How to be ten feet tall: a note on Father’s Day

One day last month Tim worked from home. It was one of those days where Henry was still gallivanting downstairs in his vest and socks at 10am, yelling something or other about diggers. 'Henry', I heard Tim say, 'want to come help me work?' Everything went quiet. I looked over the balcony to check he … Continue reading How to be ten feet tall: a note on Father’s Day

The fixer-upper

I didn't actually mean to welcome Timothy back at Arrivals with Henry and I covered in blood. But that's what happened. We sat and shared a hot chocolate while we waited for his aeroplane to land, and then Henry buzzed off the excitement by running in small circles around the pushchair. Then he was on … Continue reading The fixer-upper

Third wheel

Just don't try to get between these two at the moment. Ever since Tim got back from his last trip away, Henry's been all over him like a woolly-jumpered rash. Oh, you ask him to stop using the clothes horse as a bungee rope and he's all me-no-understandy, but tell him that Daddy's nearly home … Continue reading Third wheel

Daddy cool

Henry was seventeen hours old. Red, downy skin and a tiny scrunched-up face. He looked just like my baby brother, except for the feet. Wedge-shaped with long toes. Daddy's feet. The first time I saw them was the first time I realised we'd actually made him, between us. Our first night had been endless and … Continue reading Daddy cool