Hope is now speaking in not just fluent Hopeish but also structured English. She’s started forming sentences.
“Granby peeling orange for Hopey” came out of the blue yesterday, and was followed by, “Hopey put cheese in fridge”. Today she’s trotted round cheerfully offering to help with the washing, to wash her hands, to sweep the leaves and to eat my chocolate. She also asked to drive the car!!!
I love watching and listening to her as she grows and develops, it amazes me constantly what she is absorbing and is so quickly able to process and use herself in context putting toothpaste on her toothbrush (bishbosh), putting jam in her porridge, fetching and carrying, drying her toys on towels when they get wet, doing buttons up, putting shoes on … I know nothing earth shattering but for her it is ground breaking… and this evening she even managed to blow her own bubbles (before she’s always broken the shiny surface of the bubble dippy thing).
A friend has given her the most wonderful Advent Calendar; 24 little numbered red bags each with a present inside. Today’s bag had a bottle of bubbles in it. Hope remembers from one day to the next which number bag to look in and she is able to open the little bags and remove the presents. They’re slightly too well wrapped up so she looks up and asks me to “up and down” which is Hopeish for open it (I have to up and down the toothpaste, the coconut oil, the shampoo bottle, her toy bucket, the carseat harness and the little velcro strap on her shoes.
Her singing as well is becoming absurdly good … the whole of Frere Jacques, and from only a few hearings now by herself she can sing Away in A Manger and also one from playgroup, Shake Shake the Apple Tree, and when I forgot the words the other day she told me off, “silly mummy” and told me the right words! She knows all the words to all the songs on her car CDs and more often than not now asks for them with very specific names and gets extremely annoyed when I get the request wrong, “tree frog” is 3 little speckled frogs, “galumph” is “we all know frogs go la di da di da”, “town” is upsidy down town and so on … and she’s delighted when I pick up on the song she’s singing and join in with her … she even applauds and says “yay Mummy singing” … I’m taking the compliment while it’s there, I’m sure it won’t be long before she realises I have a shocking singing voice!!!
She’s getting ever more determined, “stop it Mummy” when I’m drying her hair or picking up the toys she’s strategically arranged around the kitchen floor, “enough” when she hands me (with both hands) the plate with whatever she doesn’t to eat want still on it, “down” when she’s keen to escape the high chair, and “go out now” when she wants to get up in the morning or go out for a walk. This evening she decided when she wanted to go to bed and announced, “Mummy Hope sleeping now” …
She’s also getting increasingly into jokes, blowing raspberries on my tummy when she’s finished breastfeeding and collapsing into fits of giggles, and this evening when her bottom emitted a little windy noise, she chortled and said, “Mummy bottom”… little monkey!
One of my favourite moments came this evening she found her father asleep on the sofa and came into the kitchen, “Daddy sleeping and snoring Mummy, LOUD”… she was right!
She’ll be reciting Shakespearean sonnets next.
A card arrived for Granby the other day and Hope sat and watched it being opened … before her Grandmother could look inside the card to see who it was from Hope grabbed it and gleefully pointed at the red cloaked figure soaring high in his sleigh above the houses … “Missmuss, MISSMUSS Mummi Missmuss”.
I was surprised, she must have remembered from last year … we have no Christmas things out at home yet, she never watches the TV (apart from Strictly Come Dancing with the Stars) and we generally only shop in the farm shop or local Budgens neither of which have entered the Festive spirit yet. So, somehow, somewhen, probably in the still of the night, the memory has been lodged in her head, either that or she’s heard all about him at her child minder’s house or there are more subliminal Santas about than I have noticed!
Anyway, it’s there, the Missmuss excitement… every envelope that arrives is now checked for the jolly fellow in the red cloak and “aindeer” have taken over from “orseys” as her animal of choice. We were staying with our in laws at the weekend and I saw an advertisement for the Watercress Line … a steam railway near Winchester. They were offering a Santa Special on the steam train. I normally loathe commercialism but the steam sealed it for me and before I could stop myself I was on the phone booking 2 adult places and one baby place for a train ride 2 hours later, we hadn’t eaten breakfast, hadn’t showered, my knee was the size of a balloon and it was half an hour away. Nothing like spontaneity to get you dressed and fed in a hurry!!
