Pain is not seeing your bear all day. In the morning she's feeding as soon as you get up, and resting between feeds as you leave. You get home, it's evening, she's feeding. After, she's asleep. Then she wakes after a good sleep. Sleep is good. You change her, you hold her to comfort her. She looks at you like 'you're the guy who used to be around all the time but isn't any more' then wriggles and cries until mum takes her off you. You go to bed. You get up in the morning, she's feeding, you pull on an iron-free business shirt, button the cuffs, understand why people buy lottery tickets...
Smiling moments include when you get up to go to the bathroom at 5am and she starts crying and you go into her room and pick her up and hold her to your chest and sing her Hallelujah and she stops crying and her little hands squeeze your chest hairs and you feel her go calm and you put her down after 10 minutes and she is already deeply asleep.
The pain is like having an oxy-torch going inside your intestines. The smiling moments are like snowballs made from white chocolate ice cream.
Blossomage is now 4 weeks old. I have at least 3 hairs left.
Public debt isn’t ‘money for nothing’, but we shouldn’t panic about it - That’s the title of a piece I ran in Independent Australia last week. It’s part of my book-in-progress, The Economic Consequences of the Pandemic
1 day ago