Charlie, with Shadows

I am always talking to myself as I leave the house, “Okay, keys, sunglasses, list, umbrella, baby bag, nappies, wipes, baby. You be the baby, Charlie.”

I like the way he pats everything. He is purely baby now. Patting things, banging things, reaching to pull himself up on things, digging his hand into my mouth, pulling at my nose. Chuckling, gurgling, saying such things as mum mum mum and dad dad dad and ba ba ba and sssss and yssss, sitting in the high chair with apple smeared over his face, grinning his two new little teeth. So now I am always saying, “You’re such a baby, Charlie.”

My sister Liane, holding Charlie in her lap, said to him, “You can take my glasses off if you like.” I said, “Why are you letting him do that?” And she said, “Because I love the look of concentration on his face and then the amazement when he gets them.” She said, “He thinks he’s taking away a piece of my face.”