We spend some time taking her things upstairs and unpacking. I think Mum went a bit overboard on clothes shopping, since by the time her suitcase is empty, I’m wrestling with drawers just to get them closed. We collect the toy bonanza from downstairs, and I ask her to choose ten toys that she can keep downstairs in the small toybox that Cole built for her.
She seems to find this challenging, and clearly, I am wrapped around her finger because I relent and allow her fifteen toys. Dutifully, we take these downstairs, and then I am informed that she wants to watch Bluey.
Bluey, as it turns out, is a colourful, energetic, and loud cartoon that follows the adventures of an anthropomorphised dog named Bluey. The dog is blue and is a blue heeler (according to my Wikipedia search), and so clearly the name was a logical choice.
I’m just glad I’m largely able to tune out background noise, a side effect of working in busy hospitals for so many years. Instead, I sit and watch my daughter as she sits and watches her show. She’s riveted, and so am I.
The toys we brought downstairs have all been removed from the toybox once more as she flits between them while she watches. I’m very much not used to mess in my house, but I know this is one aspect of having a child that I need to accept – and fast.
I pull my phone out and invite Corey over to meet her. Sitting here on my sofa watching Nancy as she plays fills my heart with so much simple, pure joy, and yet I want him here to share it with.
At least for as long as he’ll be around.
He arrives after about ten minutes, and his knock on the door startles Nancy. She jumps and immediately rushes over to me, wanting to be picked up.
“It’s OK, sweetheart. It’s just my friend Corey. I invited him to come and say hello. Is that OK?” She looks at me uncertainly. “Corey is the friend who painted all the pictures on your bedroom wall.”
At that, her eyes go wide, and she wriggles down to get to the door. I’m right behind her to open the catch that she can’t reach, and then she hauls the heavy wooden door open and stands there staring at Corey, arms folded over her chest.
Corey, for his part, looks surprised at this miniature Cerberus in a pink princess dress, and adopts his adorable rabbit-in-the-headlights expression. I snort a laugh.
“Come inside, little rabbit,” I say as I guide Nancy to the side so he can get through the door.
“Rabbit?” Nancy asks me, her button nose wrinkled in confusion.
“It’s his nickname,” I whisper to her,loudly enough that I know Corey can hear me.
“Like a bunny?” she whisper-shouts back to me, and Corey laughs.
“Yes, like a bunny,” I reply, shooting Corey a grin.
Nancy walks over to where Corey has just removed his jacket and shoes, holds her hand out as though she wants to shake his hand, and says, “Nice to meet you, Bunny. My name’s Nancy, and this is my new daddy.”
Corey looks at me, a hand over his mouth, while Nancy remains exactly where she is, hand still outstretched. I swear my heart skipped a beat at that simple word from Nancy. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this moment, and in a way, I have. And I’m so glad that Corey was here to witness it.
I go to the kitchen to try and pull myself together while Corey shakes my daughter’s hand and introduces himself. By the time I turn around, Nancy is back in front of Bluey, and Corey is approaching me with tears in his eyes.
He wraps me in his arms, and I cry quietly into the crook of his neck, so unbelievably happy.
After all the stress of the last couple of years, I’m here. She’s here. I’m a daddy. No,not just a daddy. I’m her daddy, and everything about that statement feels right, deep down in my soul.
It took me a few minutes to gather myself, and then Corey sat with Nancy while I went upstairs to quickly splash some cold water on my face and get myself together. I don’t want to scare Nancy or have her think I’m anything but over the moon to have her here.
As I come back downstairs, I hear two quiet voices from the dining table. I peek into the room and see Corey and Nancy sitting kitty-corner to one another, sheets of printer paper – no doubt pilfered from my office – spread out haphazardly between them, a pink unicorn pencil case overflowing with coloured pencils on the trivet in the centre of the table.
Corey is ever-so-gently explaining how to draw what looks like a house, sure strokes of the orange pencil he’s using making his words come to life on the paper. Nancy dutifully copies his movements with a somewhat shakier hand, then checks in for approval.
“Like dis?” she asks, eyes wide as she gazes up at Corey in adoration. I smile at her expression because, yeah, baby girl, same.
“That’s so good,” he praises. “Now, what about a brown roof?” Corey picks up a brown pencil and draws a simple triangular roof on top of the square house, and Nancy, again, follows suit.
My heart can’t take the sweet domesticity of this picture, not knowing this is a stolen moment that can’t last. The phrase ‘reality bites’ has never felt more apt. I quietly step away to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb the calm sanctuary the two of them have created, and focus instead on making us some sandwiches for lunch.
I’ve grated the cheese and am layering the bread with salad and mayo before seasoning with a bit of salt and pepper, when Nancy comes bounding into the kitchen, Corey hot on her heels. She waves a piece of paper up at me, excitement brightening her whole face.
“Look, Daddy, I drawed our house!”
“Let me see,” I say, a serious expression on my face. I take the picture from her and consider it with the same critical eye I would a Monet in the National Gallery. The house looks absolutely nothing like ours, the scale is completely off, and there are three people holding hands outside instead of two.
