Wednesday, 12 October 2011


When I wake up in the middle of the night and my head is full of fear shadows, I feel her fat foot jammed up against me and it's so solid, so viscerally there that somehow it makes me think everything just has to be alright, and if it isn't then there is nothing I can do anyway. I stroke her hair as if it is her that woke up and needed soothing and then I go back to sleep.

My mother said that she survived  looking after three children while her husband was away at sea by saying most days to herself at any time after midday: "I'm just tired, everything will seem better in the morning."

I find that playing with a dolls house helps a bit. The world reduced to shoebox size is easier to cope with. Sometimes I let her play too.

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