Dear Frankie, Month 2

Dear Frankie,

The day before yesterday you turned 1,464 hours or 61 days old, or as we say on planet earth: 2 months old. You’re 55cms long and you weigh 5.1Kg. You’re quite the unit.

On Sat 24th November we registered your birth at Camden Town Hall, Judd St opposite the recently reopened St.Pancras Station. The registrar asked us what our occupations were to put on the birth certificate, no proof required. The funniest thing we could come up with was ‘farmer’ which really isn’t that funny. We had a few minutes to check the details over and clocked the unfunniness so ‘Charity Worker’ and ‘IT Consultant’ are the titles that you can proudly declare your parents had at the time of your birth. Had your mother or father actually been quick-witted, our answers would have been ‘Circus Ringmaster’ or ‘Brain Surgeon’ or maybe something funny instead. So the registration took place despite your Grandfather’s anti-establishment protestations to keep you out of reach from the powers that be. I imagine that before long he’ll be explaining to you the importance of staying off the authorities’ radar, and how oppressive it is for governments to entrap people within the confines of numbers and databases. He comes out with hilarious subversive stuff like that all the time. Humour him.

On Saturday the 1st December, Ma took me out for the first half of my birthday pressie. Only to the rather opulent Waterside Inn at Bray, my life. This was our first evening away from you. Your slightly more sensible set of Grandparents babysat for the evening and Ma and I had a great time. Yes, without you. Poor old Frankiepoos, missing out on such luxuries. Wo is. But really though, it was blimmin lovely. The waiters were perfectly orchestrated, perfectly attentive, perfectly timed, the food was tremendous – a crab bisque, roast duck and too many pudding morsels. I want to go back already. Maybe the next time it’ll be with you, when you’d ask for more than milk.

My birthday itself the weekend after was our second evening away from you, and this time overnight. Ma whisked me away to an undisclosable (ok, it was The Royal Lancaster Hotel on the edge of Hyde Park) – again, how spoilt am I! GrandDaddy and Auntie Aly took the babysitting reins over you at home in Bow. This time we ate some great Japanese at Feng Sushi in Notting Hill, and we were only sat next to Annie Bloody Lennox. Anyway, say thank you to your first pair of babysitters when you can please darling.

Then we had visitors from Cambridge, Mary and Tim came down to meet you and naturally you looked your beautiful angelic self; kept fairly quiet; generally behaved as good as gold, as normal. Keep up the good work girl. We also had our first Thanksgiving together thanks to your Aunty Amber and Uncle Edd. Really good meal, personally I wouldn’t have used cinnamon amongst a roast dinner though. But we gave thanks for you, to who I’m not quite sure, but we clinked our booze to your name.

Last Wednesday the 12th we went along to the HAC carols evening which as it does every year culminates in those well-known yuletide tunes ‘Jerusalem’ and ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. I know that then and any time I’m out in public with you, I can’t help but give off laserbeams of pride. You’re so cool Frankie.

A couple of weeks ago you had your first cold, which for our benefit entailed some power sneezes and a morning nasal situation that looked like you’d been up all night snorting pulped lime. Imagine someone sneezing full on in your face, you being the sneezer, me the sneezee. Woahh – thanks for that daughter, nice one. In addition to this and your weird spottiness from last month, you’ve also gone and had Cradle Cap for the past few weeks, or ‘druff’ as I like to call it. And dryness around your brow area, but we make sure we oil it up before we present you to any unsuspecting onlookers. So that’s been nice.

The most annoying thing you have to deal with at the moment occurs at times when you’re at your cutest, normally lying down looking up, surveying our world and Mummy and I are just overcome with love and awe for this cuteness so we kiss either side of your fat cheeks alternately for about a minute nonstop, until you just look at us with some kind of “What are you guys doing with me?” expression. “NOW GET OFF!”.

Some observations: You have the most perfect almond shaped eyes, the most morbidly obese jowels and chubby double chin. In fact the chin area is so gratuitously podgy that often, you’ll use it as a chin-rest to comfort your weary head upon. If you lie on your side, your boobs heave together so that you already have a cleavage. When you smile and when you cry hard, you have this little dimple on one side of your mouth. I do hope it stays. You’re becoming more and more aware of your surrounds every day. You’re starting to become more vocal, making some very girly and lovely ‘oohs’ and aahs’. You entreat us with epic, manly farts. You’re generally a very well behaved little monkey, but if you do get grizzly in the night, I sometimes take you for a walk to the lounge to go and see The Big Building, that monolith of a high-rise estate that we live in the shadow of, and of course this seems to calm you right down into a state of hypnosis. You beautiful freak.

I love you baby,

Daddy XOX

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