Malachi’s Mummy

This week I was at my mum’s, cleaning out the last remnants of my childhood from my old bedroom wardrobe. I found a stack of school reports, old exercise books, and feedback from teachers. Ploughing through all the paper and boxes felt like opening time capsules, some funny, some mortifying,…

It’s the holidays, which means two things: I was on the tube during rush hour when a family of four got on—two parents, a pram, and a walking child, who looked no more than three or four. Understandably, the little one was restless, making noise. Not screaming, not causing chaos,…

Occasionally, I look at Malachi and think, wow, I made this little person. His chubby cheeks, his gummy grin, and the way he giggles like I’m the funniest person alive. He’s my baby—innocent and unmarked by the world. But then, every so often, I’m hit by the weight of what…

I prayed for Malachi to be curious. Long before I saw his face or knew his little hands would grab for everything in sight, I prayed that he would find joy in exploring the world. I wanted him to be the kind of child who asks questions, who’s not afraid…

Matt and I indulge in some trash reality TV sometimes. We were watching Love is Blind our current guilty pleasure and one of the women complained to her friend that her husband hadn’t taught her anything since they got married. I turned to Matt and asked him if I had…