This was me yesterday.

All in a day's work

via @evansims, by @anatolyzenkov

Lightning. In the same place twice.

Hello my girl, look at you, what an angel, what a thing for us to have gone and done, again.

I try to write down some things about what’s going on in your life, for documentary purposes, so in years to come you’ll know what was going on in your life, especially these early days whilst you’re clueless. I’ll try to write monthly during your first year and quarterly thereafter. And I want you to have a hint of a smattering of an inkling of an idea about what and how much you mean to us.

You were due to arrive on the 10th, I was thinking the 8th (my birthday) would be nice, but if it wasn’t then or the 10th then when? So when you landed on December 18th though, it was obvious: I met Mummy in a pub near the Barbican after meeting five days earlier online (no I’m not joking) on an 18th; your sister was born on an 18th. And, if you don’t include my big toes, I’ve got 18 digits.

Kate felt something was afoot the evening before so cousin Don and Helene came round for a game of pictionary. We’ve kept the badger that Don drew that night. It doesn’t look like a badger. At all. Then a couple of hours of nothing happening with you, they went back to their place just a little further down the Roman Road and we went to bed. A couple of hours later and you’d grown enough for your amniotic sack no longer to be able to contain you. Mummy’s waters were breaking all over the shop, I was grabbing the camera (well I’ve never seen broken waters before), Helene came back to look after sister, we got our shit together and headed down the road to the Royal London Hospital, Whitechapel. Only at 1am, in their wisdom, it was locked, because people only need hospitals 9-5. Teetering around the building on the icy ground, we found our way in via the side door, went up to the labour ward, some nurse who looked like we’d woken her pointed us in the wrong direction but eventually we were in the correct room, the room you were born in. Walking along the corridor to get to your room, we passed the screams of the house of horrors and a few hours later Kate was joining in, exactly the same. You’d dumped a load of meconium inside Mummy so there wasn’t going to be any hanging about like we did last time with Frankie (and this also meant we were less inclined to keep the placenta as we did last time). The contractions starting getting worse and scheiße mein alter schtiefels, it was a hard thing to watch the pain that Mummy went through. There was no time for any pain relief other than ‘gas and air’, no time for that planned epidural. “I can’t do this” I remember Mummy saying. 5 hours after arriving at the hospital, at 06h18, you came through. 7lbs 10oz. Bloody nora, birth is an emotional thing.

The Naming of #2
What a bloody farce that became. We must have had a hundred conversations with friends and family over your gestation period that went something along these lines:

Them: “You got a name for her yet?”
Me: “Nope. Got any bright ideas?”
Them: “Amelia?”
Kate: “Grow up.”
Them: “Sophie?”
Me: “I like Sophie but it’s a little too princessy maybe.”

or

Me: “Any suggestions as to what we might name our daughter?”
Them: “erm”
Us: “no, neither have we.”

You get the idea. At some point over the 9 months the following were shortlisted, but none cutting the mustard as Alex has: Layla, Sam, Sami, Ana, Sophie, Sophia, Bow, Cat, Ali, Charlie, Beth, Izzy, Scarlett et al.

Don suggested the name Alex, whilst we were sat around the table playing our board game and twas agreed there and then that that was your name. The morning you were born I checked with Mummy that we were going with Alex and so it was. A day or so later the name Sami came up again and we were back to square one, still at a loss as to what your name was. There was also a bit of pressure on us deciding as we needed to register you in order to get your passport applied for in time for your upcoming first flight to South Africa. So on the 29th December we registered you at Bow Registry Office in the name of Sami Alex Lowry Spratt. A week later we went back to the office and reregistered you, this time lopping of the Sami, which I just couldn’t dig.

And don’t start me on the – “Alex” “Oh, Alexandra?” “N’no, Alex.” What is it with people.

For the record

• Your body can seem a little uptight, like you’re still that foetus, all balled up. Your hands won’t uncurl, I don’t know what’s going on there.
• You’re nocturnal, mostly sleeping during the day only to be up for attention at night. You real funny.

I must warn you – you’ve got this sister. Her name is Frankie and she is a complete fruitcake. She’s been very excited, waiting for you to “come out of Mummy’s tummy”. She currently calls you baby and the pair of you are extremely cute together although right now she can be rather boisterous but she is all good. You guys are going to have so much fun together.

Twelve hours after being born, home

If I had my way (if we had the money), we as a family would spend the rest of our lives travelling the world. Currently though, my job is taking me away a lot and this is far from ideal, leaving you guys behind. I left for Jordan on the 9th January and am due to be there for 3+ weeks, then you guys are off to SA soon after I get back, in time for your Uncle Edd’s wedding, I’m off to Mumbai first then I’ll see you out there. So these first few months we’re not going to see a great deal of each other. I know this isn’t cool, I hope you understand.

Don’t go changing,

Daddy X

I miss you.

