Might be Melbourne's ever-lingering winter, but I've battled the black dog a bit of late. So it was with resignation that I hauled myself out of bed and into pre-6.30am darkness this morning. But I realise I’m a daddy with daddy responsibilities, and I knew it was time to face the day when it became clear my darling 20-month-old Edie – who'd been snoozing between Tash and I, drunk with the warmth of hot milk from the bottle she'd discarded like a bogan would a VB can at a B&S ball – wasn't going back to sleep. When the coo-coos and half-words get louder and clearer – “Pippy!... Bon-Bon!... Hat!... Airplane up-above!... Mumma!... Dadda!... Ahhh!... Phul!" – and she's tired of trying to nestle into her mother's bosom (not to mention that it's my turn to get up at 'Edie Hour'), there's no option other than to go with my daughter's flow.
So she grabs hold of my hand and practically roosts me out of bed. Her little feet rush up the hallway and she guides me into the loungeroom. It's time for nursery rhymes. No, I'm not allowed to change her soiled nappy yet. No, it's not time for porridge and toast. Just Mary had a Little Lamb, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and the like.
But she's a little less wriggly this morning, as if sensing that all is not 100 percent in daddy's world. Instead of dragging me from the couch to her miniature dining table for tea parties, then to the building blocks, her toy guitar and, finally, her mother's office to watch nursery rhymes on the computer (even though they're already on the TV), she snuggles with me under a blanket on the couch for 10 glorious minutes, laying perfectly still apart from the odd hand movement that accompanies the tunes she knows (which are many… credit to her mum).
After Incy Wincy and Miss Muffet have danced a merry jig on more than one occasion, she signals that she wants porridge and she sits patiently in her high chair while I prepare it, with honey (or, “Hunna”), and then, to my surprise, eats most of it. She even remains in her high chair as I prepare her some toast.
This Brady Bunch-esque behaviour doesn't last, however, and soon she's toddled off back into the bedroom and laying across her sleeping mother trying to get at 'Bitty'. (Disturbingly hilarious, Little Britain.)
When it becomes clear Edie's putting a serious dampener on her mother’s sleep-in, I fling the little cherub’s jacket and shoes on (I wish it were that easy) and we're out the door and headed, hand-in-hand, to the local cafe. We actually have four local cafes; this way we can share Edie's infectiousness with the whole of Flemington while ensuring our lives of repetition are just a little less repetitious. Imagine being a first-time parent and not having cafes and parks; how would you fill in the time?
At the cafe it's a large latte for me, and a babycino for her. Suddenly she's in a menacing mood. First, after devouring the marshmallow that comes with the babycino, she's emptying out the sugar bowl on to the table, then showering the granules with the water from my glass and her cup. Following that, after smearing her already Vegemited face with chocolate dust and milk, it's time for the table to cop the remainder of the babycino.
Why didn't I stop her? Well I did on the first couple of occasions, but her persistence paid off when I made the mistake of taking a sip of my coffee. His mind's elsewhere – bang! She looked up at me, her eyes shining with life, shining like her mother's at her happiest, and I laughed. There was some early-morning sunshine out, and we watched on as the cafe filled with business people waiting on their coffees before sprinting for their city-bound train. With the luxury of an afternoon shift, I was enjoying some QT with my favourite person in the world. I was lucky enough to be going against the grain.
She stood up on my legs and said “Cud-dle... cud-dle”, before resting her head on my shoulder. Funny how intuitive they are. It was like she sensed how at ease with myself I was in that snapshot of time. Those moments when everything is beautiful and you want to bottle them so you can hose down the next downer. But there's no time to think about that, she's off me and walking behind the counter. I thrust $4 into her right hand and she hurriedly pays one of the staff. Then it's 'bye-bye” and the whole cafe seems to be smiling. Even the guy wiping up our mess.
(Note: Previously posted on 'Thrown Covers, Drawn Curtains' blog on 27/08/11.)
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