At a Weird Crossroads



H’s swimming is coming along marvellously, she almost has her silver swimming award a term after getting her bronze. This is great and she’s full of confidence.

So much so that she has put her name forward to represent her school at a swimming gala.

Which is great, by the way.

But now I have horrible flashbacks to the one time I did it. You see, she has never dived in a pool – and she won’t have the opportunity beforehand. It’s fine, she’ll start in the pool… just like I did. I finished miles behind everyone else. I don’t know what I felt, I don’t know if I felt sad or if I saw my mum and dad cheering me along. I can’t remember, all I remember is I came last.

You don’t re-live your child’s life through yourself, I know. However, I can’t help but be taken back there. On the plus side she’s doing backstroke so they’ll all stay in the pool for that one. But for breast stroke and front crawl she’ll be pushing off the edge. Oh how I hope there are others and she isn’t the only one like I was.

We’re at that funny stage where the slightest thing will create an oversensitive reaction. I was told off earlier as I hurt her feelings (she took her plimsolls off without undoing the laces and I pointed out she wouldn’t be getting any more new shoes and would have to make do – important stuff, see?).

So I have this feeling of dread. But also of pride that she wants to do it.

Eight year olds are complex little things. Not quite big girls but definitely not little girls. Wanting their independence but not doing everything independently. Getting to the stage where they don’t want to hold their mum’s hand but still call them mummy. But still need mummy when things don’t go right.

So my played out in my head scenario is that she does her first race, comes last and is heartbroken because she hasn’t won, bursts into tears at the edge of the pool and that’s it, we have to take her home.

I know it won’t be like that but it doesn’t help my bloody head. Watching her doing her testing for her silver tonight, my heart was pounding so much, I wanted her to pass so badly. She almost did were it not for unfortunate circumstances. She has another chance next week as they weren’t her fault. She can do it and I think she will do it. I’ll be cheering her on from the side.

So why can’t I be as positive as that about the bloody gala? Why do I have to make it about my failings rather than celebrating her achievements? Or maybe I just did.

Back, Slightly.


2017 can go away now. It hasn’t been the best year, it hasn’t been the worst year either.. but it hasn’t been brilliant.

We seem to have stumbled from one incident to the next, resulting in a child who cries her eyes out some mornings because she’s so tired, too much going through her head and her being unable to sleep like she used to.

This isn’t like H at all. But then we’ve had a lot to deal with, which she’s had to deal with to some extent too because we can’t just leave her somewhere or with someone and not tell her anything.

Shaun’s nanna died and we flew to Australia to attend the funeral.

My godfather died and Shaun and I attended the funeral in Swansea while H had a playdate. We made it back in time, thank goodness. Thank goodness for friends too.

A blogging friend died which makes me sad to think she’s gone, though we couldn’t get to the funeral. But I think about her and wish I had made more of an effort to chat to her – I wish I could make more of an effort to chat to everyone. There aren’t enough hours.

What really should have happened next was us taking a holiday which involved lounging around a pool relaxing. We didn’t, we went to Cornwall which was great but I never did relax or wind down like I should have.

Then all of a sudden it was October and we were back up north, having a few days in a cabin in Northumberland with a limited phone signal and lots of cosiness. It felt like I was starting to relax, even if I did still wake up at 7.30 every morning.

We got home, and then the following day it happened. Back at work, school, life. I got the call – my mum had slipped over and had almost certainly broken her hip. That was later confirmed when I spoke to the hospital. I got bits of messages and was in bits with worry. I was the parent in tears to H’s class teacher, not knowing if she’d be taken out of school there and then to visit, or whether we should wait a few days and repeat to the headmaster, explaining why H might not be at school tomorrow but I knew nothing. As it was we waited until the Thursday and made it back to York in time for the last hour of visiting. She was in hospital for two weeks and is doing really well at home.

We stayed with my cousin which was excellent. H got on well with her kids and they are all SOOOO OLD now which still takes time to get used to. We were able to leave H there and visit the hospital, picking up things for mum. My cousin and her husband were amazing, they really were. But then one of the kids was sick, and H felt sick. Then the kid was sick again and we knew we couldn’t go back to the hospital, we had to get H home.

Which we did. She was sobbing hysterically most of the way home. That seems to be default mode at the moment, but amazingly she wasn’t sick. I put it down to tiredness and a lack of routine with everything else going crazy around us. Things were fine and she went back to school, Shaun dropping her off at the childminder.