You’re now in SA and I’m about to go to India for 10 days. I’m then back for a day then heading south to come join you. We skyped each other this morning before I left the house. Occassionally I catch a screenshot of you in our skype chats:

Handstand demo (Alex looking on)

Right this second I’m sitting on the upper deck of a 747 bound for Mumbai. I’m listening to ‘101 Power Ballads’ (Queen: ‘I Want It All’) and outside my window it’s pitch. I tell a lie, I can see city lights down below, let me just look at the map of where we’re over… Iran. 2 and a half hours until we get there. I’ll try to keep the info included herein only up until the 18th January and will pre date the blog entry for neatness sake but it’s actually the 17th February today. As I sit down to think of it, there’s been quite a bit going on since you turned 2. The biggest being yours sister’s arrival, then Nana and Ottoo visiting, Christmas and me working in Jordan.

I take no pleasure in telling you that the tantrums have increased (that’s yours, not mine), in regularity and absurdity. You may wake up, call us to come get you (you’ve only worked out once so far that you can get out of bed and leave your room of your own accord), “I want nice warm ‘bena” I look at you expectantly/encouragingly waiting for you to complete your sentence: “…pease.” “OK”. I go get you a drink which you guzzle down within a couple of minutes. You’ll then say “I want telly.” … “…pease.” … “It’s still night time.” I say, nearly lying (although at 06h30 it is still dark) “Waaaaah” “Please don’t wake your sister, go to your room if you want to cry.” “Waaah”. And the morning’s off to a roaring start, Kate and I giving each other WTF glances. But you do tootle off to your room where you can revel in your own fruitloopiness.

Stamping of the feet, screaming, high-pitched squealing, forced or real tears, which all come on so instantaneously, you work yourself up into such a frenzy. To be honest, it’s fairly fucking nuts. How the where the who the? But when you’re done you want to be our friend again, literally, saying “You my best friend.”, “…in whole world. Ever, ever. I want cuddle you.”

Crunchie Nut from James Spratt on Vimeo.

For the record

• 22.11.09: Your longest sentence to date: “I don’t want to take my finger out of my nose Mummy.”
• You seem unable to pronounce the letter ‘O’. Instead you’ll say ‘oo’. Therefore: pianoo, tomatoo, Dumboo, Uncle Ottoo, ‘cadoo (avo) and pilloo.
• Favourite colour: Green. You still don’t actually know your colours, but you want the green one all the same. That and the middle one too.

You’ve had some nasty skin issues which seemed to arrive when the bad weather did. Chapped lips that took ages to heal; then your sucked thumb lost the nail and the skin turned wrinkly, this does mean though that for the time being you’re no longer sucking it; your eye, the one you play with got quite gunky, but this also means that you’ve all but stopped playing with that; and your skin is not its beautiful baby-smooth self. The winter weather has taken its toll on you.

Quotes of the Day

[desperate, earnest]: “Please help me.”

[complaining]: “Mummy, Daddy’s trying to help me.”

[imperative]: Kate: “No Frankie.”
You: “Erm, I think yes.”

“Oh no. Poor us. What are we going to do?”

Some evening, we stop and listen through the baby monitor to the rot you come out with after you’ve been put to bed. For maybe up to a couple of hours after you’ve been put to bed you normally merrilly chat away to your self, interspersed with the odd gurgle as another drink gets necked. Like some voice in your head is prepping you for the student years to come, you Zulu warrior. You sing a bit of  Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Baa Baa Black Sheep, talk about Mummy or me or I don’t know, wahtever, but it’s incessant nonsense. Keep this up, it’s absolutely beautiful stuff to listen to.

Some time before Christmas we had the decidedly sad thought that you will never love us as much as we love you. Hold on, I’m not trying to be morose here, I’m just stating what I think is fact. That’s not you in particular, but parents and their children in general. And if my parents were to ever read this, I don’t want to take anything away from them, because they’re great an’all. I hope they’d know what I mean. I guess it’s all in the programming, but you have taught me about this unconditional love since you and now Alex were born. I’m guessing within 30 years you’ll be learning about it too. It’s pretty consuming and it feels good. That said, if you did turn out to be the next Hitler, you certainly wouldn’t be getting any Christmas pressies, I can tell you.

Speaking of which, we had our first Christmas as a four. Mummy, Alex, you and me á table. It also snowed around the Christmas period too which made it all the better. We went out into Victoria Park around the new year period and built a snowman. To be fair, it was a travesty of a snowman but you seemed to like it all the same. We had watched ‘The Snowman’ soon before building one so you love the concept of snowmen. At the end of the movie though, when the snowman melted away, you cried. My little sensitive lady, how outrageously sad.

Skype snapshot: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the pianoo

It’s now the 26th of Feb and I’m nearly at the end of my Indian trip. You must come to this country at the earliest opportunity. I came here first when I was 19 (unless I count the 24hr stopover in New Delhi on the way to Singapore when I was 7). It’s my favourite country for travelling in. So many reasons why: its vibrancy, its antipodal difference from our country; the friendliness of the people; the excellent weather; the sheer size and therefore domestic geographical difference of the place; the way these guys shake their heads; the rickshaw rides; the food; the soda and lime; the density of the populous; the mythological side to the religions; I could go on, I will go on when we’re on a more level playing field. All I’m saying is: do this place.

I miss you and cannot wait to come and see you and the rest of our gang in Plettenberg Bay. Only 5 days to go. I hope you’ve been looking after your sister and helping Mummy where you can. Looking forward to seeing how your kick-kicking is coming on in the pool.

All the love,

Daddy X