We boarded the clanky old train at a ‘proper’ railway station, old fashioned station master, window boxes, wrought iron benches and a pleasing signal box. Inside there was an expectant hubub going on, sheepish and sentimental parents and over excited children. Even Hopey picked up on the atmosphere and stood on the table waving “BYE” to her Auntie and Uncle who were waving us off on the platform. A cheerful grown up elf came by with boxes of apple juice for the small folk, another one bought a tray of wine for the grow’d ups and then napkins and mince pies and we were off … the whistle blew (a proper train whistle) and pish ti cuop pish ti coup (in manner of Ivor the Engine) the train headed out. Hope was delighted and gazed around at everyone and got very excited when she spotted cows out of the window. Andrew the cheerful warm up act came by and asked her name and told everyone that if they hadn’t been good there would be no presents and so on … I heard a bit of a kerfuffle behind me and turned to see the familiar red suited white bearded fellow handing out gifts in the carriage behind us. “He’s coming Hope, Father Christmas is on his way” … she was sitting between her father and I and was jumping up and down with excitement along with the 3 children in the seats beside us.
“HO HO HO”, came the very deep voiced chortles from directly behind me, Hope sank back in my arms and looked terrified, “Oh no” I thought, “she’s going to sob”, but no, she just stayed in the crook of my arm and peered round the corner and up past a bushy white beard into the twinkly eyes … every cliche in the book … but it was lovely and we were all swept up in the moment. He asked her age and her name and one of the elves produced a little felt bag … Hope reached inside and found a small cardboard box with a string of wooden toys. “Ducks”, that was it, she was beside herself with happiness, “Missmuss, hello Hopey, ducks, happy”, she looked up from time to time as the elves scuttled back and forth with their different coloured goody bags and she wolfed down a tangerine I had stashed in my pocket, but mostly she just played with the ducks and muttered about the fact that “Missmuss” said, “Hello Hopey”.
He came back again and posed for photographs … he said hello to her again and she beamed, we had a photograph taken and then, he vanished … and we arrived back in Alresford.
The steam cleared and we climbed out from the train … there was no sign of Santa and there were no elves, it was just as if it had all been a dream, apart from the mince pie crumbs and the box full of ducks.
We stood a while and enjoyed the spectacle, we looked at the Christmas tree as it emerged from the steam and then we made our way, Hope holding tight to her father’s hand while I hobbled painfully with my horribly swollen knee up and over the bridge.
Hope’s Aunt and Uncle met us with their small dog, Hope forgot all about her close encounter for a little while until we were all sitting outside a cafe enjoying a hot chocolate and I heard her telling Maizie the dog something, I bent down to eavesdrop, “Missmuss say Hello Hope, Missmuss Hopey ducks, reeellly”.
You know what, the best thing is that I know that she’s going to see him again at her child minder’s house and at playgroup, and I know that I’m going to be just as excited then as I was on the Santa Express.
I do believe in Father Christmas : )
Some years ago my immune system flared … my knee swelled and I was kept in hospital for a few weeks while they drained the synovial fluid from my kneecap and dripped me with painkillers and steroids to bring my troublesome system back into normal service.
When it flared again the same thing happened.
What’s wrong with me doesn’t seem to have a particular name, I have symptoms of rheumatoid arthritis, of various auto immune disorders but all the blood they’ve taken from me over the years has never pointed to anything specific. My lungs suffer from non specific interstitial lung disease, my joints are affected by a random (thought to be auto immune) disorder which has caused alot of the cartilage to be eaten away by the disruptive synovial fluid, but none of it has a name … Ellie-itis perhaps … it all started about 9 years ago when my tummy inflated like a balloon for no apparent reason, then my lungs had a bit of a wobbily moment and then my knee joints disintegrated … on the whole I’m fine, not able to limbo dance any more and pretty poor at doing the twist but all in all I am active and mobile and you’d never know that there was anything wrong. It seems my system, from time to time, goes into overdrive and attacks itself … no reason why, it just happens.
I had a baby … thankfully I had no serious trouble from my immune system from conception; apparently it’s often the way that the immune system damps down throughout pregnancy, but flares are expected once the baby has been born. It’s rumbled a couple of times which has made me a little achy or with a little rash on my chin but other than that nothing. This weekend all that changed.
