Forest

We are all sharing a bed while we’re in the forest, because one of us is not well. His body is stripped of all but a nappy, his fever is furious and hard to keep on top of. The drugs aren’t working like they usually do. He looks so much smaller, as if the illness has diminished his physical presence. In a foetal ball, perched atop a pillow, he occasionally jerks and shudders before resettling.

I wonder what goes through his head to make his body do that. Fearful, feverish dreams? He seems scared, and it hurts me to know that I can do nothing about it.

His sleep is snatched, sporadic, restless, and so is ours. It’s quiet here, the birds and animals are asleep, there are no roads nearby. A baby’s cry is far more piercing when it’s the only sound.

A poorly boy taking a nap. Aww.

We get up early and look outside at the trees, the water, the rocks and the morning light. I wonder aloud why people have chosen to live anywhere but here. I feel more at ease and at home here than I ever do in the tarmac coated sprawl of a city or town. I suppose there just aren’t many jobs in the forest.

I'm not feeling well, can you tell?

The arrival of morning signals the departure of the fever. The rash remains, to remind us we’re not done with the whining just yet, and woe betide should you run out of Calpol. Suitably dosed, we head out on the bikes, weaving between the other assorte

d short term forest dwellers, most of whom look like they haven’t seen a bike before, let alone ridden one. Crashes are narrowly avoided and the swimming pool is reached.

Cool water laps at our skin and rinses away memories of the unpleasant night time, replaced by chlorine’s gift: desiccated skin. But he loves it. He thinks he can swim, we do not. He wants no aid to buoyancy apart from one of us, so we scoot around the pool, pushing him ahead of us. He remains utterly calm while we change him back into dry land clothing and, though a part of me feels foolish, we believe that the worst of the illness, a reaction to the MMR vaccination, is over.

Bedtime proves my foolish part correct. The fever is back. At 3:30am I meander through the haze of sleep to give him Calpol. He sleeps next to us again.

In the morning I discover I’ve left the lid off the Calpol. An ant crawls near to the bottle. An urgent trip to the shop to buy more occurs. We swim again. He loves it again. I continue to love the forest, continue to love the time I am having with my family, continue to hope it will somehow not come to an end on Friday, when they let the cars back in and we have to leave.

Forest at dusk. Pretty.

Our first holiday as three hasn’t been the easiest four days, but I will always remember it and cherish it.

Fathers' Day

I was going to post about Fathers’ Day yesterday, but I was far too busy having Fathers’ Day.

My son has a sense of occasion already. My wake up call was my wife shouting for help with a truly apoocalyptic nappy. The classic “up the back and all over the arms” variety.

Happy Fathers’ Day dad, here’s your present, a baby, babygro and vest covered in runny shit. Nice.

Following the clean up operation I was given my card, a copy of Teething Pains and a lovely canvas with tiny, painty footprints on it. Definitely preferable to The Creature’s original offering.

A bottle of milk later and The Creature fell asleep. Seizing the moment, so did me and Mrs L.

Naptime over, playtime began, followed by more milk. Then, somewhat unusually, another poo. Clearly I hadn’t looked like I enjoyed the first one enough. The Creature mixed it up a little; this poo went down the left leg, out the bottom of the babygro and onto my jeans.

Variety is the spice of life, I’m glad Cam has learnt this lesson early.

The rest of the day was spent soothing, playing, napping, chatting, watching some TV, drinking cups of tea and eating cake. It was a day with a baby. A day with friends. A day as a dad.

I’ve never been too keen on days like Fathers’ Day. I’m fairly sure it’s just one of those “Hallmark Holidays”, fabricated by businesses to sell more cards and make more money out of people who just can’t say no.

But I think we did it quite well. No excessive spending, no over the top celebration, pretty much a day like any other since becoming a dad ten weeks ago.

I don’t need a day designated to celebrate being a Father. I celebrate it every day. I feel elated every time I pick up that dinky person I helped create, I feel loved every time he fixes me with his eyes or rests his head into my chest for a cuddle. I hope that we will raise Cam to have the same quiet but obvious appreciation for his parents as I have for mine.

Parenting is hard work. Far too hard to give each parent just one day each year to think about it.

My first Fathers’ Day was great, and I hope all of you had an ace day too. But that’s my hope for every day, not just the ones we mark with cards and presents.

*instigates group hug*

Thanks for reading.