There’s a part of my hand that hurts, a patch of skin on the back of my hand, near my thumb. It’s exactly where my daughter grips my hand when she wants to drag me somewhere. When you’re four any type of waiting is too much waiting, so she drags…
Cathal is four today. I wrote last week about how six feels so old, much more than five. This week realise that I feel exactly same about four. Those damned even numbers get me every time. When Cathal turned three it felt like a normal progression, just a number. But…
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