Isabella-Rose is talking now. She is clearly saying "Dad" while looking at me. She began doing it two weeks ago, but we weren't sure if it was simply a coincidence, and did not think it possible for a 6-month old to do. But she is doing it several times a day now. She really loves to smile, this one. Lilac has been spending every day with her, and been free to concentrate completely on her. I cuddle her too, but my main role has been looking after Gabriel and doing the housework. We are both so thankful that the luxury of time for parenthood has been possible in this age, and can't imagine that there could be anything more important than spending time raising children. Having said this, Lilac is desperate to finish the revisions on her thesis and get back into professional work.
I would like to tell you what it's like being with a boy of 3 years and 8 months who I will term "The Talker".
The other morning I was woken at what I considered to be an unreasonably early hour by The Talker, and I took him to the living room and presented him with a choice. "Gabriel, would you like to sit here on the couch and watch television, or would you like to cuddle up with mummy and daddy in bed for awhile?"
He looked at me for a couple of seconds. "Dad, if you need any help, I'll be right here."
Another time I brought him back home from the city by train, a journey of 25 minutes, and another passenger, who had boarded at the same time as us and been sitting behind us, exclaimed "I can't believe he talked all the way here from the city!"
Yesterday I woke up in the middle of the night to watch Australia's first game in the world cup -- and oh, what a painful morning that was! - and afterwards I decided to remain awake and clean up. The Talker merrily bounced in at 7am on the dot and instantly declared: "I'm like Mister Rush - I'm always in a rush!"
(He had read some of the "Mister Men" series of books several months prior.)
I took The Talker off to "Scienceworks", which is a science-based learning centre for bright children, with loads of toys and games. They have an exhibition today called "The World of Slime". A-ha, I think. This should be a natural. A lecturer stands at a table, talking to the crowd and showing how slime is made. Halfway through The Talker leans over to whisper in my ear. "Daddy, my brain is telling me that I'm not very interested in this. Maybe when I'm older, my brain will be more interested."
Towards lunchtime, it requires subterfuge to get him to eat. My method of dealing with this potential landmine is to steer him outside to the little adventure park, which has a wooden boat in it. We begin to play pirate games, a current favorite of his. Casually I pull out our sandwiches and explain that pirates always have huge meals. In this way, with constant checking for sharks and enemies, I get him to consume a hearty meal. The alternative, which is what I witness some poor wretches doing, is to drag a protesting child away from the games area into the expensive canteen and trying in vain to get them to eat when all they really want to do is play. After the meal is more subterfuge. I explain that we pirates now have a mission - to search for rum. I gently lead him outside to the car to hunt for some, and, once he's in the car, explain that since it does not appear to be inside the car, perhaps we will find some at home. In this way, I gradually turn off the pirate game, and soon his mind focuses on something else.
Journeying back home, we have a long discussion on the nature of humor, and why something is funny or not. This is his main area of interest right now. He is trying to work out what a joke is, and how they are constructed. This is actually a deep subject that consumed much time inside minds like Sigmund Freud, but for now at this level, The Talker is trying to understand that making funny sounds is not considered to be a joke. He is trying to understand why he laughs at some things, and cries at others.
At home, Lilac is putting Isabella to sleep, and I place The Talker into his bed for our mutual nap.
He tells me: "I have three warms: heater, blanket, and warm daddy."
He also confides in me: "I make plans in my dreams."
Later in the afternoon, we have friends visiting who have a son, Phaidon, the same age as ours. At one point The Talker returns to the living room to ask of them, "Guests, would you like to see my rocket ship?" Phaidon and The Talker sit quietly in his room having a delicate tea party. Just kidding. Amid much screams of delight, they proceed to noisily stack every movable item in his room into a gigantic heap in the middle, and declare it to be the most awesome rocket ship ever. Phaidon appears to be dumbstruck that such a thing is possible, or that you really can make a room look like it's been turned upside-down, shaken vigorously by a giant hand, and then placed down again. After two hours of play by themselves, the boys have achieved the remarkable feat of avoiding injury and bloodshed. Phaidon doesn't want to leave. He stands with his back to the door and ignores his parent's pleas and threats and entreaties. The Talker points to him and tells his father "Drag him out of here!"
J.