The Man from Atlantis

An old conversation in our house once went like this:

M: “Oh, it’s so sad they grow up isn’t it? They’re so sweet at this stage”

Me: “Yes they’re sweet but no, it isn’t sad. You don’t want them to stay small their whole lives do you? You want to watch them grow, leave school, make lives for themselves” and so on.

However, as always, M speaketh sense and I speaketh nonsense.

I mean, I was right in what I said about wanting them to grow and move on to great things but M was right when she said it was sad; it is sad. Certain achievements attained and certain situations overcome only ever happen once. Joseph undoing his first button, sneaking a look at Annabel reading to herself in her bedroom for example, you can only get the real magic from seeing it once. After that, it isn’t new anymore.

I must say that I will truly miss where we’re at right now, with both of them doing so well for their respective ages. Missy fiercely independent, Joseph becoming ever more confident. They grow up fast.

The scary thing is that, as I’ve said before, according to both M’s parents and mine, the worrying started the day you find out you’re going to become a parent and the worry will continue to the day you pack your bags for the big hotel in the sky. I’m (very) nearly into my 4th decade and my parents tell me they still worry about me; likewise with M.

It’s almost a prison sentence!

You don’t know what a stressful ride you’re in for until it’s too late to do anything about!!!

Tonight I did my usual thing of taking them both to the toilet before sitting down to type (the children that is, not my parents!) and I get a surprise with both of them.

I turn on the light on the landing, tip-toe into Annabels’ room (which I never thought I would be able to do) just in time to see her smiling in her sleep, a big ear to ear grin on her sleeping face. I take a step nearer and she lets out a chuckle before laughing out loud.

It’s all I can do to stop from laughing myself.

As always, I stand her in front of the toilet before lifting her up onto the loo and she leans into me like a rag doll, arms lolling and swaying, clearly asleep on her feet. Carry her back to her bed and she looks so peaceful, so warm, so safe.

I take Joseph (who is much more difficult to lift up) to the loo and, although asleep, briefly opens his eyes and says, “it’s like I’ve just woken up in the morning”, before closing his eyes and drooping forward on the loo with only my shoulder stopping him falling flat on the floor.

Both incidents make me smile.

And they were firsts. It’s unlikely they will happen again or if they do, be as funny as they were this evening.

M and I agreed that parenting is the most rewarding, most tiring, most on-going “job” you ever sign up for in your life.

As tough as it gets, you wouldn’t want things any other way.

Ooh, by the way, talking of firsts, congratulations to Joseph on passing his Level 1 non-swimmer lesson. His instructor has said that he can bypass Level 2 and go straight into the beginners’ class.

Not bad at all for a boy who 10 weeks ago didn’t like getting water on his face.

Good for you Poops, good for you.