Skip to main content

The Undiscovered Country

Ladies and gentlemen we have some news for you. The die is now cast. The deed is indeed done. The rubicon has been crossed. Lisette, my lovely wife, is very much in the family way. Yes, On June 13th 2012 we're due to welcome one Farquhar Scopello Reilly into the outside world....

Those of you that know us well will be aware that children (or "screaming brats" as hitherto we have characterised them) are not really our bag at all. So we're a little... hesitant about our news. We're kind of pleased. And we're kind of terrified. When we rationalise we realise that we've been very blessed in life so far - we've done a lot. Maybe this is a good idea? And then occasionally we just hold each other and ask "Have we made a terrible mistake???"

It's the fear I wasn't expecting. I'm not sure what reaction I expected to feel to the news that I'm a father but I'm pretty certain that being petrified wasn't on the list. What if the baby isn't well? What if we're rubbish parents? What if he / she doesn't like us? He / she! If he's a boy what if he takes after me and spends the first part his childhood stealing money from family members? (I think it would be better, all told, if the child took after Lisette.) What if they're not happy? Are we going to lose all our friends without kids now? What if, what if, what if.

By the way, I do realise that none of these thoughts are new or original in any way. My parents will have had these thoughts. Friends too. Even my siblings. I bet it felt new to them when it happened though. I guess that's the point. Doubtless if you've got kids you've felt these feelings, thought these thoughts and generally got on with it. For my part I feel like I've gone to the cinema to see a film I'm not sure about and I'm being freaked out by the trailers before the main feature.

So this is our new tour; parenthood. We're going to a country where the food is at best suspect. Pray for us; we're completely out of our comfort zone now!

Worried... Us?
Labels:
Location: Fig Tree Cottage, St Margarets

Comments

  1. Victoria from London31 December 2011 at 12:04

    Congratulations! and what refreshingly honest and likeable thoughts! All the best to you both. Victoria Byrne

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mr Ow Much and the steam engine

The bodies lay upon the ground in the field. They were dressed colourfully, each kitted out in varieties of neon outfits that shone in the sunshine. "They're very still" I said, by way of summing up the situation. "They all died" said Lisette, who was also taking in the view. Because I'm a slightly gullible fellow (and, well, you just never know) I watched keenly half wondering if it might be true. They were very still. After a surprisingly long period of time, the figures started to move slowly. It turns out that yoga in a field can, temporarily, be indistinguishable from death. Camp Wowo We were staying at a campsite named Camp Wowo in East Sussex, England. It's a campsite I have stayed at many times over the years. Initially just myself and Lisette. More lately, having got past the initial intensity that results from the arrival of children, we've come to taking our boys to camp together as a family. It's never been without incident. The...
Post a Comment
Read more

Be ye here

Working out where to go on holiday has always seemed like slightly hard work. How do you choose? Do we go to Italy? We've been before. Do we go to France? They'll only want us to wear Speedos at the swimming pool. So where shall we go? We were delighted when we discovered a friend in Belfast, who had recently had a baby, would be up for a visit. A mutual friend of ours, was also planning a trip back to Ireland from where he lives. We've known each other for 25 years now, and have travelled before as a group. Why not get the band back together and spend some time in Ireland this summer? That was the thought, and so the Reilly family made plans. Passage was booked on the Liverpool to Belfast ferry. Grandma Reilly kindly leant her car to the Twickenham Reillys, so that myself, Lisette and the boys could roll Northwards and over the Irish Sea to Ireland. We were leaving an English summer that was that rarest of things: warm and sunny. The week before we'd left, Twicke...
Post a Comment
Read more

Requiem in Crossbush

It was Friday 13th. Gran had never been keen on that date. So it was ironic, or perhaps appropriate, that date came to be the occasion of her funeral. The universe likes a giggle. At 10 o'clock in the morning the family and friends of Averil Bessie Jenkins gathered at the Poor Clare's Convent in Crossbush, near Arundel. Home of Sister Pat; aunt to me, sister to my mother and my aunts, daughter of Gran. Averil had been a Jenkins, a Frame and a Luxford over the course of her life. The building was filled with people who had known all three. I'd travelled down with my sister Kirsty from London that morning by train, where our brother Peter met us at Arundel station. Mum had primed me beforehand and so I found myself clean-shaven, dressed in a black suit, wearing a tie and smart black shoes. It was very unlike me. Mum was delighted. Aunty Frances took a photograph. The chapel at the Convent had high ceilings and was painted white. Windows high up let light stream into th...
Post a Comment
Read more