The many and various ways I pass the time now has a new addition. Usually it involves drinking coffee whilst sitting at a computer keeping in touch with chums, or sipping wine sitting on our tiny terrace catching the sun, and wondering what else I can do to avoid any cleaning or tidying or putting away of stuff and things that aren't even MINE. And now I am going to type this blog. Provided that doesn't become a chore as well, in which case...

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Singing the (Not a) Baby Blues

My babe-in-arms visited at noon, my near-as-dammit 30-year-old baby girl, my one and only.  She arrived and left in a large modern car, which - inexplicably - she was driving herself.  A company car, which goes with the responsibilities and status of a manager for a major, globally well known, international humanitarian organisation.  Unaccountably, she didn't need cushions to see over the steering wheel or bricks on the pedals so her feet could work them.  

Several times I looked at her long and hard to check she hadn't got egg on her chin and that her knee sock (always the one, never both, like Just William) didn't need pulling up.  Her hair was brushed (it was well beyond brushed - it glowed slickly with a headful of expensive professional highlights), her jeans were clean at the knee, her boots unscuffed.  She'd brought cheesecake to go with coffee.  Cheesecake from Waitrose, bought with money she'd earned, without even being asked.

She and her b/f (actually he's her live-in partner of almost five years) are flying off to Rome tomorrow to celebrate her actual birthday which is on Saturday.  They aren't in a back-packers' hostel, like the student or young graduate she was a decade or less ago would have to be satisfied with, they have booked a suite at a small boutique hotel near the Spanish Steps, prosecco in room on arrival, car with driver from the airport, all arranged by e-mails in Italian which she wrote herself. 

A mother could feel wholly redundant, except for one thing, the main reason for her visit, which was to bring over their hamster to board with us whilst they are kicking up their heels in The Eternal City.

So, she may be all growed up, efficient and capable, and a startlingly stunning young woman, but I am again looking after her small pet for her whilst she does something else, just as though she's little again and staying with her grandparents for half term.  And I can push away the intervening quarter century, defiantly. If deludedly.

Because, you see, if our offspring really are 100% all growed up, what does that make us?


  1. Exactly what I was wondering when I mused on DD's 40th last month. Happy birthday to your DD next Saturday :-)

  2. What was that expression touted at dinner for middle aged-recently retired? I was having far too good a time to remember.

  3. PolkaDot & her DH are Roger hamster and Annie & Arnold Goldfish sitting whilst DD1 is away for a few days. So we know how you feel.

    Hope your DD enjoys her romantic trip to my favourite City (first visited as an impressionable student 40 years ago - who had until the previous summer not traveled as far south as London!)

  4. I mentioned to BF on the phone last night that Rome is summat else AGAIN even in comparison with most capital cities (he's seen Washington and Paris) as it has so many 1600-2000+ year old buildings people can still go in (eg Pantheon, which has its roof) or round or under or over or past.

    For an architecture student it must have been like drawings coming to life.

    Your DD1 in Chamonix, I believe, with a couple of chums...? Hope the snow is good.

  5. Post Scriptum.

    To answer my own question, posed at the end of what I wrote above, there is somthing that one can become when a daughter is 100% all growed up; a mother-in-law! They came back from Rome engaged to be married.

    I Promissi Sposi