I drove down to Hampshire, on Friday night feeling a little achy but put it down to not having had much exercise this last week due to lots of paperwork, work, poorly short person and just mountains of indoor stuff to accomplish. Saturday morning my right knee was horribly sore but again I figured a good walk would sort it out, it didn’t and by Saturday night I was hunting around my sister in law’s bathroom for knee bandages and support. She dug one out and I lay with my leg in the air with a bag of frozen peas bandaged around the increasingly huge knee joint for a few hours. The next morning it was less swollen but more painful. We had a happy morning and then I rested in the afternoon before heading home, my husband drove and I sat feeling ever more in pain with a throbbing knife stabbing like pain in my knee.
Next morning I headed round to the hospital, they were a little indignant that I’d just walked straight into the clinic but when they saw my knee I was hustled round to a cubicle and a consultant rheumatologist reviewed me.
He then produced a terrifying looking syringe and froze my knee before sticking the syringe in and sucking two bottles of yellow liquid out from behind my kneecap. Apparently you should have around 5mls of synovial fluid in a knee joint … he pulled out 75 mls and left some behind when it became just too painful, no wonder my knee was swollen He injected some steroid directly in to the same area and then stuck a plaster onto my knee.
I was told it would take a while for everything to settle down, bits of cartilage may have floated free and probably scrape the back of the knee joint which will hurt.
Lying here now with a bag of frozen sprouts (didn’t like them anyway) on my elevated and very painful knee I know the worst is over but it did cause me to think. Before I was able to rest, now I have a small person demanding full attention. Last night all I wanted to do was sleep, she slept for a while but then wanted to play after her supper (which her wonderful Granby produced), I explained I wasn’t feeling good, “Mummy poorly sore” she said sympathetically before belting me in a restorative manner about the kneecap and demanding to climb on my lap and bounce around to Horsey Horsey. It took ages to get her to sleep again as we’d had such a deep early evening snooze, but once she was asleep I was able to rest properly with my leg up in the air, my knee all iced up. Would it have been better to be looked after in hospital? Maybe, but I didn’t have that option … or rather I didn’t feel I could leave Hope with Granby for a full night. We’re still breastfeeding, we’ve never had a night apart and so on, so I came home.
Yet another age old dilemma, but one that I’d cheerfully had my head in the sand about. I need to think ahead now and make plans for when and if this happens again. I also need to think about the drugs they suggested I start to take … if I take them two things will happen; one is that I will have to stop breastfeeding and the other is that my eyesight will be affected … the drugs aren’t altogether proven to slow down the progression of my unnamed unclear but seemingly chronic disorder, but they are recognised as a good thing if it is anything like rheumatoid arthritis. Breastfeeding and pregnancy in themselves dampen down the immune system but obviously that effect is fading as I’ve had such a bad flare … but then again I had an even worse flare once before when I was on the drugs …and I don’t want to stop breastfeeding (and seemingly neither does Hope who has taken to pottering around and playing before wandering over and prodding me in the chest and beaming when she demands milky). Hmm sorry for the stream of consciousness …
Ho hum … a lot to think about… but for now, in the short term the problem is under control, and while my right knee feels as if it has a cheese grater behind the kneecap I know that the pain will ease as the steroid takes effect and my joint settles down. Time to look for alternative therapies too and to start eating more sensibly … loosing weight is a good thing when faced with joint issues and while I’m not about to go on a diet, perhaps cutting back on the goats cheese and the chocolate isn’t such a bad idea.
Right then, Hope’s with her wonderful child minder for another hour and I’m heading back to the ice pack and some more paperwork, and maybe a small snooze.
Today was my work day … normally sacrosanct, I lock myself away and stay glued to the keyboard, generally going without lunch. I get so little time to focus completely without the joy of a small person demanding to be picked up or wanting to play, that when I do have any I become a monosyllabic workaholic.
We have a family friend, a remarkable vibrant, incredible woman. She was 80 today. One of my mother’s oldest friends.
She’s known me all my life, at my 18th birthday party, she and her husband were the only grown ups, other than my parents that were invited. She overwhelmed me with love, her presence filled every corner of any room she entered and she never put any kind of caveat on warmth and affection, her welcome was always absolute. I haven’t seen so much of her in the last 10 years, but she’s often in my mind, and I listen to the CD of the Lark Ascending which she gave us for our wedding and think of her breaking down taboos, encouraging mischief and independence and supporting my mother in her beliefs that childhood should be for fun, for joy and for adventure.
