Doodlebug

Cecily-isms 2011

2011-11-29T18:01:00.000Z

Whenever you say something I want to remember, I try to write it down. I find that if I write it on the calendar, then I can note them down elsewhere all together at the end of the year. This is the round-up for 2011. I imagine that there are many I don't hear now that you are at school three days a week. But I do love hearing you talk. Even if you do it all the time.

March : Peach House (Beach house)

Inside-out cake (Upside-down cake)

Cropydile (Crocodile)

Radi-tator

April: Funny finger (thumb)

Huggitt (hug)

Daria (tiara)

May: groovy (gravy)

“Let’s get making...” (Mister Maker quote)

Grun-pets (crumpets)

Cath and Bill (Kate and Will)

Braidsmide (bridesmaid)

Newniform (uniform)

July: what will I do without you?

“Thanks. I always do good ideas.”

Eat a cottage (go for a cocktail)

Do cycling (recycling)

“What is wrong with you [Mamma]?”

Factorine (nectarine)

“why did you call her a hula hoop (hooligan)?”

Sept: wave corner (microwave- which lives on the fridge in the corner)

Oct: bluddin’ (bleeding)

Nov: Cow singers (carol singers)

I love you, darling girl

Bella-isms 2011

2011-11-29T17:57:00.000Z

Your speech is coming on so fast, my darling, that it's hard for daddy and me to keep up with you. I assume that it's in part down to you having a big sister who talks all the time, but the rest is all you. You say thank you for anything that is done for you, which is so wonderful. And you can sing along to everything that you hear. You even sing your teddies to sleep. But when you can't find the word, or you are frustrated, you scream. You scream long and loud and it's deeply unpleasant. I'll be glad when that particular phase is over, that's for sure. These are just some of the things I didn't want to forget.

Mamma hope (open it)

Rolly-rolly (ball, forward roll or rolling out playdough)

I do it

Thank you much

Mamma next to you (sit on Mamma’s lap)

Winkle dar (twinkle star)

Dop!!!!! (stop it)

Bit-dit (biscuit)

What dat?

What you doin’?

Miaow-miaow (cat)

Waddle-waddle (penguin)

Undoubtedly there are dozens I've forgotten.

I love you, precious girl,

Five things I want you to know about your Father

2011-09-15T22:33:00.001+01:00

The Friday Club is back. I missed this one by a long way, but wanted to write nevertheless.

“There’s something like a line of gold thread running through a man’s words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself.”

Source

I always get emotional when I address things to you, my darling Girls. I always feel that, as I write, I am storing information for you to read after I am no longer with you, and it saddens me to think of you alone. But I find comfort in the thought that your darling father will always be with you when I am not. Your precious Pappa is without doubt the greatest gift that I have received from God or Fate or whatever you believe to be the provider of good fortune. I have become all that I am because of his love. I owe him the most precious things in my life: you two girls. And I am sure that he would say that the greatest gift in his life has been the gift of fatherhood.

Your daddy is a fascinating man. I imagine that you may not always see that as you grow. You may not see that he cares for you more than anything, that he would do anything for you, that he holds you in such high esteem that no-one will ever come ahead of you in his affections. Perhaps I should give you a few pointers so that you might better understand him. You shall have to bear with me as I am still learning about all the things that makes the man I love tick. I certainly anticipate that it will take me the rest of my life to fully understand him.

1. Your father is, quite frankly, an almost perfect example of a man. He is caring and thoughtful, compassionate, understanding, chivalrous, intelligent and he never fails to make me laugh. Although there are days when I curse him repeatedly, I admire all of these things in him. I suspect that I am not without envy, and it certainly makes me regularly question what he sees in me!

2. Your Daddy is a thinker. By the time he gives voice to an idea, you can bet he's been mulling it over for a significant period of time. The downside to this is that it is pretty much non-negotiable: if he says we are going to do something, go somewhere, learn something, buy something, you can bet that it will happen. The upside, however, is that you can work this to your advantage by planting an idea and leaving him to ponder it for a while (length of time dependent on the size of the idea!)

3. He does not stop. He reads, he learns, he potters. He comes up with ideas brilliant enough to go on Dragon's Den. He plans on writing a fascinating series of books. He comes home and throws himself into tidying and laundry and tinkering with things that need mending, which brings me on to...

4. He cannot abide stuff. He hates things being out of place, untidy, messy, dirty. Learn to be tidy. It'll be easier.

5. He is never more delighted with life than when he gets to spend time with you. I know that you see little of him during the week but that is because he is a brilliant man who works ridiculously hard doing "'portant work" in his office to fund the life that we have. But when he is at home, he is yours. The three of you will wander out in any weather, talking about your days, learning about the world around you: a secret club of which I am not part. He cherishes every moment that he spends with you. Being a father is far better than he could ever have imagined. Watching him relish every minute gives me such joy. Watching you two welcome him home with such unbridled delight never fails to make me cry.

