Even though he obviously was not her father, TPR was the primary carer for our tiny new African baby. She was so beautiful that even I found it hard to believe that she was my very own daughter.
We were extremely low-key parents. Rather than pay for a crib, we made a nest on the floor for our newborn. Here she slept under a section of lobster-pot.
When she was a little older, and began to show a resemblance to her cousin AMF, we let her play in the garden. We decided to fill in the pond as a safety precaution.
Meanwhile life carried on as usual with conference calls about my mother’s precarious financial situation, and arguments with K and T over the paintings at my mother’s house. I was particularly concerned when they took it upon themselves to clean the pictures with window cleaners’ mops.