Daddy , Me Me Me

7

Ess. Ee. Vee. Ee. En.

7.

Seven.

Seven years and I’m still broken. Forever broken. And forever unaccepting. I got ripped off. We all did. Your children, your children’s children, your brothers, your sisters, your friends. The whole fucking world. And, sure, I might be a bit on the biased side, but I’m not wrong. You’d say I was, but you’d know inside that I am right.

I can still close my eyes and relive my first memory of you. Though it is now more like a stop motion film or something you’d see posted on Vine. Let’s not even go there. So not something you’d be interested in. Because, the Internet.. oh has it changed since you were last forwarding me spam in hopes that I would tell you that a Nigerian Prince really did want to share his family’s fortune with you. I can still see your shirt, you crossing a room, a dark room. It’s the first memory I have. Not the first time I saw you, but I remember asking momma about the details once and she told me I couldn’t have had the memory because I was a baby. But we also realised that there were no photos of this moment/day/whatever, so I guess you just left an impression on me.

I can still close my eyes and see the last time I saw you smile. You were outside of the bus we were leaving Scott’s wedding on. You were teasing Randy because you got to be outside with a cigarette and he was stuck on the non smoking bus. You were happy. You were relieved. Your last child was married and it went off without any troubles. All of the stress and all of the worry was gone. You were truly happy. It was wonderful.

I wish I didn’t have to close my eyes, or look at a photograph. I wish that this was the most elaborate hoax EVER. Sometimes I am convinced that it is. Because how could it not be? I am not a forgiver, but I would totally forgive you for this. Let’s be honest, I’d pretty much forgive you for anything.

There was moment when I was in Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago. I was walking through the Bellagio when I looked out of the window and there you were. I stopped, rubbed my eyes and looked again. You were still there. I took a couple more steps and looked out of the next window and it was still you. I rubbed my eyes again and shook my head. You didn’t go away. I watched you walk thinking that would make me realise it was not you. But you walked just like you. My friend asked what I was looking at and I said “There is a man that looks just like my Dad”. She said “You mean the one in the grey shorts? Yeah, I noticed that too. He looks just like him!”

I knew it my heart it could not be you. I held your hand tight. Too tight. Felt too much to know that was not you. But my chest still seized and my heart stopped and time stood completely still, and for a moment there I thought that maybe I had been wrong. I hoped that I had been so wrong.

 

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It’s been seven years and time hasn’t healed shit.

The phone rings.

“Hey Charlie!”

“I have your mum on the line for you”

“What? My mom? Really?”

*click*“Hello?”

“Kirsty….”

I wish I could forget the rest of that phone call.

I wish I had never answered the phone.

I wish you were still here.

Six years.

And I’m still heartbroken.

I’m still angry.

I’m still grieving.

I fell. And I fell hard. And I’m still getting back up.

I watch tv or read the newspaper and can hear your voice, knowing exactly what you’d say.

I can picture you sat on the corner of the bed with your sandwich and pack of cookies, kissing your teeth and cussing politicians/athletes/etc.

I can picture you in one thousand different scenarios with each of your grandchildren.

And I can hear you snicker as you teach them something wholly inappropriate to say.

I wish for a lot of things, but what I wish most is that you got a chance. A chance to meet these five totally different but all so amazing little people that I know you would love completely and fiercely.

Some days are better than others.

But every single day I miss you.

And every single day I hope you knew how much you were and forever will be loved.

Today is supposed to be a happy day.  Today you are supposed to be 65.  You are supposed to be celebrating with your children and their children or at least looking forward to a visit from them.  You are supposed to be there when Amy or Noah get sick and I am in a panic because I don’t know how to fix them.  You are supposed to be here to push me when I feel like I’m stuck.   You are supposed to be here to infuriate me and make me laugh and tell me I’m wrong even when I’m not and to let me know you love me one minute and then turn around and insult me the next.

I still pretend that you are at the office or on a trip.  That I am going to get an email or a phonecall and you’ll act like nothing ever happened and I’ll be so mad but so relieved all at the same time.   Less than a month ago it was my birthday.  You were supposed to be the first person to call me and wish me happy birthday.  You always were, no matter what time zone I was in.  I woke up and I waited. And then I got in the shower and cried.  Everyone said that it would get better with time.  That it gets easier.  That you were happier.  Their lies didn’t make me feel better nearly five years ago and they all still remain untrue today.