We are all so incredibly lucky to have each other, and to have him. I hope that you will hold that in the back of your mind when he tells you can't go out wearing that, or when he says you can't go to a party on a school night, or whatever else he does to offend your blossoming-female-sensibilities in the future. Your father is absurdly calm, so everything he does will be carefully considered and in your best interests (but just in case, if you can't get your point across, try calling Granny. She knows best!)

With all my love, my darling Doodlebugs,
Mamma x

Five things about me

2011-02-25T21:45:00.000Z

My darling Doodlebugs,

I write this as you sit in various states of undress on the sofa. It's a Friday, the beginning of our weekend, and after stuffing our faces with Pink Pancakes we're vegging out in front of CBeebies and contemplating the day ahead. Threeva is exhausted after three full days at nursery, playdates and the general busy-ness of being a nearly-three-year-old. Dimples is delighted unpacking the neatly folded laundry onto the floor, not realising that, in order to use both hands, she is not holding onto anything and therefore fully free-standing. It's a moment of quiet, a moment of happiness and serenity that won't last long. Threeva will end up hurting Dimples for unintentionally invading her space and I'll end up shouting at you both over the noise of your crying.

I wonder now what your memories will be of me when you are older? Will you remember the pancakes and pyjama-ed sofa-sitting, or will you remember your mother as a screaming harridan? I frequently worry that I won't be around as you grow up, something that's at the forefront of my mind after hearing recently of a mother who died leaving a young son. Will you have any memories at all of me? Will you pester Daddy and Granny M for details about their life with me? Will you know who I was and how much I loved you?

The Friday Club this week are writing Five Things that they want their children to know about them. Here are mine:

1. I love, love, love baking. I'll make cakes or biscuits or chocolates for any occasion. I once had a dream of being a restauranteur after spending time in France and cooking in a Michelin-starred restaurant. But baking is what I love best, so the dream has altered: I'd love to own a tea-shop, or a very child-friendly cafe. I'd be very happy making mini-cakes all day long.

2. I love pearls, Hello! magazine and Chanel No. 5. The more that time goes on, the more I realise that I am, and have always been, middle-aged. Which is a bonus, really, because when you become a tweenager, you'll undoubtedly consider Daddy and I to be seriously uncool. I might as well start as I mean to go on.

3. I have a very good memory for numbers: I can remember my father's briefcase combination from the 1980's, Daddy's credit card number (a very useful thing to know) and telephone numbers of a variety of people. I'm not as good as Daddy at mental arithmetic though. I can also remember a lot of song lyrics, and events from my childhood, including what I was wearing at the time.

4. I come from a family who have very vivid dreams and often talk (or so Daddy has said). I'm confident that you both have a similar thing, since you have both done peculiar things in your sleep, such as tell me things, or smile, or cry, or stand up. I do need a lot of sleep because of it.

5. Despite having a very good memory, I regularly fail to find the word for basic objects. As Daddy will tell you, it's helpful to be good at DG-speak, since I often describe the things I am thinking of. Thus a kettle will be: It's shiny and hot with water in it, and Polly uses it. The descriptions tend to be more wordy and obscure the more tired I become.

Of course this is all random stuff about me. So, as an added extra, I should like to point out that I will always love you. Nothing you say or do will ever change that. I might not like you very much from time to time: you really do get under my skin, push all my buttons, test every fibre of my being on a fairly regular basis. And yet I still love you, with every one of those same fibres. There's a very real chance that you won't like me very much, frequently I imagine, as you grow older. I assume that the teenage years will be particularly trying for us all. I hated being a teenager and will have to fight every instinct I'll have and let you make your own mistakes. I doubt I'll say yes to all of your requests, I doubt I'll let you out wearing some of your clothes and I guarantee I won't approve of all your actions. But I hope that you can come to me with anything, tell me anything and know that I will always listen, without judgement, and try very hard to understand. Lastly, I want you to know how very proud I am of you, whatever you achieve, whoever you become, wherever you are: you have no need to prove yourself to me or achieve anything for my sake. You just have to keep being my daughters, and know that I will always be your Mamma.

With all my love,

Christmas past.

2010-12-16T21:50:00.000Z

My darling Doodlebugs,

My childhood Christmas always had a precision to it. I awoke on Christmas morning, more often than not was awoken by my younger brother, and sat on my bed unpacking my stocking. Once I'd reached the tangerine and gold chocolate coins that were tucked at the bottom, I'd take my stash into my parents' bed and show them all that Santa had given me. After my brothers had done the same, mum would go downstairs to get us all a drink. I never understood until I was older and she told me, that is was actually to turn the Christmas lights on and check the turkey.

