Juggling Jesse

Every entry, enclave, opening and orifice in the living room is blocked by a cushion of some description. Because Steve and I have been beaten to a pulp by the effervescence of our non stop nine month old ninja. Steve has taken to attempting to pad every potential pitfall in the vicinity to give our arms a moments respite therefore enabling Jesse to career from wall to wall without hurting himself or us.

In these increasingly stranger times we live in, I have just returned from a socially-distanced walk through the housing estate behind our home to settle the baby. He fights sleep. He has serious FOMO (‘Fear Of Missing Out’ to us non-millenials) But finally he gave in about ten minutes into the stroll and so whilst Steve has retreated to bed to nap, I find myself in a blissful, all be it temporary moment of silence. And I have a FEW minutes to do what I like, an utter rarity these days. So I thought I would write a little. 

The life I now live, of which Jesse is obviously the focal point, has changed markedly since my prior existence as a Guest Entertainer onboard cruise lines. I am still a performer, but now also an Entertainment Agent with two businesses, one in the UK and one in the US and for the foreseeable we intend to split our time between countries.

I wrote a blog when I worked at sea and I do miss the opportunity to challenge the creative element of my grey matter a little. The series of anecdotes detailed my international travels and the calamities that befell me commuting from ship to ship. I wondered if I had anything to offer now? Anything anyone would take an interest in reading. I guess we will see.

I wont bore you with a backstory as many readers will know me I’m sure, and I have decided not to write chronologically either as this isn’t my life story and I have absolutely zero intention or opportunity to commit to this on a regular basis. But even though the advent of  my unplanned geriatric pregnancy may have chartered a new course for my little family, it’s still a pretty radical way to the live all the same.

My baby has a visa already and has travelled to the United States and back five times, Scotland and Southampton twice and Ireland. He is nine months old. He is destined for a transient life and I am not apologetic for that. I haven’t ‘given up’ anything to become a Mum, I have just picked the teeny terror up and carried him with me the whole way.

Jesse is a dream baby by all accounts. He has slept through the night pretty much since he was about three or four months old, although at the minute somewhat fitfully. He moves about his bed like a salted slug as he drags his baby sleeping bag behind him. He never sits still. Ever. The exception to this is ‘Peppa Pig’. A delightful children’s TV show he has enjoyed the colours of since he was a tiny tot. But there are only five seasons of the show and I have now seen every episode so many times I feel like I’m related to her. But he likes it, so I’m fine with it. 

He eats well and has done since we tried him on real food. He never really had baby food per say, All of the pre natal workshops I attended recommended you to give him real food with no sugar and salt added. So we have done really and I’m glad as the thought of having to test baby food for the temperature made me baulk. He knows what he likes but has just taken to trying to yank the spoon from me. He is freakishly strong. The other day whilst unloading the shopping into our fridge I had popped him in his baby walker as I am want to do when I have to actually achieve something. I was aware he was below me as I loaded the top shelf. The fridge is, what we would call in the UK an ‘American Style’ fridge. In the States they call it a fridge. Blissfuly unaware of my youngsters guile and ever increasing ability to select only the things in life he is forbidden from having (TV remote, the fire, Mummy’s wine) he clattered my ankles with his ‘Uber’ as we have affectionately termed it. As I yelped I looked down to discover this little lunatic was holding a half full litre bottle of Absolut vodka in ONE HAND and attempting to swig it. Before you freak, the LID WAS ON... and we had no limes anyway.The boy has taste. He’s his Mothers son ;-)

His other single handed feats of unbelievable strength have included him pulling a bottle of sparkling wine from the rack, picking up my laptop, and his piece de resistance which is gouging chunks of my flesh with his fingers at night to foil my attempts at soothing him to slumber. I suspect his theory on this is that if I am not relaxed (or rather, am in abject pain) I can no longer relax him and therefore he will not miss out on anything. MY theory however is that because I had a caesarian section and therefore did not actually witness the baby physically being born, he is actually from Krypton and shall grow into a sibling to rival Superman for strength, agility and other worldly powers. Therefore: 

1. Explaining his already burgeoning super-skills at evading sleep, having his nose wiped and at how far he managed to lob a toy from his pram today. 
2. Ensuring Steve and I a comfortable retirement as we profit from his inevitably numerous endorsements 
3. Quantifying why we both got so darn lucky with such an amazing kid who clearly cannot be genetically ours. 

We have a great family support network here in the UK and after the Covid 19 situation began to ramp up a little in mid March, and the US president made mention that he may close the borders to international flights, we thought it best to hot foot it home to the UK where we had planned to spend summer seeing family and running the UK branch of our operations. The pandemic has obviously ransacked those ideas and so now its just the three of us here in our home about ten miles out of Manchester in the North West of the UK. 

At the beginning of the year when we were first in Florida, we had no help with child care and we managed albeit incredibly tired at times, to juggle the businesses, my performances and Steve’s professional golf career. We carefully regimented our days, took it in turns to take the wriggler out for a walk when the other of us had something important to achieve and when all that failed, going to bed at 8pm to try and catch up on rest. It was HARD. Imagine trying to take your baby to the office and expecting to get anything done. But we coped and having the early morning option of a ten minute stroll to the beautiful Boynton Beach with the baby, followed by a bagel or pancakes at a friendly local eaterie, all before the start of the working day made rising at the crack of dawn just that little bit more paletable. And before this is misconstrued as any sort of a moan, which it most certainly is not, now Jesse is a couple of months older and a whole lot more physically capable, not having any assistance with him or indeed, any of the above (other than our regimented hour a day of exercise the government in the UK has currently allowed us) has really made us both appreciate the times we have had help in the past. 

I don’t want to pass him off, and we have a line of people offering to help us whenever we need it.. under usual circumstances. But for all of us, a hug from a loved one not resident in our household, not even a night on the tiles, seems like a distant possibility at present.

I have decided to treat this time as the maternity leave I never really gave myself. Four weeks after Jesse was born we made the decision to take over a business in the US. Two weeks later the three of us and my mum were on a plane to Miami to see a lawyer. Even though we are limited, I am less stressed than I have felt in a year.

Some mornings after his wake up bottle of milk, he might doze between Steve and I in bed  for an hour. And its lovely. Hearing his little shallow breaths and feeling him kick me repeatedly in the ribs as he 360’s till he is comfortable. But his newest trick and by far my favourite to date is how he chooses to wake me from my doze if he rises before I do. Its his precision technique of inserting his right index finger into my left nostril. Wake up Mummy. I’m ready to play.