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Five minutes

Sometimes it feels like I’m on a runaway train. Time to get up…no, now mama…dressed, breakfast, out to crèche, then to work. Home from work, cuddles, dinner, playing, wiping, bath time, story, bed. Grown up dinner, maybe some adult conversation, maybe some slumping on the couch, chores, laundry, groceries, bed, phew. Then we start all over again. Even the weekends canter in without stopping. There’s always something to do, somewhere to be, little hands reaching up, grabbing on, wrapped around legs, baby hugs with runny noses all over your top. Pulling him out of presses, out of the tumble dryer, not in the shower! Hands out of the toilet!…

…yesterday I found myself sitting on my bed, by myself, lacing up my converse. I realised it was the first time in ages where I was doing nothing else but putting my shoes on. I smiled, slowly did up the laces and enjoyed it.

Just five minutes and a moment to breathe. Sometimes that’s all I need.

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