This is what it looks like when I tell myself that I will not blog through the month of April.
It is the end of the weekend - Sunday, around midnight. Downstairs, I am working, as I have been for the past four hours. Emma began Alex’ bed-time routine at around 8pm – bath, then a book chapter (we are close to the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows). I assume that Emma has taken herself straight to bed as she has not been down to utter sweet goodnight nothings to me in the way that romantic, affectionate people would do. In fact, there’s been nowt, not a jot. But then, surprisingly, footsteps on the stairs. And soon, looking bleary-eyed, Emma enters the room.
Emma: I can’t sleep. I’m stressed. It’s all work.
And we talk for a while and we amuse ourselves with how rubbish we can be – though really, I should have been getting on with my work. And after a further while, it occurs to me that maybe Emma's stress is dissipating, as she laughs and challenges me and mocks my workstation. Perhaps without saying so, she has taken what she had wanted to take from this late night visitation. She is ready to return to bed, and I must work on.
Emma: I’m gonna go back upstairs now.
Emma: Maybe I will be able to wee my anxiety away.
Shane: That would be good.
The moment passes, a nice moment.
And now, I wonder, had her batteries simply run out.