Thank goodness he was working from home that day as the hysterical crying started again. It was all hitting her, the raw emotions of having someone you love in pain and being unable to do anything. Visiting them in hospital just the once and then having any other visits taken away from you because you can’t risk spreading any illness there – and it meant we were also at risk of spreading it too. That her nanna wasn’t the same person because she’d had a big operation.

School were amazing. We got the right people there as support, but H had already got there herself – her and her best friend decided to make my mum a card and get everyone to sign it in her class (and the headmaster…). So she dealt with her emotions by turning it into a positive thing and I was proud (and a bit embarrassed) that she had.

Because actually, 8 year olds are at that funny crossroads where things can get to you really quickly and easily but you can also deal with them quickly and easily too. Like when a boy at school tells her he doesn’t like her hair, and she wails and cries about it at home because he said that. Or when one of her friends is mean to her and makes her cry once she gets home. But she forgets all the good things her friends do. But then that doesn’t change when you’re an adult so there’s no point me lying to her.

And how I have to tell her that yes, it’s all rubbish but it’s all part of life. That bad things have to happen to help shape the person you are, and help you learn how to deal with it. And that actually, it’s all going to be okay (I hope).

But you still see the chaos that’s going on, you just protect her from that. But you wish it would stop. Just for a bit. A teeny bit. Just to sleep properly, to think straight and for it all to go away. To press a restart on this year. Because it’s all draining.

Three weeks on Friday I finish work for the year. I’m going to hibernate. I’d love to hibernate with Shaun and H too, just snuggle under a duvet and relax until we have to move from there. It’s not too unreasonable to ask is it?

A Nearly Eight Year Old

She gets in from school and runs upstairs. Plays in her bedroom.

My little buddy who would sit with me and tell me stuff wants to “be alone”.

I feel a bit lost.

Like the other half of my double act has done a runner.

I go up to see her.

“What are you up to?”

“oh, just stuff. Y’know. STUFF.” (she then hides a piece of paper under the bed that she doesn’t want me to see)

Oh god, the little girl that wanted to show me everything has turned. She now has her own ‘private’ stuff and I have to respect that.

I check everything is okay, that everyone was kind to her today and that nothing has made her upset. She confirms all of these things are good.

So I leave her to her play. I sit downstairs and I’m on the computer again. A bit like how I was when she was a baby having a nap.

Except this time I’m not blogging about those first movements and things she does, those little milestones. I’m blogging about the start of her not needing me as much. About the point leading up to the point I don’t blog about her any more.

About her growing up.

Which, by the way I’m absolutely fine with. As long as she still gives me cuddles and comes to me when she needs to talk about something.

Which takes things full circle. It all becomes about me again. A bit like how this all started, where it was about me and how I wanted to become a mum.

Then I did. But I didn’t. But I did again and this time she grew until she became H. She wasn’t to have that much-longed for sibling.

Which feels like a good place for this blog to have a rest for a bit. To come back when there are things to write about. Because there is always something to write about. They just live in different places at the moment.

That’s okay too. I’m okay with that as well. I’ll be back.



When you write a post several times and it never sounds right, part 3.

There have been deaths. I knew it would come at some point because we don’t all live forever. However, I also knew that whatever happens H will be involved because we have zero family close by so whatever we do involves the three of us and our family unit.

The first death happened suddenly and unexpectedly. Shaun’s Nanna, H’s Great Nanna died. She lived in Australia. So after a quick talk, going from ‘we can’t afford it’ to ‘maybe we can do this somehow’, from her dying on the Thursday we had booked tickets to Australia, flying out the following Tuesday.

Fortunately with Australia we have family so it’s not an expensive trip other than getting there. For some reason the gods of cheap flights were looking down on Shaun on the Saturday morning we booked them. Prices lowered by over £1000 so we quickly booked, paying just under £3000 to travel.

The thing with Australia is that you can’t just stay for a couple of days and come home as you’re on the other side of the world. My work were brilliant, I took my laptop and did loads while I was out there – even working on my holidays to keep on top of things. We still got to do fun things through the day thanks to the time difference so H was never bored. H loved being around her Australian family and I’m glad she has better memories of everyone now.

