The Hungover Games

by Sophie Heawood

And this is it, and it is true: that wherever I go, now, for the rest of my life, and whatever I do, and whatever freedoms I am granted, I am always going to be worried about whether my daughter is cold, and whether she is wearing her hat. And that I will never be able to give this feeling back.

Because everyone talks about a baby bringing new life, but less about the grief this creates in you, when part of you, your old life, has to die to create it.

Because babies are love, and babies are sorrow, and there is something about the night feed when both those feelings want to make themselves known so very strongly. And until you accept that motherhood is both, you will become your own personal Narrow Way, full of psychodrama and paranoia and spilt beer.