September. July. It's done. It's all done. There I am, waiting at the school gate for the last time in his first year, next to women I have come to love. And here he comes in a queue of friends, crumpled book bag slung over his shoulder, shirt filthy and untucked, skinny legs tanned in … Continue reading September. July.
Some clichés about life with children just turn out to be true. It's almost disappointing how predictable you are. That hilarious obsession with your first child's milestones, followed by a wry detached affection for the progression of your second? Tick that box. The fact that you will get fat on leftover pizza crusts if you're … Continue reading Dear boy: you can be unpretty here