Obviously a funeral is a sad place to be with your family (as it would be nice just to be with your family), but being out there for longer and being around everyone was a good place to be. H got spoiled rotten and I started sleeping again after having had the best part of four months of little or no sleep at all.

H dealt with the funeral well. She knew what she wanted to do, and while sad, made sure that we knew what she wanted too. She was mentioned several times, it was a lovely service.

We were back in London a week or two and I found out my godfather died. A heart attack. So now we find ourselves heading to Swansea on Wednesday for his funeral. After a lot of talking (actually, that’s not true, we did more emailing about it, we’re too tired to talk about important stuff unless we absolutely have to) we decided H should stay in London. I’ve failed in that I haven’t sorted out somewhere for her to have a sleepover tomorrow night, so our lovely next door neighbours have said they’ll take her in early on Wednesday, and another friend will call to drop her off at school.

She was set to have a playdate with another friend later that day, so they’ve agreed to let her stay as long as necessary – until we get back to London which hopefully won’t be late.

I have a lovely circle of friends and I feel like we all do each other favours when we can, and I’m never too scared to ask. I don’t feel like I’m imposing on them.

I’m glad I kept in touch with my godfather, even if it was just Christmas cards. I don’t send many out, but the few I do he was always on there. I’ll be sad, but glad we can go and pay our respects.

So that has been the last month or so. Death. H’s first real experience of it and actually, she was fine. I know the older she gets the harder it will be, but for now the weight is lifted knowing that she dealt with it fine. The first time we’ve had to juggle childcare and make sure school fitted in too (although school would have been fine with her taking a day off for a funeral because of the travel involved).

Stop This Year Please

I want to get off.

So, the big B word is happening now, and the uncertainty is everywhere. Friends are paying lawyers to get their British Citizenship sorted, fed up of being pawns in some crazy political game. Wanting to stay in this country they’ve made their home and have paid into for many years.

Uncertainty is everywhere as now experts are needed to get us out of this mess, but there are no experts as nobody has done anything like this before. In the meantime European workmates are worried as they don’t know what’s happening.

I’m worried because nowhere is there anything saying this is a good thing. I live in an area that voted Leave and yet nobody is stepping up and saying “this is why leaving is a good thing” – they’re all hiding.

This is H’s future now too. This isn’t about mine or Shaun’s now (do we even have a future with rents sky-high and no new affordable houses being built?) – it’s about H’s ten years from now.

I don’t think this country likes itself much, and the people in it… I don’t think they like it much either. It’s the little things. The lady whose chewing gum fell out of her mouth this morning who didn’t even bother picking it up, leaving it for someone else to deal with or stand on.

The pile of Red Bull cans near the bus stop in Hackbridge which becomes a bigger pile every time I go past on the bus. You never see anyone drinking them, or throwing them over into the field but they’re there and getting bigger.

The plastic bottles left on the floor.

The adults who sit on the train with their feet up on the seat.

The kids who do wheelies, swerving all over the main road, not a care in the world especially for the other cars on it.

The people who don’t bother cleaning up their dog poo on the grass outside our house.

The crisp wrappers which gather in our front walled area, a new set every day dumped from the schoolkids and students nearby.

The local teachers who have a sneaky cigarette break by our back wall and leave their cigarettes on the floor (while chatting about pupils of theirs, loud enough I can hear some of what they say – and I have tinnitus).

What do we have to do to make each other like this place again?

I am out of ideas. I never had any in the first place.

I don’t know where to go next.

I said it recently on a Facebook post, but what happened to the United Kingdom of the Olympics? Watching the Opening Ceremony and feeling that sense of pride at what made this country great. Because right now all I see is a Government who are ripping it apart, people being ripped apart and nothing that can bring it together.

Is it the kind of place to bring up a child any more?

My Seven and a Half Year Old


She forgot about her half birthday for the first time ever. Phew. I reminded her the following day, but I’m hoping this is a phase we’re moving on from.

We still joke the day before her birthday that she’s six and three hundred and sixty four – three hundred and sixty fifths. I think if she could count every single day and attach it to her age she would.

Anyway, Seven and a half.

I’ve noticed a few changes. Little things. She wants to dish out our desserts every night – be that washing fruit to go with yoghurt or just fetching the aforementioned yoghurt. Little bits here and there. Tidying away plates into the dishwasher.

