When a child is born
We heard this today while hunting for a dressing-gown for me for Christmas, and it brought back powerful memories of thirteen years ago.
We were living in a condemned house in what was known as Tintown on the Aston Hill. The house was condemned because of a Welsh Office plan to widen the road that ran about 50 yards from the house.
It was a tiny house - two tiny bedrooms, one of which served as my office. The bedrooms were about 9 foot square. With our bed, two small wardrobes and two chests of drawers stacked one on top of the other when you came into the room you had to walk sideways to get through.
And Pat was expecting Gwilym. When he was born we were negotiating to move house to Shotton Lane. He was born on Christmas Eve at about 4am (if I remember rightly). We brought him home in a carry cot and put the carry cot on top of the two stacked chests of drawers. We had to move before he grew out of his carry cot ! We moved on 31 January, into a house that must have been four times the size.
After he was born I went home, put a message on the answering machine and went to bed. The next day being Christmas Day we had our Christmas morning service - it was a grand time - an entire congregation of two-tailed dogs ! Then I went to the hospital laden with bags of gifts : baby-clothes, all sorts... The nurses had kept me a Christmas dinner and we ate it in the day room together.
Gwilym was an unusually handsome baby. He had nice strong shoulders and a splendid round head. One of the midwives used to do a quick ward-round and she got on the other mothers' nerves by admiring Gwilym's looks in a very loud voice. "Oh this one is handsome. Oh, yes, he is handsome." He was (and is) but one ought not to crow, eh ?
When a child is born was our song at that time, though we had made up our own words that took you through the stages of labour, bit by bit.
Memories, eh ? Now Gwilym is as tall as Pat and wears my size of shoe.
We didn't find a dressing gown - or at least we did. At Ikea. A gloriously stripey one, but they only had small and I am not small, so for Christmas I am having a note that says IOU a dressing-gown...
It's funny how life changes. Pat and I were staring at shops and thinking of all the things that we could want, and don't really want, and all we really need to make us utterly happy is a nice cup of tea and maybe a piece of cake, preferably chocolate cake. That's bliss, really, isn't it ?
We were living in a condemned house in what was known as Tintown on the Aston Hill. The house was condemned because of a Welsh Office plan to widen the road that ran about 50 yards from the house.
It was a tiny house - two tiny bedrooms, one of which served as my office. The bedrooms were about 9 foot square. With our bed, two small wardrobes and two chests of drawers stacked one on top of the other when you came into the room you had to walk sideways to get through.
And Pat was expecting Gwilym. When he was born we were negotiating to move house to Shotton Lane. He was born on Christmas Eve at about 4am (if I remember rightly). We brought him home in a carry cot and put the carry cot on top of the two stacked chests of drawers. We had to move before he grew out of his carry cot ! We moved on 31 January, into a house that must have been four times the size.
After he was born I went home, put a message on the answering machine and went to bed. The next day being Christmas Day we had our Christmas morning service - it was a grand time - an entire congregation of two-tailed dogs ! Then I went to the hospital laden with bags of gifts : baby-clothes, all sorts... The nurses had kept me a Christmas dinner and we ate it in the day room together.
Gwilym was an unusually handsome baby. He had nice strong shoulders and a splendid round head. One of the midwives used to do a quick ward-round and she got on the other mothers' nerves by admiring Gwilym's looks in a very loud voice. "Oh this one is handsome. Oh, yes, he is handsome." He was (and is) but one ought not to crow, eh ?
When a child is born was our song at that time, though we had made up our own words that took you through the stages of labour, bit by bit.
Memories, eh ? Now Gwilym is as tall as Pat and wears my size of shoe.
We didn't find a dressing gown - or at least we did. At Ikea. A gloriously stripey one, but they only had small and I am not small, so for Christmas I am having a note that says IOU a dressing-gown...
It's funny how life changes. Pat and I were staring at shops and thinking of all the things that we could want, and don't really want, and all we really need to make us utterly happy is a nice cup of tea and maybe a piece of cake, preferably chocolate cake. That's bliss, really, isn't it ?
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