I was standing at my office window a few hours ago and I saw a man walking hand in hand with his little boy, who couldn't have been older than about three. The man was very tall, but he had to walk at a slow pace, because his son had to be able to keep up with him. The awkwardness with which the man held himself upright, the angle of his shoulders, suggested that he wasn't used to walking so slowly.
And I realised that I'll never have that experience with Jessica, that sense of being slowed down, of having to meet her rhythm.
And I can't decide if that makes me feel relieved or desperate with grief.
Wednesday 28 November 2007
Monday 21 May 2007
Visit
Now I wish I'd been a bit more vocal when they were deciding where Jessica was going to be buried. I haven't been to my Mum's grave for months... precisely because I haven't been to Jessica's grave for months... because the two graves are practically side by side. I don't expect anyone's been to Mum's. I certainly don't think Dad has. Probably all the cleaning I did last year has been undone completely.
Will I ever be able to visit the grave?
Why didn't I when the first anniversary of Jessica's death came around?
Will I ever be able to visit the grave?
Why didn't I when the first anniversary of Jessica's death came around?
Monday 16 April 2007
Easter break
I've got a friend with a child who's old enough to go to school... which means he's also old enough to be off school when the Easter hols are on.
The other day I met up with my friend for a coffee and, naturally, her son had to come along. And when I sat down and looked at the tables around me, I noticed that there was a child sitting at almost every single one of them.
Needless to say, I saw children everywhere for the rest of the day.
The other day I met up with my friend for a coffee and, naturally, her son had to come along. And when I sat down and looked at the tables around me, I noticed that there was a child sitting at almost every single one of them.
Needless to say, I saw children everywhere for the rest of the day.
Thursday 22 March 2007
Guilt
I've been struck lately by how much of the advertising around us works on pushing child-related guilt buttons.
Take cars for instance. So many car adverts seem to feel the need to feature children, especially if the car isn't especially child-friendly. The other day I saw an ad for some flashy sports convertible (I think it may have been a Jag) which showed a young-ish, clean-shaven man gripping the steering wheel tight whilst twisting around frightening bends in a Mediterranean-style setting. And then he pulls up outside his house and his wife and child come skipping out of the front door and they both jump in the car and Daddy takes them for another spin round the cliffs.
'Don't feel guilty about buying this car for yourself. The kids will enjoy it too.' That seems to be the message.
Perfume adverts are using children more too, usually in the form of some curly-locked cherub leaping up into her mother's arms, brushing her hand across mummy's oh-so-beautifully scented cheek and then nuzzling into her chest.
I'm not convinced, though, that people do feel guilty about spending increasingly large amounts of money on luxuries for themselves. If they did, we probably wouldn't need the guilt-button-pushing adverts.
Take cars for instance. So many car adverts seem to feel the need to feature children, especially if the car isn't especially child-friendly. The other day I saw an ad for some flashy sports convertible (I think it may have been a Jag) which showed a young-ish, clean-shaven man gripping the steering wheel tight whilst twisting around frightening bends in a Mediterranean-style setting. And then he pulls up outside his house and his wife and child come skipping out of the front door and they both jump in the car and Daddy takes them for another spin round the cliffs.
'Don't feel guilty about buying this car for yourself. The kids will enjoy it too.' That seems to be the message.
Perfume adverts are using children more too, usually in the form of some curly-locked cherub leaping up into her mother's arms, brushing her hand across mummy's oh-so-beautifully scented cheek and then nuzzling into her chest.
I'm not convinced, though, that people do feel guilty about spending increasingly large amounts of money on luxuries for themselves. If they did, we probably wouldn't need the guilt-button-pushing adverts.
Friday 16 March 2007
Visitor
Someone brought a baby into work yesterday. I can't remember the exact reasons. It was her grandson. Something had just happened to the baby's Dad and the Mum couldn't look after it because she had to be with the Dad, so it fell to the Nan to take care of her... so she had to bring her into work.
As soon as I heard that a baby would be with us, in the office, for half a day, I started wondering how I should behave. Should I pretend I'm not feeling well and go home? Should I call an urgent meeting at another location? Should I snow myself under heaps of paperwork? In the end I to,d myself to stop making a fuss and to act normal.
But my rendition of normal made me turn myself into a complete fool.
The moment the baby arrived, I walked over to him, told his Nan how gorgeous he was, tickled his cheeks, made gurgling noises... and then I took him in my arms (did his Nan look petrified when I asked her if I could do that?) and I paraded him up and down and the office, showing him off to everyone, and they all made polite noises in return, but it was when I'd been doing this for about fifteen minutes - having visited almost every office on our floor - that I detected a change in the looks people were giving me. Slowly, their polite noises become shorter and more strained. They made less eye contact with me. They found they had piles of important paperwork on their desks. And the baby picked up on this and started becoming restless.
He was sobbing when I handed him back to his Nan.
And I pretty much locked myself in my office for the rest of the day and made sure everyone had left the place before I went home.
As soon as I heard that a baby would be with us, in the office, for half a day, I started wondering how I should behave. Should I pretend I'm not feeling well and go home? Should I call an urgent meeting at another location? Should I snow myself under heaps of paperwork? In the end I to,d myself to stop making a fuss and to act normal.
But my rendition of normal made me turn myself into a complete fool.
