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.
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