Occasionally Shaun and I look on, she does it without us having to ask. She wants to do it. Blimey.

I still can’t quite get my head around that. Not that I’m in any way complaining about it of course!

At the weekend we visited Hever Castle for the first time. It was a great place, and at one point I saw food to feed the ducks and koi with, so gave H 50p to buy some. Another first – she happily went up and asked for it and handed over the cash. She’s done this a few times – but has always wanted Shaun or I close by. This time she wanted us to be as far away as possible.

Her current favourite programme is Outnumbered. Every single time they mention sex I hide behind my glasses hoping we won’t get the “what is sex anyway?” question. It’s surely only a matter of time? I had no idea they mentioned it so much. I suspect H’s hero is Karen – I’ve always thought she was a bit of a mini Karen in the making.

We’ve just had Parents Evening at school, our second. She’s well up on her targets, and doing really well at everything. Her teacher also said she’ll get her pen licence soon which is good – she’s been desperate for that for ages and her handwriting has improved a lot.

I was surprised to read the quality of her work – my daughter has a bloody good imagination. One piece of writing she did about the Kraken was particularly good and got a sticker from her teacher for being an excellent piece of writing. I liked some dialogue she did to speech bubbles coming out of Orlando Bloom’s mouth. Which reminds me, must start watching Pirates of the Caribbean.

I love her current confidence, or lack of it. The ways they do maths these days confuse me. I didn’t get number lines for a long time. The seventies way vs now are two completely confusing things. So when she described to me the way she does fractions of a number, it made no sense at all. I didn’t get it one bit. She put her best teacher-like voice on and explained it, and I had a lightbulb moment.

“anyway, I can’t do that way as it’s too tricky” she told me, after having taught me. Seven and a half year old’s can be quite contrary, it would seem.

I am still gobsmacked at how easy she picks up pop music and learns the words. We listen to Fun Kids in the car and I’m often hearing her singing along in the back, thinking “who is this? How do you know this?!” sort of stuff.

So yes, seven and a half is pretty rocking really. We have no complaints about it. Neither does H, I think she’s quite enjoying it – even if she is still the youngest in her year (which is still a big deal when you’re the youngest year in school, therefore making you the youngest in school).


Why Do Lego Movies Do This To Me?

The Lego Movie taught me a bit about myself. We saw the Lego Batman Movie on Saturday and one scene really hit me and has got me thinking.

Batman calls in to Superman’s place, and finds Superman is having a party. Superman grins and bluffs why Batman is there, in one of those “oh, you can’t have got my email” sort of ways.

Then he says “SELFIE TIME!” and asks Batman to take the picture… of everyone except him.

Nobody is that interested in hanging out with Batman, and he’s left on the sidelines wondering why he’s there.

That has happened to me. Not quite as thoughtlessly but it has nonetheless and on many occasions. It hit a nerve. Yeah, it’s only an animated character in a movie but still…

I’ve been the one when they say “group photo!” is left in the background, there hasn’t been a “come on over Jo” type calling – the others just got on with it. When your confidence is pretty low, that’s around the point it’s getting trampled on.

I’ve had times when I’ve been chatting to someone at a party, and someone else joins the conversation. Except they stand in front of me, with their back facing to me, and start a conversation with the person I was chatting with. This has happened on several occasions and by several people.

It’s pretty clear I’m pretty insignificant to those people, and that’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, it’s rude, but I’m not losing sleep about it, just thinking about it.

I should look at this in a ‘What would Lego Batman do?” way. Actually, he kind of did what I did. Went along with it and got home feeling a bit down about it all.

But see, Lego Batman isolated himself from others and declared he didn’t need anyone else around him (apart from his loyal Alfred Pennyworth of course), and I’d like to think I’m a bit more outgoing than that.

Why do Lego Movies always make me bloody well overthink?

My worry is how this passes on to H. She had a couple of times in the last year where her best friends have told her she isn’t invited to something, or she isn’t allowed to go. I have no idea how she’s dealt with it, she seems fine. Maybe she didn’t want to go anyway… then again seven year olds are a bit more resilient. The last thing I want her to see is her mum being a doormat too. If there’s one person in this world that my daughter looks up to, it’s me. (she looks up to Shaun too, obviously)

So what would Lego Batman do?

I don’t have a bloody clue. Fortunately it isn’t something that needs to be resolved.

