A Moment in Time
I wrote this piece about 25 years ago, during the city’s annual horse racing carnival, and well before I became a mum. It’s difficult to believe that the little boy is now a wonderful and successful, jet-setting career man - and I’m still just as besotted with him today as I was all those years ago!
I admit it. I’m besotted with him. So much so that I’m always being accused of being “clucky”. Do I want kids? Certainly as a member of the so-called “gentler” sex who’s approaching the other side of thirty, I’m thinking about it. But one of my own? Preferably not.
I spent my birthday with him a few weeks ago, and as usual came home exhausted. The day started with his weekly swimming lesson. His Grandma is scared of water and his Aunt (me) can barely float without drowning, so we’re pleased as punch that he’s out-swimming us both at age three.
It was then on to his home, where the first thing on the agenda was to strip naked (him, not me) and have a tour of the new house extension. How the two are related I’m still trying to figure out. Up the stairs, down the stairs, hide in little sister’s wardrobe, bounce on Mum and Dad’s bed, read this book (well, the first two pages, anyway), watch Thomas the Tank Engine on television - all with a carrot stick in his hand. Needless to say I didn’t see much of the extension.
Not, that is, until that blissful hour when he slept. How does he sleep so soundly through the noisy preparation of his Aunt’s birthday party? Mixing party food in the food processor, blowing up balloons, vacuuming and sweeping - that’s when I finally saw the extension, and very nice it is too. And speaking of party food, he had no trouble wolfing down sausage rolls, frankfurts, party pies, chips and cake. I’m convinced kids of today have cast iron stomaches.
During the party it’s present giving time. He’s made me a card (with a little help from his mum) and done a painting for me. He tells me it’s of a road and some water. All I can think is that his imagination is something to behold - I can’t see either of them. I must find a wall at home to display his masterpiece. He suggests the back of my toilet door, and he’s right. Anything would be better than the tumultuous colour scheme I inherited from the previous owner.
On the way to the night’s dinner party everything is “Why this?” and “Why that?”. How do you explain to a three year old that the horse standing on top of a building with a glass of champagne in its hoof isn’t real? “What’s an advertising campaign, Mummy?” “Well….” The frightening thing is that it all goes in - and comes out again six weeks later when you’ve forgotten all about it. There’s no room for silly answers when it comes to a child who can tell you all of the technical differences between a back hoe and a digger.
Back at home in my own peaceful, childless spinster pad, it’s time to reflect on that age old question again. Do I want kids of my own? Who am I kidding? Of course I do!!
And am I ever so glad that I did have a child of my own several years later! I’m so thankful.
Nikki
