Duncan sat back in his chair. Being a husband was good, being a dad was good, being a garage owner was also good, but these all paled beside the joys of being a grandpa. Being a grandpa was the best. There were baby snuggles, baby gurgles, and baby smiles. As Duncan looked at his tiny granddaughter his heart melted all over again.
A little smile played around the corners of his lips. He reached down into the pram and lifted out his lovely little one. She turned her face to him and smiled. This was a new thing, five weeks old and smiling. That must surely be a record! Such an advanced baby! The best baby in the world. "Come on little one, come to Daddy."
Anne cleared her throat slightly. "Come to Grandpa. You're not this one's Daddy." Duncan kept making this mistake, and not just this mistake. Jean, his wife, was most often called 'Mummy', although Anne, his daughter, the baby's actualy mother, was sometimes called 'Mummy', but equally often 'Aunty Anne'. It was going to take quite some time for Duncan to straighten out all of these new relationships, and fully grasp hold of the idea that his little girl had a little girl of her very own now.
Duncan cradled her on his chest; the little head snuggled into the crook of his neck. There was something about baby powder that smelled so good, clean and fresh. He loved the smell of little babies. But not THIS one, not NOW! With a crinkled nose and a sour expression on his face, he bellowed "ANNE!" It was gentle enough so as not to disturb his little angel, but loud enough to attract Anne's attention. Holding out the baby at arms length he declared, "Your baby needs a clean nappy". "Hurumph" thought Anne, "So he's remembered she is MY baby now?!"
Jean walked into the sitting room. She'd overheard what's been happening, and has had a little chuckle to herself. "Duncan, here's your tea, and a wee biscuit." "Ah, just the thing!" thought Duncan, "A nice wee cuppa, and by the time I'm finished the baby will be done too." What he said was "Thank you dear."
Anne laid out the changing mat, and set to work cleaning her daughter's mighty explosion. It wasn't just smiling where this baby excelled. She had excellent bowels, powerful bowels.
Jean headed back to the kitchen, to finish making dinner, and Duncan sat watching his daughter and granddaughter. Yes, there was promise there. Anne would make a good mother, a bit green at the moment, but she'd learn. He picked up his mug of tea and took a sip, then a long draft, yes, just the way he liked it - not too strong, lots of milk, and a half-teaspoon of sugar. And a Kit Kat - perfect. Kit Kats were his favourite chocolate biscuits. He broke it into two 'fingers' and alternated between drinking and chomping. A very satisfying experience.
By the time Duncan had finished his tea, his little granddaughter was smelling fragrant once more. She was the picture of health - a sweet, chubby little baby, lying naked on the changing mat. He swooped in and scooped her into his arms. Yes, much better. Again he cradled her on his chest, and sang silly little nonsense songs to her, enveloping her in love. "Dad! Give her back. She'd not got any clothes on."
Sheepishly, Duncan handed the baby back to his daughter. Anne got on with the business of applying a fresh nappy and clean clothes. As she did so, she reflected when her Dad was around the only time she got to hold her own baby was when she needed changing.
Just at that point, Duncan spotted a tiny piece of chocolate on his trousers. It must have broken off from the Kit Kat - a tasty little surprise. How nice. Duncan licked his index finger, and then used it to lift he chocolate from his trousers. The little morsel of choccy goodness was transferred to his tongue. His face puckered, and Duncan realised his error. Not all brown things are chocolate, especially when there's been a naked baby around.
This is a true story. I should know, as I was that baby, and I've heard this tale my whole life.
A little smile played around the corners of his lips. He reached down into the pram and lifted out his lovely little one. She turned her face to him and smiled. This was a new thing, five weeks old and smiling. That must surely be a record! Such an advanced baby! The best baby in the world. "Come on little one, come to Daddy."
Anne cleared her throat slightly. "Come to Grandpa. You're not this one's Daddy." Duncan kept making this mistake, and not just this mistake. Jean, his wife, was most often called 'Mummy', although Anne, his daughter, the baby's actualy mother, was sometimes called 'Mummy', but equally often 'Aunty Anne'. It was going to take quite some time for Duncan to straighten out all of these new relationships, and fully grasp hold of the idea that his little girl had a little girl of her very own now.
Duncan cradled her on his chest; the little head snuggled into the crook of his neck. There was something about baby powder that smelled so good, clean and fresh. He loved the smell of little babies. But not THIS one, not NOW! With a crinkled nose and a sour expression on his face, he bellowed "ANNE!" It was gentle enough so as not to disturb his little angel, but loud enough to attract Anne's attention. Holding out the baby at arms length he declared, "Your baby needs a clean nappy". "Hurumph" thought Anne, "So he's remembered she is MY baby now?!"
Jean walked into the sitting room. She'd overheard what's been happening, and has had a little chuckle to herself. "Duncan, here's your tea, and a wee biscuit." "Ah, just the thing!" thought Duncan, "A nice wee cuppa, and by the time I'm finished the baby will be done too." What he said was "Thank you dear."
Anne laid out the changing mat, and set to work cleaning her daughter's mighty explosion. It wasn't just smiling where this baby excelled. She had excellent bowels, powerful bowels.
Jean headed back to the kitchen, to finish making dinner, and Duncan sat watching his daughter and granddaughter. Yes, there was promise there. Anne would make a good mother, a bit green at the moment, but she'd learn. He picked up his mug of tea and took a sip, then a long draft, yes, just the way he liked it - not too strong, lots of milk, and a half-teaspoon of sugar. And a Kit Kat - perfect. Kit Kats were his favourite chocolate biscuits. He broke it into two 'fingers' and alternated between drinking and chomping. A very satisfying experience.
By the time Duncan had finished his tea, his little granddaughter was smelling fragrant once more. She was the picture of health - a sweet, chubby little baby, lying naked on the changing mat. He swooped in and scooped her into his arms. Yes, much better. Again he cradled her on his chest, and sang silly little nonsense songs to her, enveloping her in love. "Dad! Give her back. She'd not got any clothes on."
Sheepishly, Duncan handed the baby back to his daughter. Anne got on with the business of applying a fresh nappy and clean clothes. As she did so, she reflected when her Dad was around the only time she got to hold her own baby was when she needed changing.
Just at that point, Duncan spotted a tiny piece of chocolate on his trousers. It must have broken off from the Kit Kat - a tasty little surprise. How nice. Duncan licked his index finger, and then used it to lift he chocolate from his trousers. The little morsel of choccy goodness was transferred to his tongue. His face puckered, and Duncan realised his error. Not all brown things are chocolate, especially when there's been a naked baby around.
This is a true story. I should know, as I was that baby, and I've heard this tale my whole life.
No comments:
Post a Comment