I’m looking forward to what The Lego Movie 2 makes me think about. Sighhh.



A new year and things are back to normal again. Clubs have started, school and work have had their first full complete week back and things feel like they’re settling back into a routine.

H has decided that she wants to be a weather reporter this year. This is kind of interesting, as she tells me her favourite subjects are maths and science, and she isn’t as keen on literacy as it hurts her hand to write so much. It’s funny to think that in ten years she’ll have a better idea of the career path she wants to take.

Then again, I never really knew. Destined for office work which would keep me going until I found something I wanted to do, now I know that office work is what I can do – I’m good at proof reading and spotting mistakes. Apart from my own, that is.

But then I’ve never followed that line of work and bits of it have found their way to me in my day job. Which keeps me going.

It’s funny though. Doing H’s homework with her, she’s being taught each word and its label, adjectives, adverbs, god knows what things which feel like someone invented them last week – and I don’t have a clue what they are. She does though. She’s smart and she retains information. I’m old and my memory is almost at capacity, with only room for things I’m enthusiastic about. (or things which are really important)

She’s part of the new generation of children who will be smart, and I’ll be the older generation that was left behind. It’s already bad enough having someone recommend I get Electric Jukebox as it might be “simpler for you to use”. SIGH.

She has so many interests and so much enthusiasm for things, and I’m trying to keep up. Why is everything she’s learning so much more interesting than when I was learning them? I had a history-mad dad and yet I didn’t take any of it in. These days she wants us to go to Leeds Castle so that she can show us the things she saw when she went on a school trip.

Right now we’re all in a good place. 2017 is going to be an interesting year. Maybe we’ll buy a house this year… they’re about to start the overpopulation of Hackbridge, just up the road… the houses are being built.

Action and Drama


Just another Tuesday morning, this morning.

By that, I mean yet another Southern Railway strike. So the alarm went off at 6.30am and I asked Shaun to check what state the trains were in. Amazingly, they were running fine. So that was good – after all, it’s meant to get worse (but now I’ve realised that’s next week when there are no services from here).

So that meant service as normal. I get up, get my shower, get ready for work. When I get out of the shower it’s H’s turn to get ready. We have our little routine.

She was part-dressed for school and already I was running late. She came running into the room tearfully.

“Mummy, I think my tooth is bleeding” she worriedly said.

It was. The one that wasn’t as wobbly as the other side, which isn’t meant to fall out until she’s 9-10 years old. The teeth next to the middle ones are pushing them out and her mouth isn’t big enough. I had that problem when I was young. (I would often delight in letting anyone know who called me a “big gob” that it actually wasn’t the case)

I asked if I could wobble it. Most of the time she’ll let me but this time she was quite upset. “OW! OW! OW! IT HURTS” she yelled. Conscious of the train being a bit late, but knowing that I had to get this train as they’re only going to get worse, I had to put the pressure on a bit.

So I tried to wobble enough to take it out. She cottoned on to what I was doing and clamped her mouth shut.

“I really can’t miss my train this morning” I told her. Then came up with a plan to take her to the dentist to get it taken out. “you’ll probably get an injection to do it” (jeez, why do I make up such nonsense? She’ll probably end up terrified of the dentist instead and it’s all my fault). Then passed on the responsibility to Shaun. Then took it back again.

H just looked a bit confused. But still clamped her mouth shut.

I asked her if she was likely to eat today, what with having two Very Wobbly teeth either side of her centre ones. She confirmed she wouldn’t be eating. So obviously as parent this asks for Very Drastic Measures.

“Can I wipe this blood off your tooth?” I asked, and she opened her mouth enough for me to get both my fingers in. I grabbed the tooth and pulled.

“AAAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEAAAIIIAAAAAAEEEIIIEEE” she screamed. Followed by a very dramatic “Just kill me now!” repeated in a frantic manner. She’s seven, they do that kind of thing.

Anyway, result. The tooth was out. Now there was just the blood to deal with, consoling my daughter “I will NEVER trust you EVER again” and getting out the door in time for the train because who knows when the next one will be as Southern Railway are complete gits.

Several apologies and cuddles and telling her I felt really bad, but that I was happy she would be able to eat, and I was out of the door, the tooth firmly inside her Tooth Fairy Box.

