Stepping Out
Jan Baynham
Babyccino
‘Come on, you can do it! Come on!’
They were all there – my parents, my maternal grandparents,
my great-grandparents – all encouraging me, willing me on. They were all
strategically placed around the sitting room, just waiting for me to do it.
It had been the same ever since I was born and even
before that. I was the centre of their universe and it was hard not to be
continually striving to keep up with their demands. There was no time to just
play by myself or gurgle to imaginary friends. Everything was a serious
learning experience.
By placing earphones on her stomach, my mother had
ensured that I had heard classical music day in and day out throughout her
pregnancy hoping I would be musical. At the moment, all I liked to do was bang
the table of my high chair with spoons but even then my mother insisted on me
following the rhythm she was making with her wooden spoon on a tray. Why
couldn’t she just let me do it my way?
I’d had to smile and chuckle to order, clap hands for
every visitor who came to the house and every coo and gurgle I made was given a
name and a meaning. When my father returned home from work each evening, I had
to repeat any new achievements from the day for him. A walk in the park was
always a science lesson, learning the names of the birds and wild flowers we
saw on the way. I was the only baby in a push-chair that faced my mother. All
the other babies seemed to be relaxed and playing with the soft toys and
colourful plastic shapes, facing the way they were going. If their mums wanted
to talk to them they moved around to the front. Not my mother – she was
constantly pointing things out to me.
‘Look at that goose by the lake, sweetheart. It’s called
a Canada Goose. Say Canada Goose for Mummy.’
‘Cabba Goo,’ I tried.
‘Nearly there. Good girl. Can – a –da goose,’ she
encouraged.
‘Cab-a-ba Gooosse.’
‘Well done, darling. We’ll have to tell Daddy and ring
Grandma and Great-grandma tonight. You’re so clever!’
The book shelf in my bedroom was packed with every fairy
story, nursery rhyme and Baby Einstein book you could think of. What should
have been a fun bedtime story was often a grilling of what I could remember
instead.
And so it was… I was the first child, the first
grandchild and the first great grandchild in the family and boy, didn’t I know
it? But only in my mother’s family. On my father’s side they were far more
laid back. My cousin Harry was the fourth of four boys and was just two weeks
older than me. He was allowed to do things at his own pace, happy to gurgle and
chuckle without anyone constantly willing him on to the next stage. When I
started to move a little on my changing mat, toys were placed further away so
that I learned very quickly to roll and get them. This was greeted with whoops
of delight. No one had rolled over that early my mother told my father one
evening before he’d hardly got through the door.
I was so forward (my mother and father’s
words!); I sat up on my own for a few seconds only quickly to fall back on all
the cushions surrounding me. This was practised every day for weeks until I
could do it properly on my own at a very early age. Next had come the crawling
stage, from commando style to start progressing to the more traditional style.
My parents had played so many jungle games on all fours with me that I mastered
it in no time. Very soon, I was expected to whizz around the house in my baby
walker.
‘It’ll strengthen her legs,’ my mother said. ‘I
just know she’s going to walk early.’ Whereas Harry was only
just moving around his house by rolling and crawling, I was already pulling
myself up to standing and walking around the furniture.
And so because of this, the time had come – my
grandparents and great-grandparents had all been summoned to the house in
anticipation of the momentous event.
‘Come on, you can do it! Come on!’ said my father,
holding his hands out for me. He was kneeling at the one end of the sitting
room and at the other end, my mother held me under my arms as I stood getting
my balance. She loosened her hands and I started to toddle down the room into
my father’s arms. First one, then two, three wobbly steps… I can
do this, I thought. I’ll show them.
But no, after the third step, I crumpled into a heap on
the floor and the sound of everyone’s disappointed groans seemed to resonate
around the room.
‘Never mind, darling,’ my mother said, picking me up and
comforting me in her arms. ‘Let’s have a giant huggle before we try again.’
It was no good. They’d never accept that perhaps, just
perhaps, it wasn’t going to happen that day. So, still it went on. Try after
try, tumble after tumble. Please just allow me some breathing space.
This walking is exhausting work. My head was spinning. Okay,
one last attempt then. Here goes. I fixed my eyes on my father. My
mother gently released her hands from under my arms and I took my steps as
carefully as I could, trying not to wobble knowing that every family member in
the room was holding their breath. I walked past the first armchair, then the
settee. Not far now to go now, I thought, gaining in confidence.
‘Come on, nearly there!’ my father cried.
‘Yeessss, she’s going to do it!’ my mother squealed,
unable to contain her excitement.
I collapsed into my father’s outstretched arms.
‘Yea! You clever, clever girl,’ shouted six adult voices
clapping their hands loudly.
‘I’ve done it! I let go and walked the whole length of
the room! It's over,’ I said to myself, so relieved that I'd achieved what was
expected of me. If only they knew what was ahead of them now I was
free! I thought, beaming.
About the Author
Jan lives in Cardiff,
she joined a writers' group three years ago and began writing for her own
enjoyment. It wasn’t until she joined a university writing class taught by a
published author that she began to submit stories for publication. She is
currently writing her first novel.