She has 3 grown up children, they were always grown up to me … probably only a few years older but as a little girl they seemed so mature and worldly. By the time I was a teenager they’d gone all round the world and started their own families and lives away from the family home, but one of my first overseas adventures, to Greece as an au pair one summer was down to one of these intrepid worldly beings. She (through our parents) helped me find a job one summer, teaching and speaking English to two little Greek girls. I’m not sure really how much I helped them, but I had a wonderful summer and fell head overheels for one of their family friends, a glamorous architect called Spiros. He taught me how to play tennis and how to windsurf and we drank retsina together. Shirley Valentine’s crush was nothing compared to my adoration of Spiros.
Crushes, like buses, come and go, they burn bright and leave sparkly memories … friendship endures. Mother’s friend was at our wedding, and we were there with her encouraging and loving her after she was diagnosed (as her sister had been before her) with MS. She nursed her sister until she died, she knew what lay ahead of her.
In her mid 80s, my mother has lost many old friends in recent years, of the 40 or so we gathered together for her own 80th there aren’t many left, when her dear friend, someone she met when she was at university, not another student, a student nurse studying nearby, became so ill she had to be cared for in a nursing home, Mummy found it hard to see her. She’s not cold hearted, far from it, she’s the most loving, welcoming person I have ever known, but I think after loosing my father, and then so many of her own friends it became almost intolerable to see another person she loved so stricken. She saw less and less of her and wouldn’t talk about it.
Then, the invitation to the birthday party arrived. I wasn’t even sure then that Mummy would accept, the guilt she felt at not having seen her old friend, the sadness and fear she felt at seeing her again both of them now elderly, engulfed her. I agreed to take her, just to say hello and drop her off so I could come back and do some work. All the guests were asked to provide their fondest memories of their friend. Mummy and I sat down and came up with some stories, some very meaningful and vivid memories and sent them through to the family.
I was flustered this morning. Hope had a bit of a restless night, Mother had shrunk my only smart outfit in a hot wash and I’ve been feeling swamped under paperwork. I really didn’t feel like going but somehow I couldn’t not. Mummy needed me there and I wanted to see our friend and her family too.
I dropped her off and parked the car and followed her up the stairs to the room where the family were all gathered. I felt very shaky as I went in. The first thing I saw was Mummy sitting, eyes red but not crying, holding her friend’s hand. Two old friends, two heads together, two hands clasped. Then I saw the wheel chair, noticed the difficulty with which her friend was sipping from a straw held to her mouth by her daughter and I shrank back a little, unsure what to say. Her daughter, one of my childhood muses rushed over and embraced me in the same way her mother did all those years ago.
I went and gave her a kiss. Jean held my hand, kissed it and said, “I’ve known you since you were three”. I was born overseas so it wasn’t til my parents came back to England that she met her friend’s daughter. “I’ve known you and I’ve loved you”, I didn’t know what to say, looking into those familiar, beautiful eyes I felt flooded with emotion, with calm, with joy and with sadness. I copped out rather and showed her a picture of Hope and promised to bring her round to the nursing home for a visit. It matters to me that she meets her.
I couldn’t leave after that, so I shared lunch and then sat and listened as one of her daughters ran through photos from the wonderful life, that of a friend, a hitch hiker, a dancer, an actress, a bride, a mother, a camper, a teacher, a nurse, a resolute campaigner for women and for fairness, the founder of a drama school for people of all abilities and disabilities, someone who put the person first, and not the wheelchair. It was very humbling. It was also very moving hearing people who have known one another for up to 80 years sharing their stories and their love.
When it came to Mummy’s time to talk, she didn’t feel up to it, so I picked up the typed out notes. Disaster nearly struck as I wasn’t wearing my glasses and everything was a blur, but I found Mummy’s old specs and read through her memories and a few of my own, of her friend. It was a hard thing to do, I could feel the tears pricking at the back of my eyes.
I left Mummy there, sitting with her dear friend, I said goodbye to her children, and drove home. I sit here now swamped (as you can tell) by the emotion and the importance of friendship. All the more so as I have a little Hope in my world now.
I don’t want to burden her with memories that aren’t hers, but I do want, and I’m delighted to be able to give her so many friendships and experiences with a history. I have a friend whose mother was my mother’s friend and whose grandmother was great friends with my grandparents, Hope now plays with her daughters. I have other new friends, and I have loved getting to know their families and value the time they have spent getting to know mine.
Friendship isn’t about having fun, holding each other up, falling down together, laughter, tears, shared experience, it’s about the way you interpret those things together and how that forms a strong bond and intertwined memories.
