This afternoon, one babyfather passed the baby across the table to another babyfather. As the exchange was made, a large drool plonked in the middle of the table. I noticed it. They noticed it. I wanted to find a cloth to wipe it. They didn’t mind about the table drool. I couldn’t reach it without making it obvious it was big in my mind. After a few minutes it lost significance. I’ve seen the day to day through dear friends. The horrors of missed poo. I’ve cleaned that baby bouncer. I’m shit at babies but I’m trying. Boo and I learnt a lot together while we were plotting world domination.
Jo, at nearly 5 months, is very happy to eject milk orally at an alarming rate. There will usually be a cloth ready for this eventuality. He is happy to sick milk that he was only just shouting about wanting. He takes more than he needs and then vomits the excess. Aren’t we all like that?
This is a human. Before most of the senses are fully developed, taking more than he needs because he can have it and then sicking half of it out – he’s learnt society. Breastmilk isn’t oil though. His mummy has secondnamed him for one of the great giants of Ireland, and he’s huge for his age apparently. But quiet. Calm and quiet. They always say that the second one is the bastard, and I’m sure mum would agree. She loved me so deeply. But I know I was a tricky fucker for her.
I’m happy to have made friends with this baby creature, and with his parents.
“You two have a really lovely relationship on stage,” I’ve been told loads. And we do. Wild haired bearded myth geeks. “Is your Marley John Henry?” This is a frequent question. “No. But they are friends.”
Today I went round Gorey Castle with Will, John Henry, Ciara and multiple childrens. Three bearded myth geeks in one place was almost too much. JH is The Story Beast, and if you look him up he will be wearing what he wore to be with us. A Jersey expert, a myth lover, and he grew up in the same neolithically complex parish as me, a decade later. The energies from the furrows of the silleries, rippling out across the whole island like the equinoctial light of houge bie. This island carries so much light and weight. If you are active you likely can avoid the factions that make everything so tiny. I’m honestly thinking of coming back home. If I had 13.5 million I’d buy my old home. The wonder we could make possible at Les Silleries. Likely I’ll have to make do with something less fancy though.
AlBarclay 