Then it hits me, I don’t have to do anything. He’s not mine and his dad’s all over it. Calm and in control he’s multi-tasking the feeding, changing, entertaining, drinking his mug of tea, texting, chatting and the baby is all smiles. Impressive, why wasn’t he on hand when mine were this size? Oh, that’s right because he was that size too.
This is what’s REALLY making my head spin – the dad is Eldest and Middle’s oldest pal, who I’ve known since he was a toddler, all blond curls and bright blue eyes. And the admiring adults gathered around the baby are in fact what used to be my children. I must stop calling them that.
Just a year ago they’d all have been hanging out in a bedroom, with guitars, amps, bottles of beer, all guffaws and thuds, but today they’re in the living room, sitting on the sofa and chairs, with cups of tea and biscuits. They’re talking quietly and laughing as they entertain the baby, feed him, wind him, hold him, make him smile.
I watch the baby’s shiny blue eyes, ones that I’ve seen before, flickering closed as he drifts happily off to sleep. Everything’s right with his world as his grown-ups take charge and the conversation murmurs on. Aw. This is lovely, but yawn, I wouldn’t mind a nap too while these guys are in charge of everything – so I slide quietly out of the room and leave them to it.
Parenting? The younger generation, it seems they’ve got this. n