Sweet Child O'Theirs

River at breakfast

There are not many circumstances in early 21st century life which afford the chance to witness every day the slow maturing and growth of a human infant, short of having your own. And the parents of young children are of course biased, not to mention sleep-deprived and frazzled from the unending battle of wills.  Nursery and primary school teachers only tend to spend a year with each set of little rascals.

Having a younger sibling is one way of seeing a child grow but often the age gap isn’t great. I was twelve years old when my brother was born so I can remember a fair amount about how the tiny ball of screaming unfolded slowly into a walking talking person, but of course I was far from being an adult myself.

Living in a community with a baby must be one of the very few other ways in our society that it is possible to see such a miraculous transformation day by day, over the months and years. I had been at Pilsdon just two months when River was born, in May 2012.  If you track back far enough in this blog you will find it happening. He is now nearly twenty months old and has acquired a vast range of skills, along with a fine mop of blond hair and a cheeky grin. Not only can he walk, he can climb onto a low table and wobble perilously until someone catches him. He has quickly learned the art of making his desires extremely clear and will brook no argument until they are fulfilled, no matter how inconvenient or arbitrary they may seem to everyone else.

Tricky to catch River being still enough for a photo

Conversationally River is at the single repeated word stage, but he understands a lot more than he can say. Ask him “Where’s your eye?” (which to someone learning English must sound like a single word “Warezyoray”) and he points at one of his eyes. When his mum told him that they would be visiting his favourite friend “this afternoon or tomorrow” he burst into tears at the injustice of not being able to go RIGHT NOW.  And when I ask him what makes honey, he beams and replies “Bee!”, at which I pretend my finger is a buzzing bee coming to land on his nose. (As I taught him this fact, it gives me a kick to keep checking he knows it.)

Honey, or “Nummy” as he calls it, is one of his two favourite things, the other being tractors. It’s got to the point that we try to hide the honey jar behind other condiments on the breakfast table but this rarely stops him from demanding Nummy as soon as he is carried into the dining room. I fear for whoever first tries reading him the story of Pooh Bear and the honey pot, as he is not going to allow it to continue without the provision of his own honey supply.

From a very early age River has clearly been the active and rambunctious sort. Not for him sitting still quietly playing with bricks. He loves interacting with people, and at Pilsdon he’s got plenty of us to choose from. On a recent short break in Devon with his mum and dad, he apparently kept repeating “pee-pol”. He wanted to be back amongst the adoring masses. It’s true, everyone has a soft spot for him, it’s impossible not to. He is just so cute. And yet if he remembers something he wants or if he detects that something is being denied him, he can switch from angel to screaming blue murder in an instant. At this point he is smartly handed back to his parents.

River has chosen new names for many of us - I am “Nangyan” for a reason yet unknown (is it my name in Mandarin?), Peter is “Teper”, Lillian is “Ninny”, Michael is “Googol”. He has yet to wrap his mouth around three-syllable names such as Carolyn or Jonathan but when he does he will no doubt improve them in some way. Hopefully the names will stick.  

As I am planning to live in Wales from March I will be missing out on his turning into a Terrible Two and the ensuing fun. I can only hope that when I return, perhaps this wintertime, he will recognise me, smile, point at me and say "Nangyan!" 

River a few days old

(Note: Parental permission obtained for this blogpost.)