Time Stand Still

I find myself with time on my hands and a brain that is neither inebriated nor exhausted; I'm not sure how this has been allowed to occur...

My son is swaying gently in his hyper-modern cradle, and I am waiting to give him his first feed of the day. My daughter and my wife are sleeping in the bedroom. I can hear their breathing in the baby monitor that we use more for communication than eavesdropping; a quick demand for nappies or calpol, followed by a slyly military reply in the two-way radio.

I am sipping a robust Bordeaux and demolishing some Bavarian cheese with the assistance of Mr Hovis' fine crackers, meanwhile Fritz is chuckling to himself as he analyses an old defeat of mine. An ancient power trio rocks politely at minimum volume.

The inlaws descended today, young Aaron's great Grandmother and Uncle meeting him for the first time. "You must be happy to have a son, " said Great Grandmother, "not like a daughter for a man." I'm not so sure that's true anymore, as it certainly isn't true for me.

Abigail has had a fairly difficult time of things lately; just as she is becoming aware of her identity, and of the infinite possibilities of free will and that terribly egocentric lie of do unto others, she is confronted with incontrovertible proof that the world does not revolve around her. She could not get off to sleep tonight, and I held her in my arms until she became drowsy, telling her about all sorts of inconsequential things while she serenaded me with every word she knows how to pronounce. Then I went back in the lounge to coax my young little geezer into a terrific belch before bedtime; how could any man choose between?

I am lucky to live in a place where life is less unequal than in many dark corners around the planet. Whatever these two children become is more their choice than at any other time in human history; entire libraries of knowledge and information are open to them, and the works of Hardy, Dickens and co are theirs to own. They shall know of Sherlock Holmes early in life, George Smiley when they are ready to hear of the disillusionment of adulthood. They shall have languages and sciences, art and music.

But most of all they will know how lucky they are to have all that at their podgy little fingertips. The will be instructed that there are many Berlin Walls yet to fall, that few revolutions are velvet, and that there are places where fathers are happier to have sons than daughters.

However, that is for another day. Today I shall relish another day of leave and cherish time with my family.

But before that I must away, as this glass of wine will not drink itself....