I'm saying it's probably teething because I can help you if you're teething. I give you a cold flannel to chew on. I freeze cubes of pear puree like when you were weaning. I administer Calpol.
But I really know that it's this other thing - what people call "separation anxiety". And I know that it's real because I feel it too. And I know that it can't be cured with Calpol or cold pear.
And I can't do anything but teach you that we are separate, which is the very last thing I want to do.
You're nearly one, I'm back at work, time moves on. We can't snuggle all day, or spend hours gazing in each other's eyes, or play countless games of peekaboo or blow unlimited raspberries.
That time is done now. You no longer live inside me, you no longer feed from me, you can sleep all night without me. We are separating.
And part of me is pleased. I can feel the fog lifting, I spend all day with adults, people value my opinion, I don't watch as much Cbeebies. I can feel 'me' coming back.
You're gaining independence and I'm regaining mine.
But it's certainly making us both anxious. The only difference is that I'm an adult and I've learnt to contain my howls.
But facing up to it feels too real, too raw, too final. I'm not ready to leave these heady days behind. I'm not ready to be separate and I'm so glad you feel the same.
But let's call it teething. And I'll hold you tight, and stroke your cheek, and rock you gently back to sleep.
