Child soldiers and botox

Kids' party a success. Baby dodgems, merry-go-round and massive soft play area with gigantic slide meant all the little cherubs were bright pink and sweaty for three solid hours.

At first Nat sulked.

"It's a bit dirty," he said, pointing his nose in the air and eyeing an uncleared table of food. Ignored him and played host.

When Dougal appeared he perked up. Dougal took his baby son into the baby area where the coloured balls fill the floor space. I heard Nat saying, "Dougal, come on the big slide with me" and realised he has the mental age of five. No wonder he can't discuss serious issues like a woman's spiralling fertility.

Later I saw Dougal and Nat running round to the bottom of the ladder thing which would take them back up again. Their faces were pouring with sweat and their beady eyes darted this way and that to make sure they'd be first in line.

Rosie enjoyed it hugely. But the most bizarre thing happened. On the table to my left I saw my old boss - Ms Scary Botox herself - who was there with her three year old son and a sticky out tummy.

Of course she's not Scary Botox anymore - she's now part-time earth mother extraordinaire.
When she saw me she smiled and her face looked warm and human. I remembered the days when she gave me my career break and how when she laughed (which wasn't often) her skin didn't move.

She'd been a dark, dominating force, a woman who could make or break careers who terrified everyone. And there she was, in full pregnancy splendour - fat bum, baggy eyes, yogurt smeared clothes and a visibly happy face.

Anyway, got jealous of her bump but was too busy to get sad.

Also, am reading the most harrowing book called A Long Way Gone for book club and say to myself how lucky and privileged I am to have the life I have. Keep almost bursting into tears on the tube. It's a true story about a child soldier in Sierra Leone.

Am thinking of referring Rosie to it every time she groans about petty stuff like having her hair washed or not watching TV.

Tonight she told me that when she'd lit a candle at Canterbury Cathedral (the January jaunt the day after I told Nat I wanted to split up) - that she'd wished she wouldn't die. She asked if it would come true. I replied,

"You won't die for a very, very long time."
Rosie: "Never?"
Me: "Well, not for a long, long time."
Rosie: "Will you die?"
Me: "Yes, one day."
Rosie: "What did you wish?"
Me: "I wished for another baby so you can have a brother or sister."
Rosie: "Well I don't want you to wish for that - i want you to wish not to die."
Me: "Okay."
Rosie: "And then you won't die?"
Me: "Well, maybe - when I'm very old."
Rosie: "No, I don't want you to die even then okay?"
Me: "Okay."