Before I took charge of Little G on a regular 2-day basis, my world was filled with noise and I hated it. There was DIY from next door, the radio playing pop music from over the way, the office computer whirring, the mobile beeping.
Then there was the constant sound of traffic, people talking too loudly ... you get the picture. Sound surrounded me and was the background and foreground to most of my days.
I loathed noise, now I dread silence!
Silence was a rare treat, an absence of noise that was like a welcome oasis to be savoured and enjoyed. I'd ease into the rare moments, feeling my shoulders untense, my breathing slowing. However, now that I have Little G, silence is something I dread.
Is Little G eating an item that isn't edible?!
Silence means she has managed to crawl to the stairs and is sitting at base camp contemplating a solo ascent. It means she has managed to insert tiny fingers into crevices she shouldn't (and how on earth did she find them in the first place?). Silence means she has found something unsuitable and is probably about to shove it into her mouth. Silence means unauthorised snacking is taking place.
'Come On Feel The Noise!" (Slade 1973ish?)
Silence means that I have failed in my duties and reinforces my theory that You must be mad should never have entrusted Little G into my dodgy and clearly inadequate care. So I want noise, lovely lovely noise. Give me the busy scribbly sound of a small baby playing with her toys. Silence is such a vastly overrated commodity.
To be continued ... .....