Care in the Community

A stunning picture of me; 2.59 pm yesterday. Fortunately, I have since shaved off the beard & 'tache.

If one thing has become apparent over the past year, it has to be how undoubtedly shit I am at real life. It's been almost twelve whole months since Le Jig Jog made her entrance, and at least six since her daddy finally, and most resolutely, left the building. Yet still here I am, umming and arring about the possibility of a return to the workforce, quaking at the thought of single motherdom, and wrestling like a WD40-basted blindman over the idea of putting my most precious thing in the care of anyone else.

Still, at least there's consolation in the thought that the past 360 or so days haven't been exactly the easiest in the run of a normal life. For a start (and most predominantly for me), there's the fact that I've been hiding from for a while. That Lucy actually has a half-sister. Virtually her age (in fact, born on Lucy's due date, as luck and life would have it), and borne by an Australian Artist of Oranges and Still Life Trees. At any rate, citrus fruit and silver birches aside, it's been good to know that her half sibling's mother was a more exciting prospect and more child-worthy than me: oh SH, you of the sperm donation in car parks and lying text messages - hail to thee!

Life's knocks and knuckle-dusters aside, there is much to be said for the fact that here I stand (or, at least, sit and type - if you're of a pedantic bent). And, much as I would love to take the credit for being able to withstand all, there are many, many people this year who have tightened my stitching and made sure the ballast was secure.

First (and co-incidentally evermore) there is my family. Despite being possessed of a genetic wit to rival Oscar Wilde's and a wry humour that Dorothy Parker would have envied, we don't say much, us H's. But please know, despite my blushing fingers, that without you this year I would have been lost, lambasted, and fruitlessly sucking dry sand on a sinking oasis that had long since fallen to Eden. Every phone call, every visit, every card and every text has been ridiculously appreciated, and I would swim after the African Queen in a force-9 gale to tell you so.

Next in the list, of course, come my wonderful friends. It's impossible to know where to start or where to end in the honours list, because you have all been amazing. But in particular, I will never forget the fact that there is A, who sent me a baby monitor when I'd merely mentioned the fact that I was glued to Lucy's door to check she was breathing (and who keeps on being an astonishing pseudo-aunt as every day unfolds); that K & D came to my door early one work-day morning just to sign some forms for Lucy's passport; that C brought me wine, a smile and an amazingly generous amount of money one rainy October afternoon; or that 40p Man has always made sure he's there with some dinner and a crap DVD and will never leave without the assurance that all the lightbulbs in my flat are burning brightly and that the smoke alarm is on. There really are too many acts of kindness from all and sundry to mention here. Please forgive exclusions (and the foray into cliche-land), but I can't thank everyone enough.

Finally, and most oddly of all, I have to offer thanks to the people that don't even know my name. From the chemist's assistant who charges round the shop with my pram when Lucy's screaming like an untrained banshee in a brothel, to the Budgen's checkout girl who clears an entire queue to serve me first. To the newsagent who runs outside with my paper when we're storming passed, or the doctor that cuddles my daughter for an entire appointment on her knee. To the entire online community that eagerly stretch out their compassionate keyboards to calm the discovery of anything: from the emergence of a new spot my chin to the discovery of some missing condoms in S's washbag and some nasty scratches on his back from when he last went to Bangkok.

The coming year, hopefully, will be a little better. I may even be able to stop leaning on all of you and help out instead. But for now, I'm glad that you've let me lay down my sword and take shelter in your shields. My armour was getting a bit rusty, after all.