This morning Mr B and I decided it was time to take to the telephone.
We needed to make sure that all our friends knew about the latest arrival in the family
– and, while many would undoubtedly have picked up the news from Facebook and (of course) the Daily Blog, we couldn’t risk leaving anyone in the dark. Plus there are some friends you just need to talk to, don’t you think?
We divided up the list of People To Call between us and I took possession of the phone first, on the basis that I was already showered and dressed while Mr B was still checking
his emails and deciding which of the jokes sent to him were suitable to be passed on to his army of friends on-line.
The first four calls I made were
a bit of a disappointment. Announcing the news of Young Faris’s birth to an answerphone wasn’t quite what I had bargained for. The problem with answerphones is that they don’t make an appropriate response. I wanted to hear a few “Oh,
how lovelys!”, accompanied (if possible) by some teary sniffles and emotional blowing of noses. One response wasn’t even an answerphone message but told me, in no uncertain tones, that “this number doesn’t accept incoming calls.”
I wanted to holler: “But this is me, you daft happorth, of course you want to speak to me!”
Mind you I do remember, now I come to think of it,
that I had to leave an answerphone message for my sister when my very first grand-child was born, nearly sixteen years ago. Apparently she so much loved my garbled message, incoherent with love and pride, that she kept it on her 'phone and kept listening
to it for ages afterwards.
Mr B, having listened in to my unsuccessful attempts to communicate with all these Important People, decided to take over. He had two
people on his list and, guess what, they both answered straightaway. Smirking oh so very slightly at his good fortune to have got through first time to the people on his list, he relayed all the information, with an appropriate level of grandfatherly
pomp and circumstance. He even managed to provide the correct details of the baby’s time of birth and weight, which would have been impressive had it not been for the fact that he had been listening in to my messages. To be fair, he did pass me the phone
so that I could talk to my sister-in-law, who was satisfyingly interested to hear absolutely everything I had to tell her.
No sooner had we replaced
the receiver, when the phone rang again – it was my dear friend Lorna who had been out in the wood shed when I telephoned (which sounds a bit Little Red Riding Hood but that’s where she said she was) and had been desperately trying to ring me back
for the last half hour. Oh, this was just what I needed! Tears at the other end of the phone. Heartfelt congratulations. Total Emotional Breakdown. Not to mention, an opportunity to keep her company by spilling a few tears of my own. This friend
has known the Middle of the Darling Daughters since she was five years old and so has followed many of her adventures - right up to this last, most exciting of all adventures.
Arriving back from my afternoon swim, I was afraid I might have missed some return calls. But, no, my old school-friend Pat, who has known the Middle of the Darling Daughters since she was born, had the good sense to wait until my return before 'phoning
me. Pat, along with her daughter (and my god-daughter) Pip, has been helping with the Knitted Bird Mobile Task – our challenge (you will probably remember) to create a kind of Bird World which will hang from the ceiling in the nursery.
Pat’s contribution is a wealth of leaves, acorns and ladybirds (see my photo so you can see just how clever she is) and I can’t thank her enough because I was getting a bit worried about my ability to deliver on this element of the mobile. I’ve
never knitted foliage before...
All in all I am rather glad that people weren’t in when I called them this morning. It means I have been able to spin
out the pleasure of recounting all the news – and I’m still waiting for two people to call me back. Mr B says my jaws won’t rust.
I have to go! There goes the ‘phone again...