Friendship changes lives.
I remember sitting on the roof of a combi van in the outback of Australia once watching a storm in the distance and hoping we were high enough to be away from the huge spiders pottering around on the ground below. I was with one of my best friends, we’d had a few Aussie beers and were trying to work out what single event had got us to that point in our lives. It wasn’t anything significant really. She came into a pasta restaurant I was working in looking for a job. She got it and we worked together on and off for a few months, sneaking chunks of parmesan cheese or illicit scoops of ice cream, then we went separate ways without even swapping numbers. A few years later I was bunking off work and dashing out of French Connection and nearly knocked someone over that was coming in. It was my ice cream smuggling friend. She’d been in Ghana working and was looking for a job. I suggested she contact the publishing house I was working with but knew they’d filled a job recently. It turned out that the new person didn’t last and my friend got the job … the rest is history. She met her husband through an old university friend of mine and now her boys play with my girl. Not an earth shattering first meeting, but a long and loving friendship which would never have started if it hadn’t been for a chance meeting in a shop … or maybe it was down to the parmesan pilfering. Lives changed and lives created because of it.
There are other friendships that have come and gone, someone I never imagined at 30 that I wouldn’t know all my life hasn’t even met Hope yet, and other people drift in and out, you never really know at the start who will be the life long buddies… but having ‘history’ gives the friendship a head start.
I probably feel more emotional today due to age, seeing Mummy and her friend together, as two ladies in their 80s when in my minds eye they are two non conforming mothers with carfulls of unkempt children made me painfully aware of all of our mortality. It also made me even more aware of the importance of friendship.
Next time you see someone in a wheel chair, or feel impatient with a slow older person look beyond that to the person that they are, they’re likely to have some amazing stories to tell that will put you to shame and help you look outside of yourself a little more.
Now to get ready for a long night of work to make up for the time I missed today and also to get ready to go and pick small person up and decide what to give her for her supper, and to hear her stories about her day.
Mother has just got home, happy, sparkly eyed from a little too much wine and alot of emotion, she’s decided we’re taking Hope to the nursing home for a visit very soon and promised all Jean’s children that I’ll stay in touch with them… I will try.
Not sure where it’s come from but the sweet melodic “Mummi” has changed almost over night to “mum-moy” … she sounds pure Brummie (from Birmingham in the middle of England).
She has also stopped saying, “Wheeeeeeeeeee” on the swing and now shouts out her impression of a lion or tiger, “Rarrrrrrrr”.
Maybe she’s copying other children or maybe she’s experimenting with sounds, I’m not sure. It is odd though, and I miss the, “Mummi”.
She is also ever more affectionate and is currently into rubbing noses with me and also with all her toys, and then getting them to rub noses with me. I rubbed noses with Minne Mouse and several rabbits earlier! She made me chuckle when she rubbed noses with my “niiipull” after she finished her breastfeeding this morning and then made Minnie Mouse to the same thing. Never told us about that in breastfeeding class!
Favourite words and food are currently, “wobbily jelly” which she potters around singing to herself and also uses when she feels her balance isn’t great … going down stairs or climbing up the ladder onto the slide.
That’s all … oh and she picked up the dirty washing earlier and found my knickers and shouted joyfully, “Mummoy nappy” … oh the glamour!!
Being a mother is exhausting, exhilarating and so often very funny.
It’s happened … Hope has become a seagull from Finding Nemo …
apart from No, and ‘orsey, her favourite and most frequently used word at the moment is, “Mine”.
She picked it up from one of her small friends and has obviously become more aware as well of her sense of self and refers to herself constantly … but it’s the very firm and decisive, “mine” that stands out.
“Hopey, can I have my socks please?” “Mine”
“shall we share the broccoli?”(that you haven’t been eating any of) “Mine”
“let Lydia play with the cups and saucers” “Mine”
“shall we put your toothbrush back on the shelf next to mine” “Mine”
“could you take a book over to Granby so you can read together” “Mine” … and so it goes on!!!
She had a total paddy the other day because one of her little friends turned up at playgroup in the same pair of wellies that Hope has … “mine mine mine”.
