Swimming Lessons

by Claire Fuller

‘Your husband spends his time working on some fiction you don’t believe will sell.

When the baby pops off the boob you cry yourself to sleep and then get up the next day and do the whole thing again.’

I’m no good at motherhood.

in the bed where (literally) you ate the cake you wanted.

I’d already been dreaming of when Nan was older, of the places I could go, the things I could see, even if you didn’t come with me.

When the cramp passed the only sensations I felt (facts and truth, remember) were relief and guilt.

She picked Nan up with a confidence I still didn’t have, held our daughter on her hip in a way that made me feel like I’d been faking motherhood for thirteen months.

I don’t deserve to be looking after our children.

But precise moments of grief, like the pangs of childbirth, are hard to recall after the most intense pain has passed:

The feeling I’d had with George didn’t return.

and I grieved again for the child I’d lost.

I stood in the margins amongst the cables and the cameras to watch you in the spotlight. You mesmerized us

This quote sums up their marriage