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I couldn’t move, but I could draw.

I had a green pen, almost all the ink was gone. It was scraping along the little book I had set aside to put the notes of what it was to be mummy for the first time. 

The book was small. 

I forgot that my eyesight is not the best. 

Foresight not the best. 

You lay there feeding.

I couldn’t move, but I could draw. 

I could try to draw what it was to be mummy for the first time. 

With green scratchy ink running out on my lovely hand-made, not made for drawing in, too small book. 

It is the most precious drawing I own, and sits on my desk every day.