Once we'd all had the obligatory drink and put on our dressing gowns, down we'd go, picking our places in the sitting room and then waiting whilst Brother Neal distributed all the gifts. Only when the last present had been dispensed could the carnage of paper ripping and box trashing begin.

There was a routine that followed which included having chocolate for breakfast, getting dressed in the new outfit that Santa had given us, and filling the house with young squaddies from the local barracks who didn't have anywhere else to go. And I have so many funny memories of those days, but it's the first few moments in the day that I treasure most. The quiet before the chaos, when we were just five, illuminated by lights and surrounded by love and carols.

All my love,

Halfway down the stairs

2010-10-21T23:05:00.002+01:00

My darling Doodlebugs,

There's a song on the CD of music that you insist that we play whenever we are driving anywhere:

Halfway down the stairs

Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair where I sit:
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top:
So this is the stair where I always stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up, and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town:
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!"

A A Milne (I didn't know it was A A Milne. I just Googled the lines.)

It's a song that rattles round in my head most days whilst you are away from me. I find myself singing it, oftentimes quieted by you: "We're not in the car now Mamma." But the reason I think that it resonates with me is not that it was the stair I used to sit on to peer down at my mum and dad as they laughed with the friends who came to dinner, nor the stair that I sat on whilst I waited for my father to come home from work, but because it's the stair that I sit on when I put you to bed.

There's a ceremony to bedtime that's been around for as long as you have been. It's changed a smidgen now that your sister has joined us, but there are always cuddles, always stories, always singing, always I-love-yous. After I shut the door, there is a routine that you don't see. Once your bedroom doors are closed, and I have gathered up all the bits and pieces that inevitably end up strewn across the floors, I sit, as now, halfway down the stairs and I listen. I am listening for the sounds of peaceful babies: the quiet after a busy day; the calm after the storm. I breathe, as I never really get a chance to breathe during the day when I am with you, because everything you do, everything that you are, takes my breath away. I close my eyes to see events of the day more clearly, to commit them to memory, because you are changing so fast, I'm afraid I might miss things and I'm not ready for you to grow up as quickly as you are doing. I sit and listen, and breathe, and remember, and smile. Because I am your Mamma. I am that lucky.

What makes a mother?

2010-08-23T21:58:00.002+01:00

My darling Doodlebugs

WHAT MAKES A MOTHER

I thought of you and closed my eyes
And prayed to God today
I asked "What makes a Mother?"
And I know I heard him say.

"A Mother has a baby"
This we know is true
"But God can you be a Mother,
When your baby's not with you?"

"Yes, you can," he replied
With confidence in his voice
"I give many women babies,
When they leave is not their choice.

Some I send for a lifetime,
And others for the day.
And some I send to feel your womb,
But there's no need to stay."

"I just don't understand this
God I want my baby to be here."
He took a deep breath and cleared his throat,
And then I saw the tear.

"I wish I could show you,
What your child is doing today.
If you could see your child's smile,
With all the other children and say...

'We go to Earth to learn our lessons,
Of love and life and fear.
My Mommy loved me oh so much,
I got to come straight here.

I feel so lucky to have a Mom,
Who had so much love for me.
I learned my lessons very quickly,
My Mommy set me free.

I miss my Mommy oh so much,
But I visit her every day.
When she goes to sleep,
On her pillow's where I lay

I stroke her hair and kiss her cheek,
And whisper in her ear.
Mommy don't be sad today,
I'm your baby and I'm here.'

"So you see my dear sweet ones,
your children are okay.
Your babies are born here in My home,
And this is where they'll stay.

They'll wait for you with Me,
Until your lesson's through.
And on the day that you come home
they'll be at the gates for you.

So now you see what makes a Mother,
It's the feeling in your heart
it's the love you had so much of
Right from the very start

Though some on earth may not realize,
you are a Mother.
Until their time is done.
They'll be up here with me one day
and know that you are the best one!"

I love you, my precious babies

Tears

2010-08-23T19:55:00.001+01:00

My darling Doodlebugs,

after I put Bella back in the still-warm bath tonight because she threw up all over her clean pjs, and after I had kissed Cecily's head because she bumped it when she was rearranging her dogs before she went to sleep, I cried from tiredness. Then I cried with sadness for the old-yous, the ones you were and will never be again, the little babies I will have no more of to hold and swaddle and smell. Then I cried with joy at the yous you are becoming: at Cecily whose vocabulary expands daily, who is smart and funny and who, with complete abandon, at unexpected and oftentimes inconvenient moments, will throw her arms around your legs in a hug or kiss you with as-yet-unknown passion; at Annabel whose smile is given so freely that you cannot help buut beam back, who screeches with unbridled delight as the dog races past, or her sister makes her laugh, who has such joy in every waking moment and whose ear presses so firmly against my inner arm as she dozes that it leaves a perfect imprint. And thus the tears for the then and the now dried as I smiled at the future that stretches before us all, me and my beautiful, funny, loving, gifted girls. How blessed we are to have you to show us how to be parents.