The moment the baby arrived, I walked over to him, told his Nan how gorgeous he was, tickled his cheeks, made gurgling noises... and then I took him in my arms (did his Nan look petrified when I asked her if I could do that?) and I paraded him up and down and the office, showing him off to everyone, and they all made polite noises in return, but it was when I'd been doing this for about fifteen minutes - having visited almost every office on our floor - that I detected a change in the looks people were giving me. Slowly, their polite noises become shorter and more strained. They made less eye contact with me. They found they had piles of important paperwork on their desks. And the baby picked up on this and started becoming restless.
He was sobbing when I handed him back to his Nan.
And I pretty much locked myself in my office for the rest of the day and made sure everyone had left the place before I went home.
Wednesday 7 March 2007
Abort
I've been thinking I should write about this for a fortnight or so, but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it.
A short while ago, an American woman was on the news for having successfully given birth to the world's 'most premature' baby. She was less than 22 weeks old, so - not surprisingly - her arrival was greeted with screams from the anti-abortion lobby.
And even though I've experienced what I've experienced, and even though I know people who've had abortions and later regretted it, I sat there watching the news, watching some anti-abortion woman ranting and raving about how abortion should be banned outright, and I just felt like throwing something heavy at the screen to make her shut up.
It's when I get into these moods that I think that if someone were to turn around and say, 'So you think you've got the right to kill your baby?' I would turn around and shout, 'Yes, I do! And I certainly don't think you've got the right to stop me!'
And I seem to be in these moods so often at the moment.
A short while ago, an American woman was on the news for having successfully given birth to the world's 'most premature' baby. She was less than 22 weeks old, so - not surprisingly - her arrival was greeted with screams from the anti-abortion lobby.
And even though I've experienced what I've experienced, and even though I know people who've had abortions and later regretted it, I sat there watching the news, watching some anti-abortion woman ranting and raving about how abortion should be banned outright, and I just felt like throwing something heavy at the screen to make her shut up.
It's when I get into these moods that I think that if someone were to turn around and say, 'So you think you've got the right to kill your baby?' I would turn around and shout, 'Yes, I do! And I certainly don't think you've got the right to stop me!'
And I seem to be in these moods so often at the moment.
Monday 5 March 2007
Wear
I've noticed that one of the clothing trends for the summer is a top with a very high waist - just below the boobs - which makes it look as though you're pregnant. I'm wondering if this means I'm going to spend the summer surrounded by women who look as though they're in maternity wear.
I refused to do the whole maternity clothes thing with Jessica. Well, I say 'refused' but that only worked up to a point. Seven months down the line, I didn't have much choice. But I hated every minute of being in these clothes which I felt had somehow been 'imposed' on me. Actually, I seem to remember hating school uniform for exactly those reasons. I don't think I looked at myself in the mirror very much when my bump got really big. I didn't realise it at the time, but I suppose I just didn't want to see it. I remember there were times when Martin wanted to touch it, to rub his hands across it... and I never actually told him to stop doing it, but I suppose my looks and my silences made it clear that I didn't appreciate the attention. So he soon got the message and stopped doing it. And I remember that after I gave birth, I was just more determined than I'd ever been about anything to get back into my jeans. Nothing was going to stop me from yanking them right up to my waist. I think I did myself some damage the first time I tried them on, but I didn't care. Getting that button to go through the little eye in the fabric became a mission. It was the most important thing I'd ever done.
The other day, I went into a shop and tried on one of those new tops. I took off the blouse I was wearing and slipped on the one I'd taken into the changing room. It was covered in large, retro-60s black and yellow and olive green splashes. As expected, it hugged me just below the boobs and then billowed out, right down to around my hips. As expected, it made me look as though I was concealing a tummy.
And I just stood in this changing room looking at myself in the mirror. And I ran my hands down my reflection, feeling the touch of cold glass where once there'd been a bump. And tears started falling down my cheeks. I didn't even realise it at first. But before I knew what was going on, the reflection before me became blurry and indistinct until it almost washed away.
And when I'd got the tears out of myself, I took a deep breath, put my own blouse back on and walked straight out of the shop, without saying a word to anyone.
I refused to do the whole maternity clothes thing with Jessica. Well, I say 'refused' but that only worked up to a point. Seven months down the line, I didn't have much choice. But I hated every minute of being in these clothes which I felt had somehow been 'imposed' on me. Actually, I seem to remember hating school uniform for exactly those reasons. I don't think I looked at myself in the mirror very much when my bump got really big. I didn't realise it at the time, but I suppose I just didn't want to see it. I remember there were times when Martin wanted to touch it, to rub his hands across it... and I never actually told him to stop doing it, but I suppose my looks and my silences made it clear that I didn't appreciate the attention. So he soon got the message and stopped doing it. And I remember that after I gave birth, I was just more determined than I'd ever been about anything to get back into my jeans. Nothing was going to stop me from yanking them right up to my waist. I think I did myself some damage the first time I tried them on, but I didn't care. Getting that button to go through the little eye in the fabric became a mission. It was the most important thing I'd ever done.
The other day, I went into a shop and tried on one of those new tops. I took off the blouse I was wearing and slipped on the one I'd taken into the changing room. It was covered in large, retro-60s black and yellow and olive green splashes. As expected, it hugged me just below the boobs and then billowed out, right down to around my hips. As expected, it made me look as though I was concealing a tummy.
And I just stood in this changing room looking at myself in the mirror. And I ran my hands down my reflection, feeling the touch of cold glass where once there'd been a bump. And tears started falling down my cheeks. I didn't even realise it at first. But before I knew what was going on, the reflection before me became blurry and indistinct until it almost washed away.
And when I'd got the tears out of myself, I took a deep breath, put my own blouse back on and walked straight out of the shop, without saying a word to anyone.
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