It’s that look.
You know?
The polite one.
Watching him potter in his own happy world, completely unaware.
The something’s not right here one.
Glassy-eyed. Hitched-on smile. Invisible wall of keeping my distance.
This child’s not normal.
How do I protect him against that?
Will he remain blissfully oblivious?
How can I defend my own, strangle-held heart.



I sat and held his chubby little hand.
A snuggly dot in a nest of enormous teddy bears.
His lids drooped, tantalisingly close to slumber.
Then, snapping open and fixed on the middle distance, he grinned through streams and babbles of gobbledygook.
Tiny fingers caught my hair, reeled me close for hot little goodnight kisses.
My heart will not recover.