All my life I’ve been adamant that motherhood was not for me. Not a maternal bone in my body I said. I’d make a lousy nurse. I’m selfish.
It’s all still true – and yet as Paul undergoes the rotten side effects of the chemotherapy and radiotherapy, I’m getting an inkling of what being a mother would be like. Not that he’s needy – far from it. I have to cajole him into letting me do for him. But every sound that indicates pain or discomfort, every wince I see on that handsome face, every sigh of frustration or exhaustion and I would do anything to take it on myself and away from him.
I know mothers do this all the time. I just didn’t know I had the instinct for it.