Light

It took a few days.

Soothing, saving, sleep came; smiles returned; and she started to acclimatise herself to her new dental brace (refitted without drama, fuss or agitation on Monday after she'd succesfully dismantled it at the weekend).

Her teeth were no longer her main focus - buzzing insects were. You may think that the sunshine we’ve been experiencing this week was the signal that summer is finally here, but it wasn't. We work to our own almanac: summer arrives precisely when my daughter starts obsessively discussing the evil nature of wasps. Which she did, repeatedly. The insect-based refrain is refreshingly, comfortingly familiar. I can fire off my answers to her questions like a sharpshooter, knowing exactly what she wants me to say. "Yes, that's right, we love bees because they make honey, no, nobody really likes wasps, no, they won't sting you, not unless you tread on them or really annoy them, yes, your cousin got stung three times, no, I've never been stung, and yes, yes, I think you're right, wasps are evil."

I stood watching her today, at the special school’s garden party, just for a minute. I was there to take photos for the school newsletter (the party had been organised to celebrate the head being awarded an OBE earlier in the year). I’d even worn a frock for the occasion, a wardrobe choice usually strictly confined to weddings, christenings and funerals.

My daughter was in her best flowery dress. She caught my eye, then dipped her head, grinning shyly. I snapped the picture, above, then walked across to her and pushed her glasses up from the end of her nose.

She was back. My girl had reappeared like the sun, startling and tingling my skin.

I let the light wash over me. And squinted a bit, dazzled by the disco pink bands of her braces. 

Video is Madonna - Ray Of Light. "And I feel/Like I just got home."

Related posts: 
Scrap
Jaws
Indentured

Arrival

The registrar gave me an odd look. I thought about it when I walked out of her office, and went to the pub with my workmates, who didn't know what to say to me. That was OK, because they were willing enough to ply me with drink. I got a lift back to the hospital again. It was only then I realised that under my coat, which now had a freshly-printed birth certificate in one pocket, I was still wearing my pyjamas. You'd have thought someone would have mentioned it. 

One in every 25,000 they said. A rare occurence. A whole decade would go by in their maternity ward before another one would arrive. When they told me that it made it worse. Nothing had gone to plan. Everything had gone wrong. And yet. She was beautiful. I was raging and terrified. But she was beautiful.

This song transports me back there. Wires, by Athlete, written by the lead singer about the premature birth of his daughter:

"Running, down corridors, through automatic doors
Got to get to you, got to see this through,
I see hope is here, in a plastic box,
I've seen Christmas lights, reflect in your eyes,
Down corridors, through automatic doors
Got to get to you, got to see this through."

I wish I had known then what I know now.  It would have made those long, dark days and nights easier to bear.

"First night of your life, curled up on your own,
Looking at you now, you would never know.
I see it in your eyes, I see it in your eyes,
You'll be all right."

And she is, you know. All right.

Oh, and there's one other song, too, that I'll forever oddly associate with this time. Alone in the tiny room in the middle of the Special Care Baby Unit, attached to the noisy, industrial Black & Decker-sized breast pump, I had to hum something to keep myself amused: 

Video is Madonna - Express Yourself