“Walk a little slower Daddy” said a child so small
“I’m following in your footsteps and I don’t want to fall.

Sometimes your steps are very fast,
Sometimes they’re hard to see;
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For you are leading me.

Someday when I’m all grown up,
You’re what I want to be;
Then I will have a little child
Who’ll want to follow me.

And I would want to lead just right,
And know that I was true;
So walk a little slower Daddy,
For I must follow you.

With all my love, my darling girls,

A better parent

2010-06-08T08:56:00.002+01:00

My darling Doodlebugs

I think perhaps that Philip Larkin had a more miserable upbringing than Adrian Mitchell;

They tuck you up, your mum and dad
They read you Peter Rabbit, too.
They give you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.

They were tucked up when they were small,
(Pink perfume, blue tobacco-smoke),
By those whose kiss healed any fall,
Whose laughter doubled any joke.

Man hands on happiness to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
So love your parents all you can
And have some cheerful kids yourself.

I'd like to be a good parent, but I'll settle for being good enough.

Now you are two

2010-05-21T22:23:00.000+01:00

My darlings, my angels,

for now there are two baby girls that I get to tuck in every night. My darling Doodlebug, you are such a wonderful big sister to little Annabel, who doesn't yet have a nickname. Precious Bella, who already gives her big sister Cecily her best smiles. I hope that you will be the best of friends. I have no idea how we will raise sisters, since neither daddy nor I have one, but I'm sure that we'll figure it out. Of course there's a good chance we'll get some of it wrong, so do bear with us. What you have to bear in mind, and I don't imagine that this is something that you will understand until long after you have left home (we are in for a long wait for appreciation!) is that we will be learning with you. Every new step you take is a new step for us too. Anything we do, or don't do, is motivated by our love for your both and our wish to help you become intelligent well-adjusted girls with a strong sense of self-worth and the belief that they can do anything they set their minds to. Philip Larkin wrote disparagingly of the relationship between children and their parents, and every teenager I have known has felt that their parents are frustrating, lacking any understanding of what it is like to be a teenager. But we were all teenagers once. And it was a cake-walk compared to being a parent. As a teenager, you are responsible only for yourself; as a parent, you are responsible for yourself and for your children. You are responsible for the teenagers they become. And, having been a teenager yourself, you know only too well how tricky it is to get the right balance. I confess that already, when I see teenagers out and about, shrieking and unaware of their surroundings, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I tell you both sternly that this is not acceptable behaviour and that, if you act like that, I will send you to a convent. Then I remember that I was much like that at the same age, and I sigh in acceptance. You will be who you will be, as little girls, teenagers and women. The Philip Larkin poem, once on my wall when at school, is now a memory I recall only when it comes up on a quiz show. I have a wonderful relationship with my mother, for which I am very grateful. And when I remind myself of that I sigh again, with relief. If we can get the right balance as parents, if we raise you well, we will have that relationship in the future.

For now, we can just enjoy the present, knowing that you will have forgotten tomorrow morning that we didn't let you go to bed in your dog costume in 25 degree heat. We can forget the weight of the responsibility we have as parents, that we will have in future. We will take each day, and each decision, as it comes. Because we've never done this before. But at least you will have each other to complain too ;-)

I love you both so much, my angels,

Happy 2nd Birthday

2010-05-18T14:52:00.000+01:00

My darling Doodlebug,

Today you are two years old, and I have to face the fact that you are no longer a baby but my little girl. And what an extraordinary little girl you are. It’s been a very busy year in which you’ve changed so much from a dainty little crawler with short blonde hair to a little runner who loves wellies and new shoes but hates me brushing her white-blonde curly locks. You like yo-yo’s (cereal) and happy cakey, CBeebies and DDs and you adore doggies. You love your bed, but always ask for Mamma to sing, even if daddy has read all the stories, and you don’t go anywhere without your Ma (dummy), Blue Dog and Blankie. They are the Holy Trinity of Cecily soothers. At the end of every day, I tuck you in bed, grateful that you are finally quiet, after a day of running and chattering and laughing. Every night I look forward to what you will learn tomorrow.

Tonight Daddy will come home from work early and we will take you round the block on your new trike, sing happy Birthday and eat Happy Cakey, but I wanted to take a moment to remember the year that has gone and to thank you for all that you are.

Thank you for accepting your new baby sister with such devotion. You are (almost) always gentle with her, giving her kisses in the morning and washing her toes in the bathtub. I am so thrilled that you like her and hope that it lasts...

Thank you for teaching me to accept help when needed. I didn’t want anyone to look after you but you made me realise that, if I couldn’t take you to your singing group or playgroup, I needed to find someone who could. You love these activities so much.

Thank you for learning so many skills without being asked: for being able to go up and down stairs when I couldn’t lift you; for fetching my slippers; for picking things up when you dropped them; for letting other people do the things I should have been doing.

