Dear H,

I re-read last weeks letter, and it sounds wrong. I kind of explained it today with friends, but when I spoke about you and the deaf children, maybe it sounded patronising? Anyway, to sum it up, I don’t want you to be like me.

When I was eleven and started secondary school we had a girl in our class who was an albino. She didn’t have many friends at all, and when we had our school reunion last year, we all hoped she’d come as a few of us wanted to apologise to her. We weren’t awful, but she was ‘different’. I just want you to grow up not knowing what ‘different’ is, and I want you to grow up knowing that everything is normal. Does that even make any sense? I’ll probably explain more next week after I’ve had a good think.

Don’t be like me. That’s all. I’m not a bad person in any way, just don’t be like me.

I think it’s also worth pointing out that you going to see Peppa Pig when the curtains went up, and your jaw dropping open like that, in amazement at your favourite thing in real life in front of you, was possibly one of my most favourite moments with you this year, and I wanted to burst into tears. I want you to experience more of this, so much more.

My other favourite moment this week is having a tantrum back at you. I saved it for yesterday when we were upstairs. You didn’t want to drink your water downstairs, and got so angry at me for even suggesting it (oh how dare I!), so I copied you. At first you looked at me a bit puzzled, then eventually laughed. When I threw myself (as much as someone with back problems can) on the floor and kicked my hands and feet while wailing angrily, you came up to me, cuddled me and said you didn’t like it when I did that, which was awfully cute.

It hurt my throat though, that screaming. Ow.

Until next week,