My Diary of Triplet Fatherhood

Jemima is clapping frantically, little arms thrown out-and-back, out-and-back with the kind of force that makes me want to rub my shoulder joints defensively. At one and a half years old, however, she still has the kind of babyish flexibility that allows you to happily diregard the possibility of injuring yourself through overenthusiasm. A good thing in Jemima’s case. And besides, if it gets the fairy to appear and wave back, what price would a little dislocation be?

The fairy, I should explain, is a dot of light on the dining room wall. When the sun is shining, the fairy sometimes appears and flies around the room, stopping to kiss the babies photos on the wall, dancing on the tabletop just out of reach, landing on toys, teddies, maybe even a tummy or two, fleeing to the corner if anyone shouts “boo!”, only to return if her name (”Fairy”) is called, and, if waved at with enough enthusiasm, she even darts back and forth in a wave of her own.

Jemima and her sisters love the fairy. They scream when she appears, shout “fairy”, wave, offer it food from their spoons. They laugh when it lands on their tummies or when a “boo!” sends it fleeing. Quarrels are forgotten. They’re enraptured. And when it disappears every corner of the room is earnestly investigated to find the errant sprite.

Of course, apart from Jem throwing a few quizzical looks at my waving wrist (which I now disguise by waving my other hand), none have realised that it’s just sunlight reflecting from my watchface. To them the fairy is a creature, independant, fascinating and magical.

I guess I love the fairy, too. Engaging my children, making them happy, having fun with them, it fills me with the kind of helpless joy I don’t remember having before becoming a parent. I find myself as caught up in playing as they are. None of us want to stop. And when the sun slips away we’re all equally disappointed.

But right now I feel more guilty than enraptured. It’s tea time. The sun has set. And I don’t know what spurred her to try and lure it out, but however hard little Jemima waves, the fairy isn’t going to make an appearance.

“The fairy’s gone to bed, sweetheart. She’s sleeping. Come on, let’s read a story…”