THIRTY ONE

Thirty one years pass by quickly, in the blink of an eye. Thirty one years, it's more than half of my life. All of my daughter’s. Thirty one years.

How do you remember everything within those thirty one years? 

There are photos I suppose. Home movies and toys and things. But how do you keep the intangible alive? Wisps of memories. Patchworks of images and thoughts and sounds and smells and noises and laughter and tears. How do you keep all that safe?

Thirty one memories of my daughter.

As a baby you puked straight into your dad’s mouth. A perfect aim. He pleaded “get her off, get her off, I’m going to be sick”. All I could do, was laugh.

You twisted your chubby little fingers in and through and around your dad’s beard until they were thoroughly tangled in it and pull, hard. Not long after that the beard disappeared, never to return.

I came back into the kitchen were I had left a basket of laundry, waiting, ready to be hung out. There you were, sitting on top of the pile with a big grin on your face and wet washing all over the floor.

You discovered that ifyou jumped on our waterbed when the plug was out that an amazingly large water spout would squirt out of the hole. You laughed. I didn't. 

It was too easy for you to squeeze your little body between the bars at the top of the stairs on our two storey house. Then escape up the back yard to Grandma’s.

The elderly man sitting opposite us stared in amazement as he watched you spell out the names of the train stations as they passed. 

At four you sat alone on the ferry, a little red suitcase on the seat beside you. Off to visit Nan and Pop on the island. The nice lady said that she would look after you. You told her, quite pointedly, it was alright you had been on the boat lots of times.

“Mummy, I will look after you”. I was too sick to get out of bed so you made me dry toast and brought me cups of water and said that you would iron the hankies for me. "That's okay Chookie, the hankies can wait."

“I’m in grade three” you said through gritted teeth to the neighbour who kindly asked if you were starting school that year.

I was painfully reminded of my own school days when your teacher told me that “she is lovely child, very friendly, but talks far too much”. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

When your aunty, only 10 years older than you, baby-sat you she had one rule. You could only complain three times. It worked but only for her.

Santa Claus was your bitter enemy. The very sight of him turned you into a screaming banshee. Kicking and screaming and fighting to get away. Every year your poor grandmother would struggle to get a Christmas photo and in the end she gave up. The only happy photo we have of you with Santa was the year turned eight and discovered the secret.

The year the pool went in you could not wait for a swim, even though it was winter and the water was a chilly 15⁰C (60⁰F). Your skinny little body, in a swim suit that was way too big, was blue with cold. Now you only swim at the height of summer.

With no siblings to play games with you made do with our blue heeler, Nipper. You would throw a sheet over him and then run and hide. Surprisingly he would wait a few minutes before emerging from under the sheet to go look for you.

My sister and I once caught you running across our roof. We were inside the house and heard a noise. We came outside just in time to see you disappearing over the edge of the house.

Every Friday night you were allowed to stay up to watch television. But by 7.30 you were fast asleep on the couch. Every Sunday morning when we wanted to sleep in, you were always awake at 5am, watching cartoons.

You were never one much for sport although we did try gymnastics, tennis and a little bit of swimming. You were happiest when you were making things or painting or singing or dancing. Thankfully our Saturday mornings were filled with art classes not soccer or netball.

People questioned whether you were ready for high school; you were the smallest in your class and the youngest. All concerns soon vanished, however, when we met your new friends. There were as tall as me and twice the height of you. You had to run to keep up with them.

For a sleep over you invited five of your girlfriends. And a boy. We were a little worried about this, until we met him. He introduced himself by announcing he was making caramel dumplings for everyone. The innocence of it all was breath taking. I lay in bed that night listing to the "girlish" chatter of teenagers.

You looked beautiful the night of your formal. Dressed in the outfit we had spent hours shopping for. You shocked the hairdresser by asking her to cut your hair short. She was worried that your mum would not be happy. She needn't have worried, I loved it.

It took ages for you to find a job. Finally you got a part time job at the local supermarket. You hated but you stuck with it because you knew it was important.

It was devastating to see you so upset when you didn't get into the University course you wanted. It was even harder watching you struggle with the commute to a campus completely out of our way. But that was where you met your best friend.

A blue camper-van named "Hermes" was your first car. It took you and your best friend on your first big adventure. Winter and home sickness chased you home. You ran into the house and surprised me.

You got a job as a ‘vampire’ and at night took poor unsuspecting, and paying, customers into graveyards and other ‘haunted’ places to tell them stories of a bloody murders, lost souls and scary legends. 

It took a while but eventually you put together your fare for a trip to Europe. You got to see Paris, London, Berlin and Prague. I use to text you “how is you’re the trip going” just to get a response. You saw through this and didn't make a fuss.

Although you had your own place you still came home to decorate the Christmas tree. Together we would go through the decorations and you would marvel that I still had the egg shell decoration that smelt of garlic. 

When it became clear that he would never commit to you, you were heart broken. But you didn't let that stop you and moved on. You just needed some time to breathe, be yourself and heal.

At Disney World you didn't want a set of Mickey Mouse ears. You wanted Oswald ears.

I cooked for you. I washed your clothes. Your dad dropped off the meals and your clean laundry. We did everything we could to help. In return you’re finished your degree with honors. We are so proud.

For Mother’s Day you had no money but still wanted to give me flowers. So you gave me a handmade bouquet made from cardboard and packets of tea.

You could barely contain yourself when you showed up with the engagement ring. You were so happy. So very happy. So were we.

Today is your thirty first birthday and for the first time in a long time you now seem to have a clear vision of the future you want for yourself. It’s different from what I thought it would be. 

But somehow... it’s not.  

Baby girl, happy birthday. Mum