Gran At Large

By ourselves, we'd have thought it was a dead loss. Hardly a bird to be seen (even looking from the hides onto the water there was only the odd coot or very ordinary duck), not that many flowers, the river low and sluggish. Some of the leaves were beginning to fall from the trees.

But we had the grandson with us, and we saw a couple of rabbits and two slugs. It was a great day.

All right, rabbits are furry and cuddly and everyone thinks they look sweet, even gardeners like my husband who curses what they do to the young broccoli. But slugs! I hate slugs, not only because I know what they can do to the delphiniums, but because they're slimy and ugly and crawl around eyeless and legless (in both senses, when my husband puts down beer as slug bait; but that's another story).

But Jonah had never seen a slug before, let alone two. He was fascinated. He watched them for ages as they moved along the path, pulling themselves into a rounded blob, then elongating themselves, then pulling themselves up again. We told him what they were and he rolled the new word round his tongue, trying it out, repeating it: "Lug... lug..."

You can't be gloomy around a toddler. Exhausted, yes. Or exasperated. Or anxious. But not gloomy. It's the best cure for pessimism I know.

From the moment they first focus on the world around, babies are fascinated by everything they see. That's not surprising, I suppose, because everything's new to them. They're seeing it all for the very first time. There are the faces that peer at them, the mobile dangled over the crib. Further off, there are shiny surfaces and dark dull ones, mirrors reflecting shapes and light, waving trees glimpsed through windows. For babies, there's no need for foreign travel, no need to explore uncharted lands or dream of travelling into space, into realms where no one has ever gone before. They're far too busy learning about one tiny part of this vast strange universe into which they have been born.

There are all the new things you learn to do, too. Clutching a hand or a toy. Sitting up for the first time, and suddenly seeing everything from a different angle. Reaching out for something and finding you can actually crawl towards it. Standing; then sitting back down and standing up again. That first tottering, drunken step. Trying all those new words, more every day. Saying "Bye bye!" and running away, knowing someone's going to come laughing after you, with a hug for reward at the end.

There are new tastes and smells, some good, some bad, though it takes a while to work out which is which. There's the shape of trees; blossom in the spring - walking under a tree heavy with flowers has a magic all of its own. So does the intricacy of shoelaces. Then there are zips and buttons, and suddenly finding out how to open things.

And once you've opened something, there's the joy of putting stuff into it. My daughter-in-law can't be the only mother who's looked in her handbag on arriving at the office to find a brightly coloured plastic bunch of keys and a teething ring.

So I'd recommend anyone who's feeling low to seek out a toddler and look at the world through their eyes. Suddenly you'll find yourself enraptured by the smallest thing. It will all look fresh and new.

One day I suppose, all too soon, this will change. Our grandson will grow older. That despairing cry of "I'm bored" will be heard. The magic will have gone. But until it does, we're going to make the most of it, to try and share that savouring of every moment, every experience. Maybe some of it will stay with us when our grandson's forgotten what it was like and become just another bored teenager.

Though what I'd really hope for is that he never does become that bored teenager. I'd like him to carry that sense of wonder and delight with him throughout his life. Some people do, and then they have what it takes to become great scientists or artists and make the world a better and brighter place for all the rest of us.

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