steps, some of which reminded me of the first taken by fawn or calf. We spent the day in each other’s company with little to complain about; I bathed her in the morning, watched Something Special, made her dinner, she refused it so I made something else, she slept, and then, to test the waters, I took her to nursery for the last hour to see how she handled being around the other children. It mostly a pleasant day with Amelie, save for when she woke up in a mood and didn’t want to leave the house. But then again, I’m not the most affable person when I’ve just woke up. We assume all will return back to normal, that her leg will gather strength and her walk return to normal. But I may find myself rebuking any further demands to bounce on the bed, just as my mother and father rebuked me, because it’s not that I don’t want Amelie to enjoy herself, or gain pleasure from the simplest of things, but because sometimes the pain in one person extends further into the hearts of others.

Great and Small

Before I began this blog, I intended it to document Amelie’s development, from her first steps to her first words. But what I have found from personal experience is that the BIG monumental occasions are firmly rooted in the mind, but all the little moments, that get lost in the flurry of life, are just as important as the big ones. I hope, when Amelie reads back on all these notes, there are enough minor achievements and quirks to form a greater picture of her youth as well as the larger because each is as important as the other. Which leads me nicely into one of the smaller moments. I picked up Amie from nursery last night. It was a warm, bright night, quite unusual for the time of year, so I promised her once we got back to the cottage we would go outside in the garden and kick the ball about. At first, she seemed more determined to watch “Justin” but once we got home and I had changed from work clothes to casual, and she into her wellington boots, her attention soon shifted to garden.

As promised, we began with a little kick around. Amelie favours her left foot when kicking, and as mentioned, prefers wellington boots to any other shoe (no surprise there). And so we kicked around a bit, and this then turned into me chasing Amelie, and then that turned into to a prolonged and tiring game of “up’ta sky”, and after that I pulled out the slides and Amelie spent a long time climbing them both and sliding down and climbing back up, and then sliding back down. It was nice, and gave me a few moments to catch my breath and rest my arm muscles after throwing her in the air. There was a moment of sadness too when the young boys from next door came out and began bouncing on their trampoline. Amelie heard them enter the garden and ran toward the fence, watching them from behind the wire like some little prisoner of war. And in those moments I tend to draw back to the garden bench and watch her watching them, and it’s such a sad image but I know that to try and call her over and engage with her would be futile because those boys are like the snake charmer’s flute. So I held back for a while, and then I sneaked up and lifted her over my shoulder so she was upside down and I pretended to be an ogre taking her away to his lair and she giggled and laughed and when I got to the top garden I sat her on the wall and we both remained quiet for a spell looking out over the fields and pastures and I then asked Amelie what she could see and she replied, “Boy...Man...Farm...”

Those quiet moments are some of my favourite times with Amelie. It’s not that I don’t enjoy her chattering or loudness, which I do, in moderation, but those muted exchanges pull me closer to her. I often remark to Carla how I love being around Amelie when she has just awoke after her afternoon nap, when she is between this world and that fashioned by dream. I am usually writing in the bedroom, and Carla brings her in, sits her on my lap, and I just watch Amelie’s face, the way her eyes dance from my eyes to my hand, from my hand to the duvet, and from that to her teddy. I ask her questions like did she have a nice sleep, and in a raspy and quiet voice she gives one worded answers, the nod of her head laboured. From being such an active baby, never stopping for a moment, these subdued moments give me time to look upon her like an artist admiring a finished painting. I am able to marvel at her beauty and wonder how the hell I helped to produce something so amazing.

And so we sat and watched the landscape, and then I asked Amelie if we should go and wait for Mummy at the front gate, and she agreed. I carried her there and placed her on the wall, and I made a game of it all. I would look down the road and when I saw a car approaching I’d say to Amelie, “Is this Mummy?” and she would lean forward slightly, peer down the road and go, “Naaaaaaooooww.” And when it passed and I would ask, “So where’s Mummy?!” and Amelie would laugh. Another car would present itself in the distance and I would follow the same script, each time it ending with her laughter. We stayed like that for about fifteen minutes, the sun dipping behind the cottage, leaving us cloaked in a cold shadow. Carla never turned up while we were there so I suggested we walk a little down the road where the sun was still shining. As always, Amelie agreed, and being tall for her age allowed me to hold her hand. We walked for a while in silence, the sun on our backs, following our shadow’s lead. It was a lesser moment than many documented here, and one I am sure would have been lost over time, but hopefully now it will remain something greater than the time it took to live out, if only to prove that every part of being with Amelie is worthy of remembering, great and small.

Birdsong

Along with the sound of the dentist’s drill, automated messaging services, and your boss telling you you’re fired, the sound of the alarm clock going off in the morning has to be one of the most dreaded sounds in the world. Of late, we’ve been less dependent on our alarm because Amelie has taken it upon herself to wake us up with her singing. As previously mentioned, she has watched Something Special so many times now she can sing the theme song, but more impressive than that, she has begun to recite the script. It’s true. This morning, both Carla and I heard this coming from the baby monitor:

“Harrow, harrow... how are’u...Harrow, harrow, good see you... I say harrow. Happy you came. I say harrow, please tell me... please tell me... please tell me your dame. Harrow, my name Justin. Magic dust, blow it. Going to football ground. I like football. D'you?”