To be honest, I think it might actually be worse.  Watching these two children grow up is both amazing and painful.  You would love them.  Even Amy and her stinkin’ tantrums.  She is a true Gemini, just like you.  She is the happiest princess in the world one moment and the unhappiest monster in the world the next.  She is so strong and yet so fragile.  So funny and yet so straight.  And Noah.  Oh Noah.  He is polite, sweet, silly, funny, shy and smart.  He’s a thinker before he becomes a doer.  But when he does, he does it right.  He loves fully and really only dislikes mushrooms and shrimp.  He’s scared of the silliest things and hides behind his little sister a lot.    He sings and cannot dance worth a damn, but he loves to.   Whenever I look at them, I see you or I see the faces you’d make watching them do whatever it is they are doing.  I hate that you have missed ever single day of their lives.  It is so unfair; for you, for me and mostly for them.

If I could make a wish today, for you, I would wish that you could spend a day … even an hour … with all four of your grandchildren that have never had the chance to spend time with a grandfather that would have loved them more than anything in this world (other than smoking and coffee and a Big Mac).

I miss you every minute of every day and though I’ve managed to keep the tears in more than I used to, days like today knock me back to square one.  I so wish I was able to call you today and wish you a Happy Birthday.  I so wish I could just hear your voice.

I miss you.

And I love you more than you ever knew.

Independence in a child can be cute. It can be frustrating. It can be wonderful. It can be messy.

There will be no photos to accompany this post, for two reasons: a) my camera battery is charging for the trip to London and b) I like you. Most of you, anyway.

Amy is our independent child. Sure, she can be the human manifestation of Saran Wrap (read: Cling Film), but generally she wants to do everything for herself.

Not 15 minutes ago, I heard her doing something on the floor in the living room and asked her what she was doing. She ignored me at first and then came to me holding out a baby wipe. A baby wipe covered in baby poo. Not a little bit of fecal matter either. I called Lee over because I knew we had a situation on our hands and I was scared.

Turns out, I had every reason to be.

We’ve deduced that she must have done her business, climbed up on her horse which assisted in squeezing it out as she reenacted Luke Perry’s stellar performance in 8 Seconds to Glory. She then noticed and thought .oO(oh, let me get this…), proceeding to wipe it all over the floor and I guess when she thought there was too much on the wipe, relieved her cleaning partner of the weight and spread it on the couch cushion.

Guess that seals the Not Taking To Canada deal.

I love her. Really, I do. But at this moment in time, I am loving Lee WAY more because while I type this, he has her in the bath making sure all of the poo is cleaned out from between her chubby toes.

My Mommy keeps telling Kadie and my aunties Cathy and Sue how I am grumpy to her in the day but am so happy when my Daddy comes home. She tells no lies. But until Friday when she was randomly videoing me playing with a ball, she had no proof of my split personality. You can see early on that I could spot that someone had come in the front door, but because the glass is bevelled (my Mommy told me that word, I have no idea what it means other than the fact that I cannot see clearly through it) in the door between the living room and front hall thing, I lost interest in what was going on. I started to give my Mommy attitude and then around 22 seconds in, you can see that I found out who the stranger was that was in my house without announcing their presence.


Drama and Comedy from Kirsty B on Vimeo.

I do love my Mommy and all, but my Daddy doesn’t tell me “no hands, Noah” or “don’t touch that, it’s hot” or “no, Noah, you can’t crawl head first off of the bed/sofa”. My Daddy gives me dinner, runs the bath for me and gives me lots of bath toys and then dries me off and gets me all ready for bed. My Daddy rocks!

Apparently there is one day a year where everyone is supposed to go and buy their Daddy cards and presents. From what I can gather, it is supposed to let them know that you love them. I don’t get it really, because I let my Daddy know every day how much I love him. Why else would I wee on his arm not once, but twice whilst he was giving me a bath the other night? Sheesh. I’m only little, what do these people expect? I also give him lots of smiles and follow him and his voice around the room. It’s a lot more than I do for other people. Trust me.

