The first time I held Emma, the midwife told me I'd never sleep properly again. Thirty-one years later, she wasn't wrong — these days it's just because Emma rings me at eleven at night to ask how long to cook a chicken.
let it landShe has always known exactly what she wanted. At six, it was a pony. At sixteen, it was the car. At twenty-nine, it was James.
look at themJames — she didn't get the pony. She didn't get the car. Take this as the compliment it clearly is.