B is for breathe

Its meant to be instinctual, that breathing thing.

But sometimes I find I have to remind myself,  when I feel the pressure building like a guitar string winding round my brain…just breathe.

Breathe through the arguing over the colouring pencils, the stubbed toes from carelessly discarded toys, the ridiculous ‘enter the car only through the front door and insist on  attempting arm straps myself’ rigmarole.

Breathe even though it’s difficult through the blocked nose that Bubby D picked up at nursery and kindly passed on to me.

Breathe through the worry of the Wee Man doing things for himself and becoming more and more independent each day.

Breathe through the effort of loving spending time carrying around my little Bubby D, even though she’s not so little any more.

A good old breathing session gets through everything. Something worth remembering.