Crying

When you wake up in the dark at 530am you tend to cry a lot.

I’ve wept over a young Italian guy in Miami getting his restaurant fixed by a man with a sledgehammer, who also improved his pasta sauce. I’ve sobbed as Drake (somewhat hamfistedly) handed out wads of cash to young families (that might have been Florida too). Tears have traced lines down my cheeks watching penguin fail videos on Youtube.

Exhaustion makes you hyper-sensitive – I guess your guards have not gotten up yet.

Of course it might also have something to do with that beautiful young girl over there on the floor. They do say being a parent makes you a lot more empathetic – and a wreck. Right now she’s spreading her books out on the rug and checking in for messy mouthfuls of weetbix.

She’s just learning what tickling is, giggling through those two front teeth as she comes to starfish on the couch. Take a load off, babe.

These are vulnerable hours. And none more so than for mum still in bed, prone and unknowing when a little body will be climbing all over her.

It’s good to let it all out, and it’s funny how a little bit of sad can make you so happy.

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