babymother

Fancy footwork

One year, three days

Yesterday was the momentous occasion, if Clarks' are to be believed, of the purchase of babe's first pair of shoes. Along with the newly-shod baby you get to take home a booklet about babies' feet, a certificate displaying her size (two and a half G), and a framed polaroid. (She refused to smile for the camera until she had demolished a whole row of floral wellies.)

Apparently 2.5G is ridiculously small for a 12 month old, and the only ones in her size (as well as being outrageously girly) were crawling shoes. That's as opposed to cruising shoes, for walking around holding on to furniture, while the real shoes are reserved for those who are walking unsupported.

Anyway, I'm proud to report that in her crawling shoes this afternoon the babe effortlessly cruised for the first time, from the bedside table (she pulls the drawer out first to get a better grip on it) to halfway along the bed. And I bet she'll be walking in them soon too.

Gifted

12 months and one day

We celebrated the babe's birthday a day late, as she doesn't know any better, with her two fairy godmothers. She began to get the idea after the first few presents and when she was shown Nanny and Noo Noo's truly enormous shiny gold package she got quite excited. With good reason - it was a ride-on bike thing with squeaky horn, clock, storage space under the seat and a mobile phone to encourage good driving practices. She tried to get on it herself after we'd shown her what it was, although we have to do the pushing because she hasn't found any forward gears yet.

To show her appreciation of the fairy godmothers' gifts she closely examined the clips of her new dress and sat firmly on top of her new jigsaw book.

The highlight of the party for me was when a fairy godmother used the word 'dancing' in conversation and the babe began shaking her head. This is what passes for dancing in the world of babe, and if that seems strange, you should have seen Ganny and Gandad this summer showing her what they think the word 'dancing' means.

Babymother gets all misty-eyed

ONE YEAR OLD TODAY

This time 12 months ago I was in Barnet General, catheterised, still high as a kite having given birth at 1.21 that morning and with a very small person screaming in my arms. She was confiscated by a large bossy nurse shortly after for keeping the whole ward awake. I had to go and reclaim her from the Confiscated Babies Department the next morning, dragging my catheter with me. I try not to relive the whole birth thing too often because all the excitement comes flooding back and I can't sleep.

The next day we left the hospital with the babe in a car seat which had been sitting round spookily in our sitting room for weeks. Babyfather kept looking over his shoulder nervously in the car park, expecting someone to shout 'Where are you going with that baby?' ' His thoughts on her being a year old are 'grateful that we haven't broken her yet - at least not so you can notice.'

She's more toddler than baby now. Tonight I was looking at a book with her and I said 'Where's the pussycat?' and she pointed at it straight away. I had no idea she was paying any attention to my 'There's the pussycat / dog / bee / butterfly' patter, or even that the pictures on the page made any sense to her. I'm the one with the lack of comprehension...

It's hard to imagine there was ever a world without the babe. I can remember pre-babe life but it's hazy and unreal. I haven't had time to do anything other than live in the present since the birth, which is probably the real reason why years seem to fly by when you have kids. I sometimes - often - miss my own time, and all the possibilities that babelessness brings. There's no logic to it; having a baby when you have the choice not to must be the most irrational of all decisions. But I wouldn't go back and be babe-less, not for anything. She couldn't possibly not have existed, she is so utterly existent. My eyes fill up at the idea of that small, loud, demanding, ginger-haired being not being. At about 5 or 6am on the morning of the birth, as I held her properly for the first time alone, it all suddenly hit me - that God had brought us safely through the birth and she was here. I just thanked him non-stop, laughing and in tears, for about half an hour. And I don't feel any different now. Thank you.

A bit of give and take

12 months tomorrow

It all started on Monday at breakfast. I was, as usual, spooning cornflakes onto the babe's highchair tray so she could pick them up with her fingers (thus avoiding the indignity of being spoonfed), when she picked them up and put them back into the bowl again. Not without an air of 'that's what I think of your cornflakes', I might add.

This was not a food fad - thank God, and she did eat her breakfast - but a new skill! Now she can not only take things out, but Put Things In! And we have been Putting Things In ever since. Bricks into box. Toys into drawer. Peas into pudding. Toast into bookcase. Shoe into pillowcase. Etc.

Apparently, even after all these months of grabbing, it takes a long time to learn to let go . (A friend of mine with relationship problems says she knows how that feels). But now I can say 'Give me the spoon please,' and she places it gently in the palm of my hand, although the mood might still take her to throw it very hard at the window. She also hands things to you in a pointed manner and waits for the correct response. For instance, if she hands me one of her little pink leather shoes and I don't keel over with exaggerated disgust after smelling it, she cries.