Recursive Words

It’s been remarkably quiet in the house over the last few days. The reality? Newborn babies often do no more than nurse, and sleep. My daughter seems to be coping well, but not without eyes all around her of course.

We’re trying not to be too involved. It’s a difficult balance.

We’re trying not to have opinions or thoughts about the how, when, and why of it all – we’re trying to let Mum and Dad figure things out for themselves – letting them figure out ways that work for them. Of course we’re here if asked, and can conjure whatever might be needed along the way – but otherwise we suspect that right now, our absence it the best thing.

There are the most wonderful moments along the way.

Yesterday morning I wandered into the lounge and discovered my eldest daughter sitting next to a newly assembled pram, having quite the conversation with it’s tiny occupant. I took several photos before she realised I was there.

The evening before our middle daughter lept at the chance to look after the youngest member of the household for a few minutes, and told her all about the red rose on her rugby shirt, and that she might make a wonderful winger one day – given her apparently long legs.

Last night we escaped for a few hours to watch a movie, and let the kids organise their own dinner. We saw “Hamnet” – that is being predicted to sweep the board at the various awards shows.

I have mixed feelings about.

Jessie Buckley was incredible. She towered over everything and everybody in the movie – to such an extent that I couldn’t help feeling it became unbalanced.

I guess it doesn’t help – even though Hamnet is fiction – that we know so little about the real life of William Shakespeare. I’ve been to Stratford. I’ve walked around the fake house.

I’ve always suspected there’s more to the “rhetoric of accumulation” arguments around the authorship of his plays than most admit to. If you’ve never read about it, there’s reasonable doubt that the Shakespeare we have been sold for generations wrote all of the works attributed to him.

Anyway. Just give Jessie Buckley the academy award already.

After the cinema we had dinner at a nearby pub before wandering home – and discovered a remarkably quiet and orderly household on our return. This morning is more of the same – it’s very odd. It’s almost like everybody has found their place in the new order of things, and slotted into it without complaint. For now.

Coffee. I need a coffee.

Oh – one more thing – I’ll relate this story before my other half delights in relating it – she thinks it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened. We had a tradesman come to the house last week to clean our roof. While talking to him on the doorstep, he paused, then asked “are you THE Jonathan Beckett?” – I frowned, not knowing how to answer, and he continued “the Jonathan Beckett from YouTube?”. My other half now calls me “THE Jonathan Beckett” at every opportunity.

Postscript – I originally titled this post “Six in the House” before counting on my fingers and realising there’s now seven of us. It comes to something when you have to count everybody on your fingers to get the correct answer…