Like almost everything bad I’ve experienced in life, there is inevitably some good somewhere hidden in all the crap. It happens with the little things. It happens with the big things. Take the little bad things. The other day I was literally in the middle of texting my husband that I was having the worst day of motherhood to date – my toddler having thrown the mother of all tantrums in Tesco exposing me to the butt of all those looks of sympathy / ‘what a bad mother she is’ and I was now trying to feed said toddler and rebellious baby who was point blank refusing to eat anything I waved in the vicinity of her mouth, when, between me threatening to either abandon them in the café and go for a drink or cry, a lovely woman came up to me and said, “What beautiful girls you have, and so good to sit there quietly.” I looked at her as if she’d sprouted a snout and begun to fly. My girls? Good? And I looked at them and there they were, being all beautiful and good and gorgeous. She changed the course of the day for all three of us.

It’s like when you are confronted with the hugest, smelliest, mind-of-its-own poo-ey nappy and you look up to check it’s not actually a large sewer infested alien on the change mat and you get the smile to melt your heart and a gurgle of delight that makes you laugh in your soul. It’s like when my mum lost her handbag recently while looking after my girls. I felt guilty, she was distraught and our annoyance hung in the air and spoiled our day. And then there was a knock on the door. And there was a woman and there was my mum’s handbag and we smiled at how good people can be.

And then there’s the big things. My recent miscarriage was traumatic and terrible and terrifying, and also testament to the incredible spirit of love and friendship that surrounds me. My mum stroked my hair, my friends called and gave me hugs. People – so many people, sent me flowers. Others bought me chocolates. And people I’ve never even met wrote to me and sent me their love. Women shared their own stories of loss and I knew someone out there understood. In the midst of loss, I felt loved. Thank you all.

(c) AKG 2008