The potentialists
As I hold my baby daughter at four in the morning, feeling the softness of her cheek against my own cheek, waiting for her breathing to settle into the regular rise and fall of sleep, the rightness of this scene feels self-evident. How could my life be any other way?
Yet, less than 12 months ago, I knew frighteningly little about children, let alone babies. I didn’t know how to hold one, nor how to change a nappy, nor how loud a cry can be in the dead of the night. I certainly didn’t know about the heady mixture of love, responsibility and not-knowing-what-to-do that can strike at any time: watching
