Mummy stuff

Small steps

small shoes1

The cold morning air is streaming through the sunroof as you drive down Highbury Grove. You switch the iPod from The Night Garden to Diana Krall and turn the volume up. There is a parking spot about a mile from your house, but you don’t mind and take a detour to pop in the newsagent. You pick up today’s edition of The Times. And today, you are going to read it. The whole paper. In one go.

At home, you put on the kettle and make yourself a nice, hot cup of tea. You are going to drink it hot, feet up, newspaper in front of you. She’ll be fine. She seemed to have liked it there. There is no point in sitting in the neighbouring room all morning like yesterday. You’ll pick her up in two hours and she’ll be fine!

The house is quiet without her. You try not to take the imprint of her then 10-days-old foot into your hands and gaze at it longingly. The shoes you bought yesterday appear enormous compared to that. Big girls’ shoes.

The lump in your throat is hard to swallow down. Get your act together, woman! It’s only going to be two half days a week. You were craving that freedom, and she was so keen to get together with other children. She’ll be fine!


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