queen of faff

Former secret writer. This is my rehab.


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Sleep will come….

I knew my life would change in ways I couldn’t anticipate. People told me it would and I knew it to be true. I knew my body would be different, that my outlook on life would be different, but nothing could have prepared me for becoming the me that I have become.

I am a mess. I am a mother and a mess. I sleep for less than three hours at a time and whoever said that sleep is overrated was talking shite. My skin isn’t the same, my hair is falling out, I forget what I am saying in the middle of sentences and there are times it has been fortunate that I have moved offices at work, because just this Monday, I needed to shut the door when the tears could not be stemmed  – convinced (again) that my unravelling was about to take place.

It didn’t. It doesn’t. Because of you.

You are both the cause and you are my salvation. The way you need me is both intense and intoxicating. I have never known love like it and never will again.

You are so small and so clever. So needy and so wildly independent. So confused and so sure. You are tactile to the point that I think I will become oversaturated from your need to touch me, yet I know I will miss it, mourn for it, when you stop.

I heard your dad explaining to you what your belly button was. Telling you how it used to connect you to mummy. I can hardly remember that time. It’s like you have always been here, on the outside. You are a perfect blend of me and your dad and yet you are you, and always have been so.

In the middle of the night, when I am convinced there is no one in the world awake except you and I, I wonder what I’m doing wrong. But then you smile at me, call my name or climb on to my tummy for a cuddle and I know we’re going to be just fine, and that sleep will come – eventually.

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