My legs are freezing. A cold Ohariu Valley morning with white frost spread across the grass like a cloak. The baby is wailing on my lap. I look down at the angelic contorted little face, my hair draping across my eyes. Damn it, I didn’t have time to tie my hair back after my shower.
Jessica, please go to Mummy’s dressing table and find Mummy’s brush and a hair tie - brown or black - it doesn’t matter.
Thankfully that doesn’t matter but everything else seems to matter a lot. How to juggle these two little mites? The shower this morning had been grabbed between everything else. Listening to the baby wailing I pulled on my shapeless red skirt over my wobbly jelly tummy, then the jersey that didn’t go at all, to hell with it. Put some stockings on, you should have grabbed the trousers, stupid woman. No, I can’t stand that wailing any longer the stockings will have to wait. My legs are freezing.
I shout through “Jessica love, can you see any socks there too? You are such a big grown up girl helping Mummy and baby Henry.”
She toddles back with the hairbrush and socks but not the hair tie. Bite your tongue, she is only two and a half, bless her.
Murray breezes in, how dare he be so chirpy.
Cup of tea?
Take the baby first, I need to finish dressing.
How come you are half dressed?
Don’t go there.
Are you okay?
But you are always okay.
Well I am not now.
I burst into tears. A possum in the headlights, he walks over, takes the baby, and then Jessica’s hand. I love that tableau but gladly leave it behind to relish three minutes for me, I might even be able to finish off this cry in peace.