Lucy is three and a half months old. She is now smiling and giggling, especially at James. She honoured him with her first smile and her first giggle. He is a very proud big brother and she in turn adores him. The two of them bonded immediately probably owing to her recognising his total devotion to her from the moment they met.
He chose her name when we struggled to decide. Well in fairness we had named three girls already. She was due on Christmas Day but we didn't want to choose an obviously festive name. When we were unable to agree on a name we asked the children for their suggestions. He named her after his little friend at school, the same beautiful little girl who walked up to me yesterday and spontaneously hugged baby Lucy, rather tricky for her as she was strapped to my front in the baby sling at the time. This simple but lovely act earned her a huge smile from Lucy and was so sweet it made my eyes want to water.
Christmas has always been my favourite time of year. As a child I would spend hours reading my huge stack of books about the festive season and how it is celebrated, both here and around the world. One of my favourite books told of Christmas in Scandinavia, where they celebrate Santa Lucia or Saint Lucy. As the eldest of four, I loved to read about the eldest daughter of the household waking her family with coffee and special buns made with saffron. She would dress up in a white robe with a wreath of candles in her hair. I am pretty sure that I never tried to recreate this though as frankly the thought of walking around with candles on my head would have scared the life out of me!
My Mum has now stopped asking me if I would like to take the girls to the Christingle Service. When I was little the probably all of five minutes the candles were lit for seemed like an eternity. I wanted to blow the candle out so I could sneakily eat the dried fruit and dolly mixtures which some kind soul had spent an age sticking into a ribbon wrapped orange.
Now I am all grown up that five minutes seems like an eternity as I am consumed by the silent panic that my kids will inadvertantly set fire to the person next to them or infront of them as they wave their candle about during the hymn. Yes, I am sure that the church does look very pretty swathed in candlelight. Yes, it looks beautiful a sight to behold now can we please blow them all out before that wobbly lady in the next pew who can it has to be said, barely stand upright sends up her neighbour's polyester. As for all the long hair and winter scarves flowing around don't even get me started, it is a nightmare waiting to happen. Everyone knows I am a hopeless worrywort. Just pass me a valium and sit me in the corner I will be fine!
Oops, I have digressed yet again. Back to James and Lucy. She has ended up with a festive name even though it is not imediately obvious and it is one which gives me special reminders of my childhood as a bonus. Moral of this story, just leave it to the kids, job done!
James stands over Lucy as she sleeps, watching her and rushing to tell me when she awakes or needs my attention. If I have my hands full he sings to her until I can get to her, he sings to her anyway just to entertain her. She has her own special song, he made it up all by himself when she was only a few days old. It consists of a few simple words.
'Lucy is cute, Lucy is cute, La la la la, la la la la, Lucy is cute. (And repeat!)
He started singing this to her when she cried, now he sings it to her all the time, the other kids have started singing it too. I have even heard him singing it when she is not with him. I pity any boy brave enough to come to our door to take her out, her big brother will be watching. He is her greatest protector and her biggest fan. Not bad for someone who demanded a baby brother!