Whisperer

It took nine days to get the heating sorted out at Frances and Stewart's rental property. A new boiler was eventually fitted with all of the associated work. In the meantime, Frances and Phoebe stayed with us but Stewart went home each weekday night around nine thirty because the rental house is en route to his workplace and he drives away before seven each morning.

It was lovely having our granddaughter here with her mother and I think it was good for Frances too - a kind of holiday with a grandparent or two always around to take the pressure off. How delightful it was to see Phoebe each morning - bright as a button, kicking her legs and chortling away.

After more than thirty years, I had forgotten some of the fine details connected with looking after a little baby but Phoebe's presence has reminded me of how it was. Shirley went back to work when Ian was nine weeks old and I would rush home to look after him as Shirley departed for her evening shifts at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital. We must have had much more energy back then.

Frances referred to me as "the baby whisperer" because it seems that whenever Phoebe is crying I can always quieten her simply by holding her in my arms and singing to her. Often she falls asleep like that. I remember doing that with both of our children. What can be better than being cradled safely  in the arms of a big, warm man who can, though I say it myself,  sing quite beautifully and always in tune?

This is a lazy kind of blogpost. I didn't have much else to write about today so I thought I would just share three more pictures of our precious little girl and chuck in a bunch of words to accompany them. I hope you don't mind.