Her speaking is still disjointed, but she’s stringing more words together. So much so, she’s been bumped up to the Farmers class at nursery, which in laymen’s terms is the class with all the big children in. Allegedly she was firing words at the other children in her class, but getting very little back in terms of conversation. What a two year child wants to talk about is beyond me, but her rambling proved too much for her class friends and now she’s in with children from the ages of two to four. Hopefully they’ll understand her more.

I’m also thinking of taking up yoga. My back is suffering from the evening routine that’s been established when Amelie arrives back from nursery. I’m usually upstairs, writing, and I’ll hear her shouting, “Daddy! Daddy!” I come down and pick her up. She offers her cheek for a quick kiss, and, if I’m lucky, a hug. Then she asks, “Up ta’sky?” Up ta’sky means Amelie wants me to throw her up to the ceiling and catch her, which, when she was one years old, wasn’t so demanding on all my limbs and back. Not content for a couple of throws, Amelie now wants three sets of throwing, and after one is finished, she curls her index finger into a hook and says, “One more?” One more in her mind means, keep going. Suffice it to say, my arms feel like they’re about to drop off and my back as fragile as glass.

Save for the kiss upon entering the house, if I ask for a second, she runs away and says, “Chase you?” which doesn’t me she will chase me, but I have to chase her. This is fine, but it tends to end with me scooping her up in my arms, and kissing her cheek, which again, after multiple up ta’skies, leaves me exhausted. Still, it’s lovely to see her so happy. Shame it ends with me wheezing and walking around like an octogenarian, but her laughter blows away the pain.
Other than that, Amelie’s personality is growing quicker than her feet, which, incidentally, have developed their own odour (she also knows now that her nappy smells, so her nose is getting well adapted to different scents, so “blaming the farts on the baby” routine might have to end ), and much to my father’s delight, she can say, “granddad” instead of “gaddad”.

The other day, I put Amlie on the phone to my mum, and she said hello, and then mentioned she went swimming. My mum then told me afterwards, “I’ve had a conversation with her!” Barely, but I’m sure it won’t be long.

2 going on 22

A quick update on Amelie’s current progress:

She can now count up to 20, though seems determined to forget 15. Her vocabulary skills are still struggling, and if you were in the other room, earwigging, you’d think a little Chinese girl had entered because every number has a certain oriental lilt, especially 11, which comes out sounding like, “A-yeven”.

She has begun to sing, mostly nursery rhymes, and the theme song to Something Special. We have awoke many mornings to the sound of her sweet and incoherent tones through the baby monitor, which even now, as I’m typing this out, brings a smile to my face as I reflect on them.

Her tantrums seem to be on the increase, as too is her OCD, which I think are both linked. The other day she spent three minutes placing her boots together, and each time they were, “not right”. Eventually she settled on a configuration, but when I looked, both boots were placed oppositely beside each other, something that kicked in my OCD. I waited until she wasn’t looking before rearranging them appropriately.

She can differentiate between the colours, red, blue and orange.

There is still the incessant need to have everything confirmed that she says. For example, if Amelie says, “Watch Justin, Daddy”, and I fail to respond, she will continually say this sentence over and over until I repeat it verbatim, which is fine, unless of course she says something you can’t understand. We have tried to make the same sounds and mimic the same inflection and intonation, but it doesn’t wash with Amelie. She knows we are not saying the same thing as she, and so she’ll become frustrated and begin to moan and then cry. Normally, a distraction technique is adopted, but I find this is limited when you’re driving a car.

She has taken to jumping a lot, and enjoys being chased around the couch (she often instructs us to, “Come on” and beckons us with her hand).

Having mastered the alphabet, she now has begun to recognise the words associated with the letters. Cocky.

She thinks all Meerkats say, “Simples”, a lot.

We’ve noticed she’s favouring the left hand over the right when drawing and eating.

If she could, she would sleep in her Wellington boots.

Speaking of which, her sleep patterns are pretty solid now, generally 7.30pm to 7.30am, save for the time when Carla and I went to a party on New Years Eve and her brother babysat and rang us at about 10.30pm to say, “Amelie is freaking out, you better come home!” We arrived back some 20 minutes later to find her on the landing, lay on her back, and Mark, still reeling with panic, reading from an In the Night Garden book on the stairs. Strangly, it seems to work so we’ve logged it in our inventory of “ways to calm down Amelie”.

If the moon was made of cheese, I think Amelie would book a trip.

She seems to enjoy Deal or No Deal again, and has taken to referring to Noel as “Nice man, Noel”.

And her current favourite books are, Shark in the Park and We're Going on a Bear Hunt, the latter she calls, “Hunt Bear”.

You've got to love her.