Habibibabapapa

What do you you call your nearest and dearest when you blog about them? Shouldn't there be a witness protection scheme for the relatives of us sorry individuals who feel compelled to share our all with every Tom, Dipti and Hagrid?

The arabic word for beloved or dearest is habibi. Say it out loud: it's simply a perfect word: light, warm, sensual, breathless, reassuring, resigned, humorous, all the things that love is. Try it on your mum, your two year-old, your Significant Other - see? When I'm right, I'm right.

In my blog, Habibi stands for my beloved husband, and decades (plural since last Wednesday!) of the whole range of the marriage vows: richer, poorer, better, worse, sickness, health, love, cherish, drive, cook, work all hours, fall asleep in cinemas, snore through concerts, sense of humour, tolerance, creativity, discipline, ethics, quiet determination, piercing intelligence, loyalty, aversion to green vegetables, great legs, impressive liquid grain storage facility, wit, Terry Pratchett obsession, friend in need, in touch with his emotions.... - eh?! Oops - sorry - too many fridge magnets.

And Habibibaba - you can work it out. And if you're reading this, O Habibibaba, here's one for you, courtesy of sensitive lyrical Ogden Nash:

First Child..
Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
It is red, it is boiled; could the obstetrician
Have possibly been a lobstertrician?
His degrees and credentials were hunk-dory,
But how's for an infantile inventory?
Here's the prodigy, here's the miracle!
Whether its head is oval or spherical,
You rejoice to find it has only one,
Having dreaded a two-headed daughter or son;
Here's the phenomenon all complete,
It's got two hands, it's got two feet,
Only natural, but pleasing, because
For months you have dreamed of flippers or claws.
Furthermore, it is fully equipped:
Fingers and toes with nails are tipped;
It's even got eyes, and a mouth clear cut;
When the mouth comes open, the eyes go shut,
When the eyes go shut the breath is loosed,
And the presence of lungs can be deduced.
Let the rocket flash and the canon thunder,
This child is a marvel, a matchless wonder.
A staggering child, a child astounding,
Dazzling, diaperless, dumbfounding,
Stupendous, miraculous, unsurpassed,
A child to stagger and flabbergast,
Bright as a button, sharp as a thorn,
And the only perfect one ever born.

I rest my valise.