But despite not fully understanding, I accepted that this was not a day about me. And I’ll admit that my Daddy deserves a day that is all about him. After all. he does SO much for me. He feeds me every night and every morning and all of the time when he is at home with us. He gives me lots of cuddles and plays with me in the bath (whilst my no fun Mommy always wants to be scrubbing bits here and there). He gives me kisses that tickle with his hairy face and he makes me feel all safe and happy. So okay, yes, he should get some sort of reward for taking such good care of me.

And he did!! I gave him a mug with a lot of photos of me and the two of us together on it. He LOVED it. I knew he would. When I saw how many pictures of me were on there, I loved it right away and just knew it was the perfect gift for anyone. I am too cute!! He also got this weird thing that holds little photos of me for when he is at work and he is missing me. I think I was sleeping when Mommy got this because I don’t remember it!!

And he got a hat. Not just a regular hat, a Noah hat!!!

Noah Hat

Look how happy he is to have me up there on his head. And despite my facial expression at the time of the photo, I was loving it too. I just haven’t mastered the art of posing whilst on someone’s head. But I’ll get the hang of it.

Daddy celebrated his special day in another way too. Making a lot of meat on his new toy.

New Toy

I was actually a bit jealous when this came home because it made Daddy smile A LOT. But I know that when it comes down to it, I’m Daddy’s number one guy and he’s mine so I’m not so worried.

Maybe next year I’ll even be able to say Happy Father’s Day to him. Now that will be a real treat!!

I love you, Daddy! I hope you had a good first Father’s Day!

xx

I have to let everyone know how much I love it when my Daddy is at home!!!

My Mommy is cool and everything, but she is always Go Go Go. She wants to dance, she wants to play, she wants to talk…. she wants to put me down when I finally decide that it would be nice for her to carry me around so I can see the world with my eyes open…

8.4.08 Mommy and Sleepy Me

On the other hand there’s my Daddy. He is not around as much as Mommy because he has to dress up and go to the office. He thinks that this means that I won’t “bond” with him as much or that I might not know who he is, but he is SO wrong. When I hear his voice I stop what I am doing right away. When Mommy cannot do anything to get me to sleep, Daddy just puts me on his chest and there’s no place I’d rather be… and his doesn’t even come with a Milk Bar!

6.4.08 Sleeping Beauties

Today he is supposed to be at the office, but he is at home with me. It has been great so far! We all danced this morning, and I smiled and smiled and smiled, then we went shopping which I slept through, and then we came home and Daddy and I napped. I must have done something good to deserve this treat!

8.4.08: Sleepy Peeps

Yes, I am one happy 40 day old baby today… even if my parents never bought me that toy I heard them talking about this morning. Who needs toys?! I’ve just discovered my ears and tongue… they’re better than any boat or car!!

Noah and Daddy in the bath

This morning I had another first. A first I might be embarrassed about had it happened when I was 16, but at 25 days old I was more than happy to have this experience: I had a bath with my Daddy. It was so much more fun than when my parents sit me in my own bath or the kitchen sink. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy getting clean and I really like warm water, but this was better. I got to float on my back (with my Daddy’s help) and there was SO MUCH ROOM. When I sat in the water, so much more of my body was covered.. it was GREAT!

That is, until my parents decided to wet my head by dunking me. There was a short conversation that went as follows:

Daddy: I don’t want to be the first person to dunk him.

Mommy: Oh just do it, he won’t care.

Daddy: Babies are instinctively supposed to hold their breath under water.

Mommy: They are, but probably not this one.

That’s right, she acknowledged that I wouldn’t do it… and they did it anyway. There was a brief moment there that I wished I could have new parents. It was about the moment when they brought me back up and water was shooting out of my nose. Luckily for them, my memory is akin to a goldfish’s at this point in my life and once they started to shampoo my head it was all good. Well mostly. My coos turned into unhappy noises, but I was no longer angry, just confused as to why people who say they love me all day long would do such a thing to me.

My Mommy saved me from it all and warmed me up in a towel and got me dressed in some sweats and it was like nothing ever happened.

I dread the day where I remember what they do to me for longer than a minute at a time.

Warm and Cozy