A brief moment of melancholy

I love my teenage children – and not in spite of their teenager attitudes. I like the lie ins, the daft humour and the arsiness is ok too. We need to be challenging as humans, if we are to make changes.

But this morning, queuing for a rail ticket on my way to work, a little girl, probably about 15-18 months made me physically ache for those years again. The way she held her father’s hand, looking around at the world, but most of all her soft chubbiness, which made me remember L at that age, when everything seemed exhausting, but actually I had no idea .

It doesn’t do to dwell on the past. I wouldn’t change L herself for the world. I would change her illness though, and I would love a day with a two year old L, making fairy cakes and then icing them, but best of all, eating them, messily and happily, with juice for her and tea for me.

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