Thank you for being so good whilst I was in hospital. I so loved hearing you every night when you called to say “Good night Mamma”.

Thank you for reminding me, every day, that I am responsible for teaching you how to be a good person; that it is an honour and privilege to be a parent.

But, most of all, thank you for loving me; for all the cuddles, the laughter, the fun. Thank you for making every day different, interesting, exasperating, challenging and unforgettable.

Thank you for being my Doodlebug.
Happy Birthday.
With all my love,

What they don't tell you in NCT classes...

2010-05-13T21:49:00.000+01:00

My darling Doodlebug,

this is copied from my other blog. It's useful advice for when you have children of your own.

What they don't tell you in NCT classes

1. That the jump from one child to two is sooo much more significant that the jump from nought to one.
2. That you can fall asleep whilst standing up.
3. That if it means you will get to the Pocket Dictator's singing class on time you will leave the house in your pyjamas.
4. That you can pick up one child whilst breastfeeding the second.
5. That you don't have to shower as often as you thought.
6. That if it meant you got to eat a Krispy Kreme in peace you would expose your boobs to ~~Gordon Brown~~ David Cameron.
7. That, at some point, you will consider selling your kids on eBay.
8. That you can hear your children cry through walls ten feet thick, even if there are planes overhead, men drilling in the road and you are wearing ear-plugs.

9. That the parental guilt multiplies exponentially with every child, thus you will lie awake every night when they are 2 worrying about what they will be doing when they are 12, or even 4.
10. That, fortunately, your love will increase exponentially with every child. With every day. And that, somehow, even though you don't have time to do the ironing anymore, never mind the blogging; even though you are still picking up toys and tidying the house ten minutes before you go to bed; even though you never see your husband because your bedtime is before the Watershed, you can't go to bed without pulling their duvets up and kissing their foreheads. In fact you can't remember what life was like BC (before children) since you can't imagine life without them. And that actually, you'd rather be spending time with them that worrying about things like showering, and ironing, and blogging!!

Random Advice 1

2010-05-07T20:14:00.001+01:00

My Darling Doodlebug,

A piece of advice if you ignore all the others. When you get round to wanting to shave your legs, and you will, please please please don't use a bic razor on dry legs. Shaving requires some kind of lubrication: it's why men have shaving gel. If you don't, you will end up with painfully red and sore skin that you will need to cover up for about 2 weeks, by which time the hair will have grown back and no-one will know that you had beautifully smooth calves.

All my love

Dooce

2009-12-22T16:00:00.001Z

My darling Doodlebug,

I always expected to be a 'Mummy'. Certainly when I was pregnant I always talked about becoming a 'Mummy'. Yet somehow, from the moment that you were born, I have been a 'Mamma'. I have spent 18 months referring to myself as Mamma, as has everyone else, so how is it that when you finally got round to calling me by name the other day, I have become Mammy?

Your first word was Doddy (doggy), followed closely by Niddit (Nugget, aka the wonder Hound), followed by E-O (Hello) as in "E-O Niddit." That was all in one gorious weekend on 26th June 2009. We were spending the weekend on the coast with our friends Simon and Amelia. At first none of us could quite believe you were saying anything discernible as you seemed to spend all your time chuntering melodic nonsense, but realisation dawned slowly as we walked along the Promenade in Broadstairs after a fabulous lunch. Every time you saw a doggy (which you love more than life) you squealed with delight and said Doddy. Daddy and I were quite giddy and spent practically the whole day making you say it. It's a wonder you ever spoke again. But then the next morning came Nugget. To our dismay, Daddy and Mammy/Mummy came waaaay down the list after:

No
Oh-No
More
Peese (Please)
Da-doo (Thank you)
Apple
Nana (Banana)
Bubbo (bubble)
DD (DVD)

Daddy came long before Mammy. In fact Mammy only came this week and it seems as if you've been saying Daddy for aaaaages. It was the word you used for me too. And just recently you've been using it for 'man'. Everey time we see a man in Bromley, you say Daddy. I'm fairly sure that's made a few heart's skip a beat, and it makes me laugh every time. When you were in the Doctors' Surgery yesterday, you pointed and started saying "Man, man, man" to a boy who could only just be described as a man.

You're working on a dozen or so words at the moment: bye, snowman, biscuit, teaset spring to mind. Most of them are only discernible to the cognoscenti. But yesterday, in the midst of a virus which has been causing you to cough so hard you vomit, you sat up in bed andasked for Dooce (juice). You even said please. It made the sleepless nights (and days) almost worthwhile. It's amazing how quickly the words seem to come now. After a day of Nurofen and cough syrup, you says "Medi" whenever you see the bottle coming your way. And bless you, you're even working on sentences, putting "more" together with "DD" and "dooce" with "please". Soon you will be chatting away in a language we do understand. You've taken to repeating everything we say. Which means that now I shall have to stop swearing, something I have been saying that I will do since you were born. But until now, I haven't really put much effort in to. That's what you get for having a clever daughter!

