On the way home in the train tonight I had the horrifying realisation that tomorrow my daughter will be old enough to drink legally, over here anyway. It's her 18th Birthday, I can't believe it's been a whole 18 years since I first held her in my arms, my teeny tiny baby. And she was tiny, 4lb 11 1/2 ounces (the half is important) in the old measure, about 2.2 kilos in the new. The doctors kept extending my due date due to her size, but she ended up being induced 2 days before her original date, a perfect baby who was just small. I think I may have been warned about developmental delays, they didn't tell her she started walking on Boxing Day but did have some speech issues. She was about 4 and I was trying to get her to say her name properly, she would say Gagandra. She turned to me and said as clear as anything "I'll say it when I go to school" and sure as eggs the day she started school was the day she started speaking clearly. She actually came home from school and told me that she "didn't want to be called Cassandra anymore, I want to be Cassie". It's funny because that is what she was supposed to be called, her name was going to be shortened from the beginning but everyone said how pretty the name Cassandra was and it stuck.
After a long day at work and on the train I got home and decided to have a rest but then looked at the time, it was almost 8 o'clock, David was out so dinner wasn't made. I tossed up whether to run out and buy something but thought better of it. Cooked some pasta, a mornay sauce, tossed in a tin of tuna, some peas and carrots and toasted bread crumbs. In less time than it would have taken to go out and get that quick takeaway we sat down to a delicious meal. Not something David would eat, he's just walked in with his own takeaway.
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