Books Magazine


By Ashleylister @ashleylister



My first born was a little bundle of soft, pink joy.  She had a mass of curly blonde hair, a rather serious face and eyes that refused to close at bedtime despite my frequent efforts to lull her into that deep sleep I knew she needed.  She had two changes of clothes which was hardly adequate but I had plans to deal with that.  Grandma would come into play with her sewing and knitting skills. 
I was three and Suzy was my pride and joy.  
From the day that Suzy arrived in my Christmas stocking my life changed.  I was the mom I hadn’t realised I wanted to be. I had the baby I hadn’t realised I needed. 
Don’t get me wrong, Suzy wasn’t always the perfect child. She had her moments. The eyes were a prime example. Whilst my friends had babies whose eyelids drooped and quivered and finally closed as they were laid in their cots, Suzy stared at me, wide eyed and serious, some might say defiant.  She stayed like that as I covered her with the quilt my mom had made, stroked her Brillo pad hair and sung a little lullaby.  
When I had done my morning chores, which usually consisted of frying plastic sausages and making numerous cups of tea for my mum, I would return to the cot and find Suzy in the same catatonic state.  I’m not sure what happened with her finger but I’m guessing that one day the lack of sleep became too much for me and I bit into the squishy digit and spat out the tiny end.  Either that or the feeling of soft plastic between my teeth was impossible to resist - a bit like when you have a chewy sweet and try desperately not to bite into it.  
Suzy took the surprise amputation in her stride and continued to stare blankly at me as I sat miserably wondering how to explain away the missing finger to her grandma (who I guessed might not be too happy about it: ‘You bit her finger off?? What do you mean you big her finger off??) I predicted a telling off unless I could dress Suzy in gloves for the rest of her life. 
I think I must have got away with the finger because sometime later Suzy suffered the loss of a couple of toes in a similar incident.  I told her it was frostbite, which my dad had recently explained to me, and she accepted it with her usual sangfroid. I did wonder much later, after one graphic RE lesson, whether I should have blamed leprosy. 
I think having Suzy must have sparked my interest in sewing and knitting, which remains with me to this day  As predicted, my mom made Suzy a few basic outfits - dresses, skirts, knickers and, strangely, an apron.  I’m guessing the apron was to prepare Suzy for a life of housewifery, and in the meantime to assist me with the cups of tea and plastic sausages.  Before long I was sitting with pieces of old fabric, scissors and a needle and thread, and cobbling together a rather bizarre wardrobe for Suzy.  Which, thinking about it, is probably how my love of weird clothing for myself developed.  
The best times with Suzy were undoubtedly when we visited our cousins in Margate.  Sue, a year older than I, had her own baby, Lindy, who was slightly smaller than Suzy.   I remember comparing the two babies and, just like a real mother, I felt quite smug that Suzy was obviously so much chubbier and prettier than poor Lindy.  Sue had a great Auntie Rosa, who was a whizz with a pair of knitting needles or a crochet hook, and was obviously at such a loose end that she had fashioned a huge wardrobe of outfits for the lucky Lindy.  I don’t know how I did it but I managed to persuade Sue that some of Suzy’s rather strange and ill-fitting outfits would be lovely on Lindy, and vice versa.  Soon Suzy was being squeezed into beautifully knitted jumpers and cardigans, and poor Lindy was looking like an orphan in huge hand me downs, falling apart at the seams.  I’m not sure what Suzy thought of the knitted knickers but she wore them without complaint for much longer than I’m sure was hygienic. 
As I got older, I have to admit I had less contact with Suzy. Life took over - art college, boyfriends, marriage and (more) children. Suzy ended up unceremoniously dumped head first, woolly knickers in the air, in a box in a cupboard at my parents’ house.  She might have been out of sight but my first born was never really out of mind for too long.  Grandchildren, great grandchildren, nieces and nephews were all treated to the sight of Suzy’s poker face, as the toy box was brought out over the years. I must say, Suzy was usually discarded in favour of something far more exciting.  It looked like she’d had her day. Nobody loved Suzy like I loved Suzy. 
Just recently, knowing I was going to write this post I asked my son to take a picture of Suzy whilst he was visiting his grandparents. In an attempt to get Dan to find the right doll, I described her in as much detail as possible: she’s ugly, quite dirty and yellow, with missing fingers and hair like a Brillo pad. He sent the picture. 


Suzy, My Baby, With Her Missing Fingers

You might be 63 now Suzy - your fingers and toes have healed, your hair is still too stiff to brush and those eyes will never close, but you know what, Suzy, you’ll always be my baby. 
Another Day with Mother by Jill Reidy
At night In the nursery The baby dolls stir Peep over their quilts  And call to each other Suzy never sleeps Her eyes all seeing She’s the leader  Keeps the secrets
They help each other Out of cots Play games they’ve never  Had a chance to play They giggle Drink the juice left on the side Hold hands, dance round And wait  For the early signs of dawn
As the light  Seeps through the curtains And the room begins to warm Suzy picks up toys  Pulls back covers Does a roll call  Prodding and poking  Sends the babies Back to bed
I find her in the morning Suzy, my first born Eyes wide Hair wild I lift her up Inhale the familiar rubbery smell Gently touch the broken fingers She stares right back at me And resigns herself to another day with mother
Thanks for reading,    Jill
Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook


You Might Also Like :

Back to Featured Articles on Logo Paperblog

These articles might interest you :

  • Opera Review: Going For the Throat

    Opera Review: Going Throat

    Stuart Skelton debuts in Otello. by Paul J. Pelkonen There's been a nasty cold rampaging around New York this month. It struck down your faithful correspondent... Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Superconductor
  • Celebrating Sisters with Sisters Wine

    Celebrating Sisters with Wine

    Tis the season for celebration and being with friends and family. To celebrate each other, our relationships and look to a new year.Sisters come in all forms. Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Hvwinegoddess
  • From Phantom Limbs to Charlie Chaplin: Marianne Simmel Papers Open for Research

    From Phantom Limbs Charlie Chaplin: Marianne Simmel Papers Open Research

    contributed by Allan Christopher, Amanda Leach, Sarah Riddle, M. Rose Stull (students in the Museums Archives Certificate Program). Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Chp
  • Above the Clouds: Two Sunsets

    Above Clouds: Sunsets

    An amazing sunset taken some 35,000 feet above the earth Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Travellingartist
  • December 19th - Freebies!

    December 19th Freebies!

    December 19th is... Believe It or Not Day (1918), National Oatmeal Muffin Day, Can't Get Up Day (1985), Space Milestone: First Radio Broadcast from Space (1958)... Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Catherine Mcdiarmid-Watt
  • From the Rock to the Sandbar

    From Rock Sandbar

    Early morning here as I write this. I'm sipping coffee before getting ready for work, and watching a fox snoop around the property. Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Seliharris
  • Diet Doctor Podcast #9 — Dr. Ron Krauss

    And he's the director of atherosclerosis research at the Children's Hospital Oakland research Institute, he's a professor of medicine at UCSF, professor of... Read more

    The 18 December 2018 by   Dietdoctor