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Showing posts from May, 2014

All Change

Every morning, when I’m performing my morning ablutions, I hear a small child be dropped off at his grandmother’s house round the corner from us (they’re not really loud, we’re on the corner!) and every morning, he cries.   Now I’ve seen this child, who must be about two, with his grandmother, and he’s happy as Larry (lucky old Larry, always cheerful).   What he doesn’t want is for his mummy to leave him.   I hear his nanny placate him with their plans, and I’ve seen his mummy extricate herself and drive off.   And every time I hear or see it all, it takes me back to when Daughter was little little (considering her to be just little now that she is nearly 6). I went back to work when Daughter was six months old, and as I’ve mentioned before, it was all very traumatic for me.   And probably for Father, who was her primary daytime carer and used to present me with a record of nappies changed, ounces of milk taken and slop ingested.   Strangely there was no record of the Starbucks mu