All my love,

One place to call home

2009-09-28T20:56:00.002+01:00

My darling Doodlebug

One of the things I find odd is that you and I will have such vastly different upbringings. Because your grandfather was in the Army and then the Foreign office, I spent the vast part of my childhood overseas, moving from place to place every few years. One of my earliest memories involved sitting on top of the wooden packing crates (which I want to call UFOs though I'm sure they had some other acronym. You'll have to ask Granny M.) Mum and Dad would slowly pack them up in the weeks and months before our next move, so that gradually things would disappear from view until we were pretty much left with our favourite toys and some throwaway knickers. Then they'd plonk Uncle 1 and I on the lid to weight it down whilst Dad hammered in the nailsin much the same way as you would if you had too much stuff to fit in your suitcase. Then one day I'd get home from school and it would all be gone and the countdown would really be on to move day. That changed with the Foreign Office as we had the great luxury of others packing for us, but we still had to manage with the bare minimum toys and underwear (and a 'float' set of kitchen equipment on loan from the Office.)

Things were always the same when you got to your new post though: living in temporary accommodation until yours was ready; waiting for your packing to arrive (and hoping none had gone overboard/astray en route); meeting all the people at post who would become your friends (whether you liked them or not) for the duration of your/their stay; getting to know your way around a new place; enrolling in a new school/doctor's surgery etc. The first few weeks were an odd blend of interest and excitement at being somewhere new and the tedium of not really being able to make it home. Of course everyone was friendly and invariably we got invited to lots of parties and lunches and so on, which was nice when you were little but got to be irritating by the time you were a teenager and didn't want to have to follow your parents around ALL the time. I think that's one of the reasons I was so glad to go to boarding school, where I could keep the same friends from term to term. It's not that I didn't mind the change, but there was something reassuring about having a solid base, even if it turned out to be school. I aways envied those I met who had lived in the same house since they were little, and whose parents had an attic filled with their report cards and school projects, ther costumes and toys from when they were little. It's one of the things I envy Daddy. I loved going to the GPs and seeing some of his school work and learning a bit more about what he was like before I knew him. There were massive advantages to growing up in the way that I did though. I got to live in countries other people only usually visit for two weeks' holiday, if at all. I got to see behind the scenes of countries like Egypt and Albania, find out of the way places to visit far from the tourist track in Cyprus and Belgium and the Caribbean, get a truer sense of what made the country special or interesting. I got to meet a lot of really interesting people, locals and ex pats, and attend events that I would never have had the opportunity to had I grown up in the UK. I got to go to boarding school and really make the most of my brains. I have some really interesting and unusual photos and memories. I think I was incredibly lucky to have been exposed to such an interesting peripatetic lifestyle, for all that I envy the filled attic of friends' parents.

One of the greatest gifts your daddy gave me was the chance to live in one place for the rest of my life (although we have moved once already, he is confidence that this is the house you will be married from), the chance to stuff the loft full of the things that you will make at school. I'm excited too that you get to grow up so close to London. Some people think that it is too big and a terrible place to raise children. And, strictly speaking, we live in Kent rather than London (although I figure that we are in Zone 5 as assigned by the London Transport System thereby making us 'in London'.) But I met your Daddy in London- we went on dates in London and we got married in London. Whenever I take the train into London a small smile creeps over my face as we creep over Blackfriars Bridge. It's the best view of St Paul's Cathedral that there is. And it's where I married your Daddy. Crossing the bridge in the other direction, you can see the lights of the Oxo Tower, scene of the second date (featuring the first kiss.) Wander around the A-Z and you will find places we have eaten at, museums we have visited together, places where we partied with friends, the shop where Daddy bought my engagement ring and a whole host of nooks and crannies, landmarks and shops which hold special memories for us. I love the idea that you will see all of these places and know all of these stories. I imagine you will come to loathe it, and move overseas at the earliest opportunity to explore all the places you never got to see when you were growing up. The grass is always greener after all!

All my love

Daddy

2009-09-21T10:38:00.000+01:00

My darling Doodlebug,

I met your Daddy 'on the line' as Granny M would say. We chatted on email for a few weeks then went on a date for lunch at Benihanas in Picadilly, followed by a visit to the Royal Academy for their Maya exhibition. Daddy told me he'd be easy to spot because he had a backpack that made him look like French exchange student. I'd have known him any where though! I remember very little about the date: I remember Daddy bought me a book as a gift; I remember running into a uni friend of Daddy's and his pregnant girlfriend and having a very awkward conversation with them before they left us to it; I remember heading to the bar in Waterstone's afterwards because we didn't stop talking; I remember being a little bit gutted when it was over (Daddy had to go to a concert and I had arranged a meal with my best friend so I had an excuse to leave if it turned out to be awful. Note to self: always have a back-up plan.) I remember not being sure whether he liked me or not because Daddy, then as now, is quite a hard man to read. Julia and Granny M will tell you, as they did on our wedding day, that I did nothing but talk about him. They will tell you I was sure that he was 'The One'. I don't remember. What I remember is the sick feeling in my tummy waiting for him to call or email; the not knowing whether I would ever hear from him again.

