Gone but not forgotten

Well, the 10 gorgeous days of grandparent-dom is now over. They didn't end up having to babysit while I raced (I won two golds, if anyone cares) but did come over at an ungodly hour in the morning so the Boy and I could both row one weekend and generally behaved like wonderful, doting grandparents. Eve loved it, although their visit coincided with her first realisation that she might be centre of the world, and after ten days of grandparent love now is certain that she is! I loved the extra special close bond I have with Mum now that I am a a parent too, and Dad loved picking every single winner when we went to the Happy Valley horse races one night. We had no arguments, and we spent a lot of time in swim suits. Everything was as it should be. I really, really miss them now.

The best babysitting service in the world

Two weeks ago, a call with my Mum:

Mum: We are thinking of coming over in May, would that be OK?
Me: Of course, we'd love to see you
Mum: Which dates would work best for you?
Me: I am racing on 10th May and it would be quite useful to have someone to babysit Eve when we are both in a boat so our rowing coach doesn't have to do it again.
Mum: Perfect. See you then.

Inter-continental babysitting. Brilliant!

The modern family

I took Eve to the doctor yesterday because, similarly to her father, whenever there is a major event or a trip she gets a bit ill. This time it is just a snuffle and cough, but she had a mild fever yesterday and I had visions of being at the airport tonight at midnight about to board a flight to the UK and not being allowed through the health check so wanted to get her checked out.

Our lovely paediatrician, LY, has moved practices to an altogether more child friendly one with heavy entrance doors so children can't escape, lots of toys and very helpful reception staff who were more than happy to rescue my wayward child as she tried to climb on top of a table - climbing being her new thing now she has mastered walking and running.

I had to register Eve at the new practice and and fill in a new form. It asked for all the usual details such as name, date of birth, address, but underneath the boxes for the mother's and father's details there was another box labelled "Spouse". I was completely flummoxed and started to fill in the Boy's details for the second time until I realised what it was for. In my English-middle-class-put-up-with-anything-for-the-sake-of-the-kids world I'd never even considered that around half of children actually have 3 or more parents in their life.

We are family

There is nothing like being a parent to give you a profound sense of gratitude for what your parents did for you. Until I had been through the sleepless nights, wiping up vomit and poo, worried at the hospital (and this is just in the first 10 weeks) I found it hard to truly appreciate what my own parents have given up for me. I am increasingly incredulous that even those who don't much like their parents should at least be grateful.

Take, for example, my friend P. He has had every opportunity provided to him by his parents - a stable home life, a good education, support in his choices whatever they may be but he is still resolutely mean about his parents whenever he speaks about them. He finds them dull, boring, uncultured, and lacking in interesting conversation. He seems to dread his rare trips to see them, and moan about them when he does. I have never met his parents, they could be all of the above, but even if they were a couple of axe murderers they still brought him into the world, and cared for him, and made him who he is. This alone should ensure some respect, if not love.

My own parents are visiting at the moment and being the doting grandparents. I can only imagine how odd it must be to see your child with a baby of their own. Perhaps a sense of pride that I didn't turn out so bad? That I grew out of the stage where I [insert one of my many odd stages], that I made it to my 30s in good health, and that I didn't end up with any of the many unsuitable boyfriends I previously dated?

As I change Eve's nappy, or hold her as she cries, there are loving and knowing looks exchanged between my parents and I as I do my best to convey "I now understand what it was like with me, and thank you more than I can articulate". I suspect I actually just look a bit bemused, but the thought is definately there.