A Moment

I’ve been following closely the dreadful aftermath of Simon Thomas’ wife dying so suddenly of cancer last November. He has documented far more eloquently than I could ever hope his true desperation at carrying on without her and raising their son and I have been struck mostly at how everything can change in the blink of an eye. I knew this, of course, we all do, but it has been something that has almost plagued me for the past little while.

Yesterday, Isla tripped over her own feet and fell into our back step. We were on her way out and my sister scooped her up to hand her to me, and she was holding her hands up in front of her face. For a moment, I thought she’d broken her arm, it was the way she was holding it but as I cuddled her, I realised that she’d bashed her chin. It swelled up almost immediately and I applied some arnica and she had some calpol and whilst she was a little dramatic, it must have hurt, she was absolutely fine. But it was a moment. She could have fallen the other way, she could have hit the back of her head, she could have had concussion, she could have actually broken her arm, we could have spent the afternoon in A&E, not Asda.

It was a moment when J accepted this job and we shelved our plans to move to Yorkshire. It was a moment when this baby was conceived and changed everything again. It was that moment that led to this moment where I try to make a go of writing and accept that I won’t be working in retail for another few years. These are good moments, of course, but still seconds of time that change the direction of a life.

I moan at J at the way he slurps his coffee, it drives me slightly bonkers that he drinks it practically cold but there is something now that stops me. Because if something happens to him, would that be something that I wanted to remember, nagging him over soemthing so unbelievably petty. With my girls, now just seven months off starting school, and a mere eleven weeks from having their lives changed by a new baby, I am trying very hard to analyse when I say no and why I’m saying it. Why am I saying no to them getting a train track out an hour before bed? Does it matter that it will take three or four minutes to tidy it away? Of course it doesn’t.

For myself too, the girls stayed overnight last night at my parents and we painted their bedroom. It’s needed doing for a while and last night, we finally did it. They won’t be home until teatime and I am trying hard to just relax, not tear around like I do, trying really hard to just mooch. I might go and get a coffee soon, I might not. I might make a sandwich, I might not. I might even read my book instead of sorting through the girls toys (another job that really needs doing) but we are on the final countdown now and I should relax.

Shouldn’t I?