Dancing alone

Enjoy the days when sleep evades you, when you pace the chilly floor, a restless shadow, soothing the warm bundle in your arms. Make the most of the times when door handles are sticky, feet bruised with plastic brick imprints, a favourite jumper smeared with snot, or goodness knows what. Breathe in that special, belonging to your baby, smell. Take it deep, deep into your lungs. So, you’ll never forget.

Every trip an adventure, every moment a question, the wide-eyed why? why? why? Back breaking bag full of books, crayons, plasters, snacks and sand, always sand. Bucketfuls of shells and stones. Crinkly seaweed, stinky dead crab, bleached bones. Shiny conkers, spiky beech nuts. Bark rubbings and coin rubbings and grave rubbings. Bumps, scrapes, tears, laughter, lots of laughter. Singing in the car, in the bath, in the park. Kitchen band, walloping the pots and pans.

Later, gossip and giggles, worries shared, successes and failures. Falling outs and making ups. Lifts given, endless waiting. Meals spent around the fire, guitar playing, silly prancing. Cello screech, drum machine beat, tap, tapping of a foot keeping time on the ceiling.

The house is quiet now, stillness fills spaces where junk models stood. Silence wiped fingerprints away. Everything tidy, where it should be, in its place. The songs I sing to myself, dancing alone.