Harry King Live Archive

You are two months old. You could easily pass for someone at least two months older. It may have taken you two weeks to open your eyes, fully; but from then, alert is very much the order of the day (and night). You can spot a person moving within your line of sight and then you fix them; focussed on their every move. You spent 20 minutes transfixed by Lauren last night. You watched as she ate, as she moved. Your eyes didn’t leave her until she left you. Then there’s the growing. Oh boy, are you growing. You moved out of your Moses basket in to your cot last night. I can’t remember when Lauren moved in to a cot, but I am sure

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You’re a bruiser, a solid unit; our little colossus. As I hold you in my now, quivering arms, all 13lbs 7.5ozs of you; I wonder to myself whether after just six weeks, my little boy won’t be little for very much longer. You’re already near topping the charts in the percentile tables. A view of an average, across the board look at boys aged six weeks in the UK currently ranks you in the 98th percentile. This means, on average, there are only two boys out of every 100 that are bigger than you. Sure these things are not necessarily constant – your sister went from 80 percentile down to below 20 percentile over the course of a year – but everyone still looks at her

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  There is something I want to share with you. It is something; they are something that I have started to share with your sister. It is music. The music I love. You may be named, in part, after a footballer. To see your namesake Marco Tardelli celebrate. To tell your mum how she makes me feel like Marco Tardelli celebrating – to sit looking at you and your sister and imagine my own, lost in the moment celebration, suggests that with hope, rather than expectation, I will want to share sport with you both; but it’s not essential that I do. What is essential is to share music with you. To see your expression when you first hear a song I love. To see

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It’s the liquid. The amount of liquid involved, that flows out, that covers the space, that shocks you, me; the most. Forget tidal waves of emotions – this was a tidal wave of a birth. Delivering your own child is a strange, never to be matched experience. The experience is further heighted when you, sometime after, try to piece it all back together again. There are the obvious whys – as in, why were we there? Why did it happen that way? Then there are the hows – how did someone not respond in time? How did we ever get through that together? We got through it with help. With a reassuring voice on the end of the phone; from a midwife trained to deal

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