A conversation with Isla (not even, but nearly 3) had me in happy-tears yesterday. Isla: This snack is delicious. Me: What else is delicious? Isla: You are! Me: No, you are. Isla: But I made you. Me: I think you’ll find, I made you. Isla: We made each other, Mummy. …
On Tuesday, when I picked Isla up from nursery, she hugged my lap as she sometimes does. ‘I MISSED you, Mummy.’ ‘Really?’ I asked. She’s a Daddy’s girl, see. I am obviously still questioning every bit of affection she doles out. To me. ‘Yeah,’ she said ‘Did someone pay you to say that?’ ‘Uhm. No.’ When I’m happy, my eyes kinda crinkle up until you can’t see them. Like Isla’s. Because, y’know, I’m her mother. I did a little dance…
How many mothers with CP (some would call ourselves spaz hands) does it take to rip jelly blocks and then remove the set jelly from jelly molds? One. And today, that one is me. And this is what it looks like when your kid insists on having that jelly with cheese crackers. Notice how the jelly looks like butterflies? Yeah, me neither.…
And so, I don’t have any excuses for not writing. Except maybe too much furniture blocking the computer. And a toddler. But those are really bad excuses. Because there’s also notebooks. And coffee. And pens. And OK, maybe the pens don’t work. But there’s crayons. Because there’s a toddler. Anyway. The last day of the year makes you think. Mostly about what you’ve done with the other 364 days. There’s been a lot of clapping. And crying. And laughing. And…