Fortunately Daddy is not a typical man: Granny and Grandpa bought him up to have excellent manners, and he called me the very next morning. Phew! I was heading to France to work for the Christmas period, but we kept in touch via text the whole time. In fact, when I fell very ill, it was daddy who helped keep up my spirits. The job took an odd detour via San Francisco, so that I ended up being on my own on New Year's Eve thousands of miles from home, but it didn't matter. Because when I got back to the UK, I was going to see him again. It snowed on our second date, at the Oxo tower, but I don't remember being cold, because daddy held my hand all the way back to Waterloo station. And, whilst we were sitting having a drink in the Hole In The Wall pub opposite (again, we didn't want the date to end) he kissed me. And that was that. It's not the most glamorous or romantic setting for a first kiss, but I guarantee that it didn't make it any less special.

I got to see him lots after that- we went for dinners and friend's parties. And I never came across anyone who had a bad word to say about the man I had fallen in love with. He's very special. He's thoughful and caring and compassionate. He does his very best to understand me though I suspect he's fighting a losing battle. He's my best friend and I love him with all my heart. And he's your daddy.

All my love,

Mamma
xxx

How we chose your name

2009-09-16T14:41:00.000+01:00

My darling Doodlebug,

I imagine that in the years ahead you will curse our names for giving you yours.It's a beautiful name, but it does seem to throw people a bit. IN fact when I called the Yorkshire contingent, the conversation went as follows:

YC "So can we finally know the name?"
Mamma [taking a moment to smile at her newborn baby] "It's Cecily?"
YC "Eh?"
Mamma "Cecily."
YC "Stephanie? But we've already got one of those!"
Mamma "No, Cecily. C-e-c-i-l-y. Cecil, with a Y."
YC [silently contemplates the news] [for a long time] "Thats......nice. I'll let everyone know."

Thus since you were born, I have had to repeat the process every time I have had to give your name over the phone. I don't think that Daddy and I really factored that in to our choice. Of course, if we had, I am very likely to have dismissed the spelling issue summarily, pointing out that our surname requires similar treatment. As you grow you will get used to nobody being able to pronounce it, or spell it, even when you pronounce/spell it for them first. I'm sorry about that. I should have married Mr Smith. But I'd probably still have called you Cecily, and Cecily Smith doesn't sound as nice as your name.

Anyway, on our first wedding anniversary, Daddy and I went to Copenhagen for a long weekend. We had a wonderfully wintery time, got a bit drunk at the Carlsberg factory, and went out for some fabulous meals. On the night of our anniversary we ate at Sankt Gertrude's Kloster which I thoroughly recommend incidentally. Over dinner the talk drifted to babies (we had been hoping to have a baby for a while) and to what we would call them when they finally arrived. The boys name proved surprisingly easy. The girl's name was a little tricky. The added issue with our surname is that some letters of the alphabet, when combined with the surname, make up words to do with genitals, which is not something you really want to do to your child. In Daddy's usual way, when he hits a stumbling block, he looks at things from a different angle. He suggested that we give you the nickname CJ and I had been thinking a lot about Cecily, Romilly and Orelie that week/month/year. So Cecily it was. For the 'J' name, I knew I didn't want Jane, so you got Jean instead. The Olivia I added for fun, and because the boy's name had two middle names. (I can't tell you what it was in case we use it for your new sibling!)

The day before I went into hospital to have you, Daddy and I went for a last supper. He announced that he wasn't sure about Olivia. We spent the whole evening trying to come up with something he liked more. I couldn't, so I went to hospital and left him with it. I told him that if you arrived and he hadn't got something he liked, we'd stick with Olivia. 5 days later you arrived. I suspect he forgot to think about it anymore; between the hospital visits, the dog walking and the looking after Granny M, he was a bit tied up.

But on the day you were Christened, he declared it to be the most perfect name ever. And it is, because it's yours.

All my love,

Mamma
xxx

The steps to bedtime

2009-09-08T21:42:00.002+01:00

My darling Doodlebug,

every evening after tea and some playtime, you and I climb the stairs. We play splashing-in-the-bathtub and hair-washing and teeth-cleaning. We play wrestle-the-baby whilst I try to put your nappy and PJs on. You play on the rocking chair whilst I play try-and-brush –the-baby’s-hair. And once we are done, I give you your dummy and your Blankie and pull you onto my lap for my favourite part of the day.

