9 to 5

The plan was always that I would be the stay-at-home dad and that in our family mother would be the breadwinner. This is what we said when S- was being matched by the adoption panel with us.

However, I think M-, our social worker, was disappointed when all these things came to pass and, after our time off work building the bond with S-, G- put on her suit and got back on the treadmill.

G-, being the steadfast person she is, didn’t rave or moan or whine. She just got on with it: ‘life is how it is and we’ve got to do these things,’ she said.

To her credit M- choked it back, and has been a rock since. At Christmas, she bought S- a book called Owl bables to help S- cope with her mother’s absence during the day. The symbolism of the story may seem overdone to us adults – the owl babies huddle on a branch all night and call for mummy, who turns up at the end of the book – but S- loves it.

‘Mummy,’ she yells 2 or 3 times a day now, racing across the lounge to point at the TV. So on goes the DVD that came with the book, again. Sometimes we even read the story, too, or at least turn the pages.

Much of this blog seems to be about birds, but S- also now has a picture of an owlet on her bedroom wall: a photograph we brought on a recent week away in the Cotswolds and shoved in a clip frame.

When we see G- pull up in her car at the end of the working day S- wriggles and giggles with excitement, but all this energy seems to vanish when G- actually gets into the house. Suddenly there’s a ton of other stuff to be interested in: books, hairbrush, toys… And when it comes to bedtime it’s always ‘dada’, ‘dada’, although we make sure G- tucks her up at least a few times a week.

It’s the same in the morning: S- is getting increasingly reluctant to say bye-bye to her mother, even though I know we’ll later spend quite a bit of the day calling G- up on the toy telephone.

G- won’t thank me for this but I really admire her for the way she copes with S-’s apparent disinterest. I know it would be tearing me up and I wouldn’t be able to help getting depressed about it. Yet G- stays so calm and positive, and interested. And uncomplaining.

But that, as I said, is the sort of person my wife is.

Word up

The paradoxical thing about the love you have for your children is that part of you wants them to stay the same and the other takes such joy in their growing up and all their achievements.

S-’s favourite word of the moment is ‘bubble’. She says it perfectly and knows exactly what it means.

She’s still struggling with some of the more basic words. Like ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and – as G- mock seriously keeps trying to get her to say – ‘Yes, mother, I love you lots and lots’.

But that’s not to say she doesn’t give it her best shot. We were bowling along in the car [dad was going a a bit too quickly, admittedly: we were late for a playgroup, again!]. S was lifting up the window shade and peering out, alternately chuckling and cooing, and kicking her legs, when she started practising.

There came a few indistinguishable noises and then she went for the biggie:

‘Ah yeh… yeye ….ye….zzz [splutter], ah yehyehye, ye, AH ye ye ye yeee ye ah [kick, kick, splutter] yeyeyeyeyeYeeeYEEEYEYEYEYE… [giggle, kick and then finally a shout of pure, unadulterated joy] AH YESSSSSS!’