Sit Quietly


You’re asleep on me. Your head rests heavily on my shoulder, one arm loosely around my neck, the other heavy and limp by my side. You’re snoring.

It’s 3.55pm on Monday.

I’ve taken a day off to look after you, as your childminder needed today away from work.

We’ve seen the family off to school. We’ve had a leisurely breakfast, you had porridge, me, omelette and coffee.

We took the dogs out on a “digger walk”. Stopping by the building site nearby to look at all of the machinery, JCB’s, dump trucks, road sweepers. I wonder if you’re still obsessed by diggers now? You even take one to bed instead of a teddy.

You’re sleeping and at peace. After walking, lunch and a trip in the car, you’ve flaked out.

I wish I could enjoy this day more, to be so completely present in all of the moments that I don’t start thinking and worrying about being back in work tomorrow. I’m dreading it.

I wish for more time. To spend being your dad. To do work I truly enjoy. To spend with your Mum, your siblings, my friends.

Sometimes life is hard Lawrie, not for any serious reasons, but for quiet, internal worries. And often, when you think that grown-ups have everything sorted and under control, you find that beneath the surface they can be just as worried and sad as small people like yourself.

And sometimes there aren’t even solutions to those worries and feelings of sadness and frustration. Sometimes you just need to hug your small son, listen to his snoring, and sit quietly until things begin to brighten again.

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