Bee was round for tea the other night. Belle was cooking and we were watching Dirty Dancing because apparently neither of my children have ever seen it. (Which officially makes me a bad parent.)
‘Mummy’s smiling a lot,’ said Belle, from her position in the kitchen chopping onions, ‘it looks weird.’ (Our downstairs room is one biggish space that’s half a kitchen and half where we watch TV.)
‘Yeah, why are you smiling?’ asked Bee.
‘It’s a good film!’ I said.
‘Yeah but not that good,’ said Bee, ‘not as good as Wikipedia said it was going to be.’ (I don’t understand why she can’t just watch a film and wait nicely to see for herself what happens at the end.)
‘Well I like life,’ I said, cheerily.
Bee looked doubtful.
‘No one likes life,’ she said, ‘they do it, but no one actively enjoys it.’
‘Well I do,’ I said, smiling. ‘I like waking up and getting up and doing things like going to work and getting coffee.’
‘PAH!’ said Bee, looking really sceptical by this point, ‘NO ONE likes getting up!’
‘I do,’ I said.
Because actually I do, most of the time. I mean sure, there are days when I’d rather not straight away, but that’s more because I’m enjoying so much the feeling of being in bed, not because I particularly have anything against life outside of bed. I’m just generally quite cheerful. (Which is why I find it so hard when I do have periods of feeling sad or anxious.)
Most of the time I just bumble along, looking forward to lunch, buying props for photos, not thinking too much about anything serious.