I'm on a train as I type this, son. We're on our way to visit your grandad, off in the wilds of Lancashire. If I look out to my left I can see the rolling expanse of the English countryside, beautiful despite the heavy grey sky over it, and I have been thinking bout how much travelling you have already done, even before you're out here in the outside world with your mummy and myself.
Right now, mummy is six months pregnant, and the bump in her tummy which you are inside is growing at an incredible rate. She has been travelling a lot for work lately, visiting some of the biggest cities in the country in order to carry out her day-to-day tasks as someone with a lot of responsibility and an intellect that makes the sun itself seem a bit dim. She is doing all of this with you inside her, kicking her and making your presence felt on a very regular basis.
I find it quite sweet that the two of you have already seen so much of the country together, even if there was no way of getting you an ice cream on the way. Mummy and I are rather different in our origins, in that she is from a picturesque little Lancashire town while I was born and raised in a big city in South Yorkshire (which - don't tell mum I said this - is far prettier than Lancashire).
We do have a lot of common ground though, as while neither of our home towns are much to write home about, we are still proud of them. It's important to have some pride in where you're from, and while neither of us was born in the city that you will be born in, we hope you will feel the same kind of pride towards it once you are able to.
We are both very excited to show you where we grew up, and while you might not find it that interesting, you must come to understand, as we did as kids, that it's one of the weird little things parents do when the pull of nostalgia becomes to much to bear. Parents are odd like that.
Love,
Daddy
No comments:
Post a Comment