Great and Small

Before I began this blog, I intended it to document Amelie’s development, from her first steps to her first words. But what I have found from personal experience is that the BIG monumental occasions are firmly rooted in the mind, but all the little moments, that get lost in the flurry of life, are just as important as the big ones. I hope, when Amelie reads back on all these notes, there are enough minor achievements and quirks to form a greater picture of her youth as well as the larger because each is as important as the other. Which leads me nicely into one of the smaller moments. I picked up Amie from nursery last night. It was a warm, bright night, quite unusual for the time of year, so I promised her once we got back to the cottage we would go outside in the garden and kick the ball about. At first, she seemed more determined to watch “Justin” but once we got home and I had changed from work clothes to casual, and she into her wellington boots, her attention soon shifted to garden.

As promised, we began with a little kick around. Amelie favours her left foot when kicking, and as mentioned, prefers wellington boots to any other shoe (no surprise there). And so we kicked around a bit, and this then turned into me chasing Amelie, and then that turned into to a prolonged and tiring game of “up’ta sky”, and after that I pulled out the slides and Amelie spent a long time climbing them both and sliding down and climbing back up, and then sliding back down. It was nice, and gave me a few moments to catch my breath and rest my arm muscles after throwing her in the air. There was a moment of sadness too when the young boys from next door came out and began bouncing on their trampoline. Amelie heard them enter the garden and ran toward the fence, watching them from behind the wire like some little prisoner of war. And in those moments I tend to draw back to the garden bench and watch her watching them, and it’s such a sad image but I know that to try and call her over and engage with her would be futile because those boys are like the snake charmer’s flute. So I held back for a while, and then I sneaked up and lifted her over my shoulder so she was upside down and I pretended to be an ogre taking her away to his lair and she giggled and laughed and when I got to the top garden I sat her on the wall and we both remained quiet for a spell looking out over the fields and pastures and I then asked Amelie what she could see and she replied, “Boy...Man...Farm...”

Those quiet moments are some of my favourite times with Amelie. It’s not that I don’t enjoy her chattering or loudness, which I do, in moderation, but those muted exchanges pull me closer to her. I often remark to Carla how I love being around Amelie when she has just awoke after her afternoon nap, when she is between this world and that fashioned by dream. I am usually writing in the bedroom, and Carla brings her in, sits her on my lap, and I just watch Amelie’s face, the way her eyes dance from my eyes to my hand, from my hand to the duvet, and from that to her teddy. I ask her questions like did she have a nice sleep, and in a raspy and quiet voice she gives one worded answers, the nod of her head laboured. From being such an active baby, never stopping for a moment, these subdued moments give me time to look upon her like an artist admiring a finished painting. I am able to marvel at her beauty and wonder how the hell I helped to produce something so amazing.

And so we sat and watched the landscape, and then I asked Amelie if we should go and wait for Mummy at the front gate, and she agreed. I carried her there and placed her on the wall, and I made a game of it all. I would look down the road and when I saw a car approaching I’d say to Amelie, “Is this Mummy?” and she would lean forward slightly, peer down the road and go, “Naaaaaaooooww.” And when it passed and I would ask, “So where’s Mummy?!” and Amelie would laugh. Another car would present itself in the distance and I would follow the same script, each time it ending with her laughter. We stayed like that for about fifteen minutes, the sun dipping behind the cottage, leaving us cloaked in a cold shadow. Carla never turned up while we were there so I suggested we walk a little down the road where the sun was still shining. As always, Amelie agreed, and being tall for her age allowed me to hold her hand. We walked for a while in silence, the sun on our backs, following our shadow’s lead. It was a lesser moment than many documented here, and one I am sure would have been lost over time, but hopefully now it will remain something greater than the time it took to live out, if only to prove that every part of being with Amelie is worthy of remembering, great and small.