Teaching myself to tell tales

One of the joys of having a young baby, I’m finding, is reading. I wasn’t expecting reading to come to us so early, it was my mum who suggested it when Rufus was only three or four months old. He loves us reading to him; the shapes, the colours, the closeness, the sound of our voices, the turning of pages, the taste of the corner of each page as he takes a pensive suckle before it
goes past. I’ve recently started to wonder if I can make stories up for him. I remember at OFFF in Lisbon, Joshua Davis was talking about creativity and how he made up stories to order for his daughter every bedtime. I’d like to give it a go, and I thought
writing about it would give me a chance to think it through and some motivation to continue.

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Sleeping on London Bridge

Our son Rufus slept in different ways as he reached different milestones. The first kind of sleep, when he was a tiny baby, was more a some kind of rapidly cycling consciousness and unconsciousness designed to disrupt parental sleep, this was a phase where we were lulled into a false sense of security. “It’s easy having a baby! Look here we are, out at the pub, and our baby is sleeping next to us at nine-o-clock at night!”. This phase passed and we fairly rapidly realised that Rufus wasn’t going to be the kind of baby who could just fall asleep on the play mat, or in the pushchair at a café, or in our arms at the pub, or in fact anywhere unless we did something to sort this situation out.

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