THEN I remembered we might not have done anything with the elves, the bane of my December as I feel the least creative I ever have right now. Fortunately Shaun did something at 1am when he woke up on the settee (he keeps falling asleep there and I go up to bed at 11pm having two hours of snore-free time).

She ate well at school and all is good.

So it’s bedtime.

“I’ve decided. I want to keep my tooth” she informed me. “It’s really cool. It has a gap inside it, and this is my only chipped tooth so I want to write the Tooth Fairy a letter to ask her to leave it” I confirmed all her teeth were like that, and why not write a letter ready for the next tooth which will be left (as it’s only a matter of days) and just GO TO SLEEP. Oh and that the Tooth Fairy might only give her half the money if she has to keep it. H wasn’t having any of it, because she knows about the Tooth Fairy. Apparently the fairy comes past every single night to check for missing teeth.

“I’m so clever I could pretend to sleep and you will fall for it” she told me. Obviously she’s right. I heard her get up when I’d left her snoozing. Clever monkey.

So tonight I have to remember to do something creative with the elves (yes, we have two. WHY?!), leave money from the Tooth Fairy and take away the tooth (she’ll lose it, surely? Then I won’t have a complete set) Then again, as I asked on Facebook, what exactly am I going to do with an entire set of milk teeth that belong to my daughter? Other than it feels weird keeping them but wrong to throw them away.

It’s bloody hard being a parent sometimes and having to remember all the lies.

Oh the Guilt


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Being a parent who works five days a week as well as doing far too much voluntary work in my free time is a tough job. Being a parent is a tough job anyway. I’ve been lucky in that I can work around it, and start really early every day, making it out of work in time for school pickup.

It’s exhausting.

Every Friday I leave work 30 minutes early to get home in time to pick H up from the childminder (which is a drive away), and then get onto a conference call which never lasts an hour (more like an hour and twenty minutes). With my working day starting at 8.30 and the call finishing at 6.20, half an hour for lunch and another hour getting home from work and set up again, I finally sit with H and give her a big cuddle. It’s a long, tiring day.

She doesn’t like it. I don’t like it either but it’s the compromise I’m having to make. It is now being suggested having the call on another day (or possibly in addition to). Which would involve more time working at home. I’m putting in a lot of extra hours. I’m often getting home and telling H I “just need to do some work stuff” and getting it done as quickly as possible.

It’s pretty tiring. Add to that PTA responsibilities. Oh, and Brownie ones too – I’m training to be a leader and our Brown Owl is leaving so I’ve taken on banking duties and helping out.

I’m not complaining. Neither is H, but that time we had which was ‘our’ time is being taken away from us, slowly, bit by bit.

I feel pretty guilty. This blog is updated once in a blue moon which is fine. The other blog is updated once or twice a week (I have three posts scheduled I need to take photos for this weekend) and things plod along nicely. When your seven year old tells you “I don’t like it when you have those phone calls as I don’t get any attention” and you know she has a point but you know the calls are important too… well, it’s hard. Where’s the balance?

I know, let’s throw another spanner in the works! Southern Rail. Or rather, Southern Fail. Strikes (which to be fair, seem to make my trains run on time), late trains and more. We’ve been driver-only on our trains for an age now, and tonight a fire alarm went off in one of the toilets. So the driver had to get out and walk along the platform to resolve the issue. We were at Mitcham Eastfields which I think is an unmanned station too.

So. We have a busy job, a busy home life, and a rail service that sometimes gets you from one to the other which is the worst performing one in the country. Were you to combine the poor service from the other companies together then I think Southern still come out on top. Really poor. The amount of times I’ve had to take the fast train to Sutton only to find all the other trains are cancelled and I need to get a cab to get H from school (which costs £10, none of which seemed to be reclaimable). So that’s more money. Oh, and train fares are going up next year too.

I’m not sure what exactly the multi-million pound train company who run the service poorly intend to do with this increase, maybe award themselves a bigger bonus?

So yes, when I get home and it’s just H and I, I want to sit with her on my knee and enjoy a cuddle and a chat about the day. But slowly all that is being dismantled.

Oh, and the biggie. She’s getting older so she doesn’t always need her mum. But she does need me sometimes.

So yes, there’s the guilt, the wish for more quality time and the fact that it isn’t forthcoming. That’s all. I haven’t worked out which bit to work on first.