“Mummy loves you”… or “Your mummy loves you”.

Every night for getting on for two thousand nights, I whispered these words into my sleeping son’s ear.

A deep sleeper, he would occasionally grunt, or throw out his arm, but mostly he would lie there, his breath even and regular. No sign that he was aware that I was there, crouching in the dark by his side, my inward breath aligning with his inward breath, loving him.

Whispering in the night.



  1. Your son is so lucky. I cannot remember anybody saying “Mummy (or Daddy) loves you.” in my former house. Hate, scorn by the shed load but love – not once.

    1. I’m so sorry. That must still feel like a terrible punishment.
      I sometimes wonder how J will bring up his children too. Each generation is so different.

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