thumbnail Offspring by Emylia Hall 07 April 2015

These days my time is cleaved in two. Every morning I look after my son, and every afternoon I write. At lunchtime my husband and I swap shifts, baby for book, book for baby. Our boy is a little over one now, and we’ve been working it this way since he was three months old. It’s a tidy arrangement, on paper, but I’ve come to learn that in practice it’s anything but. My two charges rarely keep to their own portions of the day. Neither one is that obedient. I’m frequently powerless in the face of both. Perhaps a delightful, infuriating mishmash is what it’s all about. Or maybe writing a novel isn’t so different to raising a child anyway.

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