At the last count, you had over 200 books in your bedroom, so it’s jolly hard to chose which two to read to you. We read the books and look at the pictures and I ask you to find the doggy or the birdie or the flower in the picture. Then the books are finished and I dim the lights. You cuddle in to my chest and I sing the song that I have sung to you since you were born:

Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part, baby of mine

Little one when you play
Don't you mind what you say
Let those eyes sparkle and shine
Never a tear, baby of mine

If they knew sweet little you
They'd end up loving you too
All those same people who scold you
What they'd give just for
The right to hold you

From your head to your toes
You're not much, goodness knows
But you're so precious to me
Cute as can be, baby of mine.

By this point, you are usually very mellow- you know the routine so well by now, but I can’t let you go to bed without telling you how much you are loved. It’s always the same thing:

Are you sleepy my baby, my special baby? Do you know what makes you so special? They took all the love that Daddy has for Mamma, and all the love that Mamma has for Daddy, and they mixed it up, and they made you my darling baby. That’s what makes you so special. You are made with love. Daddy loves you, and Mamma loves you [any overnight guests are also inserted at this point!] and Nuggety-noodles [your precious dog] loves you. We all love you so much Doodlebug. So you go to sleep and have lovely dreams [at this point I offer a silent prayer that you will last until 7am] and your Mamma and Daddy will see their special baby in the morning.

And I kiss you and put you in bed with your teddies and cover you with the duvet.

And sometimes you even sleep until 7am!

All my love,
Mamma
xxx

Mamma = bad guy

2009-09-02T22:11:00.003+01:00

My darling Doodlebug

Your Granny arrives in the morning. I know she’s very excited about seeing you- I doubt she’ll have slept at all on the flight over. She is an extraordinary woman, who has been through a lot in the last ten years. Everything I know about being a mum, about raising a family and running a home, I learned from her. But I never knew it until I had to do it for myself.

My memory of her as a mother, when I was a child living in Cyprus, was of a formidable person. She had these staring eyes that flickered back and forth whilst she was telling you off. She was always the one who told you off, and the one who said no. The very threat of having our trousers taken down and being smacked in public was enough to make us all behave. Written down here it makes her even more intimidating. I don’t suppose I realised until long after I’d left home that the reason she seemed so fearsome was because she was the only one with us for most of the day. She had to be all things and, as I am rapidly learning, a lot of childcare is related to discipline. My mum was the one who taught me the rules: of the house, of life, of law.

When I imagined being a mum, I never thought about the tough stuff. I don’t think you do. I imagined the choosing your little outfits, the teaching you to wave goodbye to Daddy, the singing to you before you go to sleep, the pulling the duvet back over your little body whilst you sleep. I never imagined that I’d have to be the bad guy: telling you not to touch the TV, the oven, the knives; telling you not to draw on furniture, not to shout, not to pull hair or bite; the enforcing bedtimes, good behaviour, manners. I never imagined that I would have to become the image of my mother! It saddens me to think that this is the image you will have of me in years to come.

The thing is, Granny was also a wonderful mum. She taught me to read, to bake, to tidy the Tupperware cupboard (which doesn’t sound like much, but which was the beginning of my career as an organiser.) Granny knitted us cardigans and made us endless costumes with her sewing machine. She baked amazing cakes and organised fabulous birthday parties. She packed us up and took us across the world, then unpacked us all and made a home wherever we settled. She always put us first. There was nothing more important to her than her children. Even when things got really difficult after her marriage ended, she would give us what little she had, would drive through the night to get us, whatever we needed. It’s taken me until now, until I had you, to really see how much my mum did for me. To see how much I will do for you; to see how important my job as a mum is. I know that you won’t see any of this in me for a very long time (assuming I do a reasonable job), that I might be that formidable woman to you in the future, but that’s OK, because I can see it in my mum.

And in the mean time, I get to be the person who sings you to sleep and covers you with the duvet.

All my love,

Mamma

xxx

The First Post

2009-09-02T09:34:00.002+01:00

My darling Doodlebug,

I checked on you as I went to bed last night, pulled the duvet back over you and kissed you on the head. It still astonishes me to think that you are ours. Daddy and I were so thrilled when we found out we were having you. Even more thrilled when our precious baby girl finally arrived. And now you are 15 months old and going to be a big sister. The older you get, the more I worry about the world around us. How can I protect you from the bad bits? How can I help you avoid the bitchiness that comes with teenage girls, the awkwardness? How do I counsel you against bad boyfriends? How can I encourage you without being pushy? How can I prepare you for life when I am only really living it now, aged 32?

We are so very lucky to have all that we have, and we are very lucky to have such a funny clever little curly-haired Doodlebug. Perhaps I'll just watch you sleep a little longer before I send you off to a convent.

With all my love,

Mamma xxx