I’ve wanted to write this for a few weeks.
I shall set the scene.
It was virus no2389463 in as many weeks.
Another rescheduled day of being the default parent was no longer even met with resistance and complaint but acceptance and inevitability.
I love my life. I love my flexibility. I chose to be in this position as the self employed half of the team and yet there are times when it can leave your identity hollow.
On one of these particular days, my 3yr old was fine but not fine enough for crèche. She was in that snot twilight zone. To kill some time (and energy) we scooted down to our local coffee shop. It was gentle and delicious, tender and sweet. Her little 3 yr old body seems so vulnerable and tiny when fighting a cold and her infant needs even more irresistible to my inner need to smother her with care.
But as is the case most days, it was a dull, misty, grey.
I was still damp from the early morning dog walk.
It was the kinda week where I hadn’t yet showered from the home workout I had done yesterday and barely slept as her congested sticky little head lay on my chest all night.
So the uniform was in full swing.
Leggings. Hoodie. Giant duvet coat. Hair scraped up. No make up.
*which I should add is not unusual for me regardless of the weather/sleep/virus
We arrived and her little face was wide eyed as she selected her croissant of choice. And as we waited to be served I felt the gaze of a stranger on us.