decided that he loathes the paddling pool and is none too keen on his bath either. Clinging, crying and hiding his face from the sparkling fountain, I stood bewildered by his sudden fear of the water. Whilst other children frolicked merrily my former water baby wept bitterly as I carried him towards the pool, refusing to dip even a toe into the shallows. Deciding that the best policy was a slow re-integration I left him alone to play happily on the grass, wondering if perhaps curiosity might get the better of him. The next visit was the same, and whilst the children of friends splashed happily Felix continued to cling and cry at the merest suggestion of a paddle. What on earth has happened to my fish?
This behaviour is part of larger emerging pattern. It is as if Felix has suddenly discovered fear as a concept. Previously he was a mustang; throwing himself into new experiences without a second thought. Nowadays he is more of a thoroughbred, volatile and easily startled. It is anyone’s guess how he might react to familiar experiences and people, burying his face in my shoulder at the sight of a smiling face or howling as we arrive at his favourite playground. Deciding it was time to seek some advice I googled 'toddler fear of water' and lo and behold a multitude of entries popped up. It turns out that a sudden fear of water is common in toddlerhood and is part of a new awareness of the environment. The brain of a toddler is a complex affair, able to conjure up terrifying scenarios based on assumptions that adults can find impossible to comprehend, and as yet unable to rationalise these fears into real and imaginary. One article suggested that the fear of bathing may relate to him realising that water swirls down the plughole and concluding that he too may be swept away. Seen through these eyes the paddling pool is petrifying indeed; packed with shrieking children firing water pistols and running madly through the water, a veritable battleground for a newly aware Felix.
With this in mind and armed with advice to treat these fears as valid and proceed with patience and understanding we continued with the softly softly approach. Thankfully after a few nights of fun filled baths the fear of the tub seemed to ebb. The paddling fear was harder to tackle, but after several attempts I am delighted to say that Felix has been successfully re-christened. Amphibious once more we have surged into the swimming season with daily trips to the paddling pool on Dukes Meadows to soak up the glorious spring sunshine, united once again in our love of water.
We too are about to find ourselves in a strange pond, for we have finally succeeded in finding a flat with a garden and a second bedroom that doesn't cost the earth, but it does mean a move away from our beloved environs of W4. Teddington beckons! I feel somewhat as Felix may have done, full of trepidation yet also curious and elated. Change hovers in the air like the Northern Lights, a flickering spectral light show that surges and glows and is swiftly gone. After nearly a decade in our current abode there is a curiosity shops worth of junk and treasure to sort through, and the size of the task is
daunting. Every day while Felix naps I sort through drawers and cupboards, pullling bags of old magazines from under the bed and finding myself engrossed by ten year old articles on home decor. Our flat has slowly but surely been filled up with mementos; handpainted shakers from Greece, novelty kettles and enough frames, canvases and photographs to fill the Tate Modern. It has become clear that we are both avid collectors of curios or curators of clutter, depending on your viewpoint. Sorting through this mountain of stuff is exhausting but therapeutic, and deciding what to keep, what to give away and what to bin is my current preoccupation. A life laundry is underway, and as I riffle through old university essays and photographs of holidays long past I feel like a snake shedding several layers of skin. A delineation between the past and the future marks the present as a time of limbo; and whilst I long for the day Felix has his own bedroom and I can retire to bed of an evening with a book and a cup of tea, not to mention open the door of the kitchen and release my darling boy into a grassy haven, I also mourn the time that is gone forever. A butterfly emerges triumphant from the cocoon, but the caterpillar it once was can sometimes miss the safe, dark seclusion of the home it has painstakingly built.