This morning however it really came home to me how much it matters to her at the moment to have her own things; she’d had a bit of a restless night, still getting over the head bump I think, and she’d been having alot of milky. Breastfeeding is one of my unexpectedly favourite aspects of being a mother, and having become accustomed to night time nursing, I really love it now, the peace, the intimacy, the warmth, the love I feel … but when it’s been a long night and she’s suckling for comfort or out of habit and has been for a long time she starts to drift off, she rolls away but keeps a firm and sometimes toothy grasp on her feeding station. My nipple gets tugged about and it starts to hurt a little, also she leans her arm out and holds onto the other side and her sharp pointy little fingers can dig in and scratch around the free nipple area which really is horribly uncomfortable at times. This morning was one of those times.
I gently moved her hand away and put my own hand over my left breast to stop the enquiring fingers starting their scratchy exploration again while she was sleep feeding on the right side. Without taking a breath, she pushed my hand away very forcibly, looked up and said, very firmly, “Mine. Mine milky. Mine”.
Which put me firmly in my place … milk dispenser to her majesty!!
I had a call to say that Hope and her small chum had been having a happy time pottering about in the garden but that the small chum had become a little impatient with Hope and pushed her. Something that toddlers do to each other fairly regularly, only this time she caught Hope off balance and she’d came a cropper headfirst onto a paving slap. She seemed fine after the initial tears, the bump didn’t seem to be causing pain and a cold flannel mopped up the graze. I was told I didn’t need to rush to fetch her (even though I had to restrain myself from leaping into the car). She played happily for the rest of the day and when I picked her up, she told me that her friend had “push her” and “head bump” but other than that was more excited about the songs she’d been singing and seeing me and her Granby and Daddy.
We got home, she had a huge supper and played with her building blocks, sand, danced and then said, “sleeping” when I came in to tell her the bath was ready.
She fell asleep and all was quiet until half an hour later a horrible shriek, she was calling out in her sleep, a little while later it happened again and she carried on shrieking, then she was sick. She was inconsolable and shouted about “hurting”. The shrieks got more shrill and I decided best thing to do was to go to A&E. I wrapped her up and put her in the car.
We got there and were rushed round to the children’s bit, her shrieks got worse and she was very hot. All very upsetting. The first nurse saw her and she then saw a second pediatric nurse, a handsome lad, and at that point she stopped shrieking and started to play peek a boo. He checked her over, ears, eyes, head etc demeanour etc and said he thought she’d just got a nasty bump but to be sure wanted the doctor to look at her.
She started to shriek again and refused to breastfeed, and we sat and waited, listening to the other poorly children in their cubicles, their concerned parents as flustered as I was. The bump on her head seemed even bigger and she started to get a rash on her cheek. The doctor came eventually, gave her a full check and said that she didn’t think it was concussion and let us go home having given her a dose of painkillers and me a leaflet on head injuries… I was extremely relieved it wasn’t serious but was assured I’d done the best thing taking her in to get her head checked. I’m sure it won’t be the only time especially as she starts being more intrepid climbing, running and then scooting and cycling …
We got home about 2.30am and Little Miss Bump decided that she felt absolutely fine and wanted to do jumping and sing songs about ducks for an hour. Then she settled down and slept perfectly before waking at 7.30, demanding milky and singing more songs about ducks. She also started to talk about going to school, something I’d thought wouldn’t be a good idea on such little sleep. She was so excited that we went. She had a lovely time in the peaceful environment and then had a lovely snooze afterwards, it was only later in the evening that she got grumbly again. Another painkiller and a big breastfeed helped her sleep.
All felt well and then there was a knock at the front door. I couldn’t go as I was sitting with a sleeping infant attached to my breast so mother stood up and went over but called out, “who is it?”, no answer. I shouted out, “who’s there?” no answer. We didn’t open the door and when we heard nothing at all, sat back down again feeling very unsettled. Why do people knock on doors late on a dark night and then say nothing?
We all went to bed, Hope’s father made sure everything was locked up … but I lay there feeling nervous and out of sorts and really didn’t sleep well, wondering what to do if someone broke in and the best way to protect my little girl.
Not normally nervous but I guess weary from the difficult week I had heightened sensitivity, I wished I’d never seen a thriller or a crime programme or even Casualty, lots of horrid images rushing round my head. Hope rolled over in her cot and I jumped out of my skin and yelped. Of course that woke her up and she ended up falling asleep in my arms again. I lay there holding her, wondering what the future holds for her and knowing that I can’t always be there for her and won’t always be able to keep her safe and eventually, feeling profoundly sad, fell asleep myself.
So, no more bumps or knocks please … I’ve got goosepimples on my arms now just thinking about it all.