I like leaving the house unencumbered with the nappy bag.
I hate leaving him behind, crying and sobbing as he watches me go.
He can’t see that I’m crying too.
I like walking along Albert Embankment freely, listening to the radio, marvelling at the view.
I hate being without him at the same time.
I like seeing the kind, familiar faces at work; the books; the rows and rows of books; just being there feels like home.
I hate imagining what we would be doing right now, if we were at home.
I like dashing out for a coffee, going to lunch with my friends, without wondering if there will be room for the pushchair, will we be in anyone’s way?
I hate knowing he’s been bitten by another exuberant child, trying to get him out of their way.
I like thinking about words and wonderful stories, conjuring up ideas and bringing them to life.
I love the walk home; the views and at the end of my day, the best view of all.
Zee, waiting for me.
Crying again (though he’s been happy all day), reaching out with his chubby arms – remembering me now I’m back.
Nobody said this was going to be easy.
But striking a balance will make it less hard.