Sunday, September 03, 2006

The First Father's Day

Dear Daddy

Today is Father's Day. Woo hoo!

Wasn’t that excellent this morning when we went to the Bourke St Bakery and you sat outside on a milkcrate holding me while Mummy was inside buying croissants and then all those people stopped to wish you Happy Father’s Day?

It’s odd the way people in this city don’t generally like to make contact with strangers but when you’re carrying me in your arms they often smile and stop to chat. I did think that it was because of me but when we went through the park the other day I noticed people doing exactly the same thing except with dogs.

You don’t seem to swaddle me as much anymore which I’m frankly a little relieved about.

If you could have a word with Mummy I’d appreciate it because she has become a complete swaddle fiend. Sometimes I like to wave my hands in the air, you know, to express my masculinity and also to poke myself in the eye. And if I’m feeling a little peckish I like to suck on my fists. It’s very difficult when they’re lashed to my sides.

By the way, I also like it when you play your guitar for me.

You used to play guitar all the time for Mummy, in your courting days, and she really loves those three songs. I like them too but if we could extend the playlist I think that would be good. Sometimes when I’ve been “restless” and Mummy says in slightly strained tones Go To Daddy Now, you pop me on your lap and start to strum your guitar and I think that’s just lovely.

Truly.

When I make those screaming noises it’s actually me trying to jam along. For instance I like to throw a bit of seemingly hysterical hiccupping in now and then for a syncopated rhythm effect and that abrupt puking noise is my version of the famous gated drum sound as used so prominently on Phil Collins’ anthem In The Air Tonight and subsequently in much of the recorded pop drum sound of the 1980s.

I’m six weeks and five days old today and just this weekend I’ve started to really focus on your faces and also make little burbling gurgly noises now and then, as if I’m thinking about how much I love being your baby or else impersonating a teeny tiny drainpipe.

My farting is still cause for amusement and I’m trying to perfect a sort of lilting trumpet that could come in handy for those guitar/hiccup jam sessions.

I’m looking forward to growing up and playing with you and learning from you. Hey, won’t it be fun when I’m bigger and we gang up on Mummy together! Hee hee! What a cak. Ooh do you think she knows? Let’s not tell her, let’s just think of heaps of hilarious tricks we can play on her. Won’t she be surprised?

I knew we would be great friends the very first time you held me. It was just after I was born and I was lying on top of Mummy’s tummy. She gave me a little cuddle and then asked you to pick me up.

And you did, you held me and sniffed my head and loved me. And I stared up at you with my bright blue grey eyes and wrinkled my forehead and scowled and loved you right back.

I didn't make you a card due to my current lack of fine motor skills. I hope you're not disappointed. (Although Mummy did think of tying some paint brushes to my arms, propping me up against some thick paper and activating my startle reflex to create something bright and original.)

Still, it won't be long. In a couple of years I’ll be able to make you a Father’s Day card with funny stick figure drawings and wobbly handwriting.

I might even accidentally write Happy Farters Day like you did, in all innocence, to your own father when you were just a little boy.

But instead, this year, I made you a Father.


Happy First Father's Day Daddy.

I love you.



Your Son
Tricky
xxxxx

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dammit woman would you just stop doing that? A period of quiet followed by something so utterly moving that I'm getting distinctly shiny about the eyes.

So good to read.

Alchemilla

Dramalish said...

Just when I think it's safe to read your posts... a sweet, silly little letter from your little guy. Nothing dangerously weepy here, right?

WRONG!

...instead... I made you a father...

*Sob!*
Have mercy, OG!

I love it.
-D.

Em said...

Awww. My eyes are misting. It may just be the post-partum hormonal riptide pulling me under, or that was an absolutely beautiful and loving tribute.

LabiaLady said...

Can I just say OG, that you rock!

I painted Lil'mooey's hand in white paint in an attempt to print it on a card... what fun trying to press a clenched fist to paper, then attempting to keep it out of her mouth while cleaning the paint off.

Spanglish said...

You're so tender. My mother kept a detailed baby book when I was an infant. The entries are often funny -- especially when she exclaims shock at how ugly I was as an infant, when she laments the size of my head, my fury whenever I needed nourishment...

The fury-when-hungry bit isn't something I ever outgrew.

I hope Tricky will one day get to read these entries.

cat said...

Happy Fathers Day! Hope it was a great one. Stop making me cry.

Em said...

It is amazing,isn't it, how a baby is a way of connecting people. I manage to make people smile on the tube in London when I have Catrin with me.

Trevor said...

Hi OG

Enjoying your posts as ever. In the cold and unfriendly UK we were amazed how many people started to talk to us once we got a dog.

I don't know how effective having a single baby is at the same thing but I can vouch that having new-born triplets makes going anywhere without being stopped every two minutes impossible!

Happy first Father's Day to your other half.

Cheers
Trev.

Nico said...

Beautiful tribute to both your hubby and your son. *sniff*