I always thought I’d have a hard time getting pregnant, mainly because I’d struggled with endometriosis for years. When I did get pregnant, a few months after our wedding, my Mum said that “pregnancy came easily to me, because so much else hadn’t.” I was so grateful to be pregnant, that I resolved never to complain about the nausea, about the leg cramps, about the size of my areola, about anything. My second pregnancy came swiftly after, with bouts of heavy bleeding that landed me on bedrest for months. Again, I resolved not to complain. It was a miracle that he was alive, that’s how I felt. By my third pregnancy, I did complain. Mostly to my husband, who always did his best to empathize with all the bonkers things that were happening to me. This time, the nausea and constant sickness sapped me dry. I felt and looked so dreadful. It really wasn’t until the last month that I blossomed, and started to embrace the pregnancy. When I look back though, the most challenging part, each time in fact, was the huge responsibility I felt. I was so conscious of what I ate, how much I exercised; was the baby growing and thriving in there? “French women drink wine and eat fois gras,” people would say. “Paula Radcliffe ran throughout two pregnancies.” Good for Paula and good for the French. Midway through my third pregnancy, I was coughing so hard that I worried my uterus felt like an earthquake. Would the reverberations hurt the baby? It’s why I was ok with bedrest, because lying flat was the only way I could relieve myself of the responsibility of something going wrong with my son. It’s a long time to carry that kind of weight. Each time, I looked forward to the babies being in the world, not least, because it meant that the responsibility would be shared. And it is, in every way. My husband and I also have a village of good people who guide, nurture and challenge our children everyday. But there’s strain of irrational angst, mad love, punched-in-the-gut pain, that no person, that no village, no matter how big can relieve a mother of. I realize now that pregnancy was just preparing me for it. As best it could.

A weekday matinee movie is one of my favourite things to do, one I rarely have time for. I think of my Mum when I go to matinees, partly because I remember watching back-to-back matinees in a snow storm together one winter, and partly because she’s a woman who doesn’t apologize for doing things for herself, and by herself. She never has. Even as a child, I remember watching her skinny legs in black sheers walking out the front door for the ballet or the opera. It’s quite something for a child to know she’s at the centre of your universe, while also knowing that there are other planets within that universe. This was very much the way we were raised. And it’s trickled down, the importance of doing things for oneself, and not apologizing for it. The importance of loving your children wholly and richly, while exploring other avenues that make you feel whole and rich. It’s not that I didn’t feel some tension Tuesday when I went to see a film in the middle of the day, knowing that I could’ve, and possibly should’ve been elsewhere. But I’ve come to understand how important these pleasures are for me, and how grateful I am when I have the time for them. “It was four British Dames sharing wells of stories, memories and wisdoms,” I told my children when I picked them up from school afterwards. “What’s a Dame, Mama?”

I bought my niece a matryoshka doll on the weekend, a classic gift that every child enjoys. My father’s wife grew up in Moscow, and I’m quite sure it was her parents who gave me mine. I can remember lining the dolls up on my mantle piece, from the largest, maybe 8 inches tall, to the tiniest, no larger than a lentil. The other day, as I opened each doll to find another inside, I was genuinely excited. It was the nostalgia, yes, but more than that, it was the surprise that I enjoyed so much. Just when I thought I’d reached the last doll, two more appeared! It make me think about possibility and discovery. The person within the person within the person, and so on. We’re all Matryoshka dolls!

As a kid, whenever I was nervous about taking a test, or competing in a match, let’s say, my Dad used to tell me to imagine the invigilator or competition on the loo. “Just imagine them taking a crap, and that’ll ease your nerves.” There’s something equalizing in the idea that we all shit and fart and burp, and that even Kings and Queens and exam proctors blow their noses and study their snot. Which is why, and I’ve said this here before, I love to happen upon images of great and important people doing mundane things. Like Queen Elizabeth, drinking a glass of wine.