Meeting the Grandmother

One of the greatest moments of my life was introducing my daughter to my parents (she's their first grandchild and they've waited over 30 years). They've heard her on the phone and seen her on the webcam, but nothing compares to meeting in the flesh.

Even over the few weeks we spent back with them she changed a lot - growing from someone who could fit in our overhead luggage compartment, to someone who, well, who would still fit, only not so well.

Unfortunately I think my mother had seen so many photos and so much video of Sophie that she thought they knew each other. I gues this is the sort of thing that happens to TV and celebrity stalkers, this example was just a bit closer to home - no one expects the grandmother stalker!

Mum's first reaction on seeing Sophie was to rip her out of my arms (not even pretending I was the one she wanted to see) and turning away as she did it.

Of course this meant that Sophie couldn't see her Mum and Dad. This got a predictable (howling) reaction and so my poor Mum was stranded with a crying baby in a crowded airport lounge. Not exactly the meeting she had imagined.

But things soon warmed up between them, and in a couple of days they were the best of friends. With Mum it was the first time we'd had a babysitter and it quickly became adictive.

• Crying baby in the morning? Pass her over to her grandmother.
• Baby who wants to play at 6am? Over to her grandmother.
• Baby who should be taken out for some fresh air? Over to her grandmother.

Very quickly there was basically one answer to every question we had about Sophie - Very quickly grandmother became our crack.

Finding What's Really Important

I was wondering tonight exactly how it is that a five month old girl can get two 30+ adults to dance around the kitchen in the hope of a smile.

I just have to repeat that because I don't really think I believe what I'm writing. I've trudged home after a 12 hour day at work, ready for the welcome embrace of the couch. Then I see my daughter and go from feeling like collapsing to getting the urge to dance around the kitchen for a smile.

Now dancing is not our forte, and so we have to be fairly desparate to start something like that, especially in a kitchen the size of ours, especially when there's no music on and we're trying to avoid the squeaky floor boards to keep on the good side of our neighbour below.

Dancing is meant to be fun, and I only realise how seriously I'm taking it when Sophie doesn't smile. The feeling of disapointment actually hurts (though when I add a bit of singing to go along with the dancing the smile comes - even if it looks more like one of pity than genuine enjoyment on her part).

Thinking about this makes me realise again that the value I get from Sophie is greater than anything I get from work. All the busy running around of the day is what success is supposed to be like, but while 12 hours of that might bring in something for the company, for me it doesn't bring the same satisfaction of 30 second dance for a smile.

I guess that's because Sophie isn't work, she's what I'm working for.