A tyranny of
infant proportions
We’d danced to the beat of the spice girls
the last of the expressed milk
had been voraciously snuffled.
I had run out of options; bereft
I had changed the nappy, examined the skin
for protuberances, pins -
nothing!
His rage uncontainable, I’d phoned the mother;
suddenly the spasms subsided - he lay
in my arms with an eerie stillness, gazed
with a probing eye that left me
a novice at the shrine of his power -
just as she swept through the door
wondering. Then hunger restored him
shrank him to a soft pink parcel of dependence.
“Being at home can be fun, insulating, relaxed, boring or isolating ... depending on how the day is going.”*
School holidays are almost over in my part of the world – six long weeks of noise and squabbling balanced by hot, lazy days at the beach or the pool with lots of daring exploits and laughter. Many of our days were spent at home, basking in simple pleasures like baking, playing games or outdoor pursuits – trying to relax the everyday routines of school-morning bustle and ‘having to be somewhere on time’. However pleasant, I must admit to being relieved that life gets back to normal next week, and I can reclaim some of my own time for writing again!
* From Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007