I lift Leila out of the bath. I wrap her in a fluffy white towel and carry her to the bedroom.

“My little cuddle-bunny,” I say. “My most beautiful baby girl.”

“Not a baby girl, Mama!” she lets me know. “Me’s a big girl.”

And yes, Leila is three now. Where have these last few years gone? They have passed me by in a blur.

She’s not a baby any longer, but she allows me to put on her pyjamas. Her Barbie pyjamas that Auntie Shalani bought her – along with so many other clothes. But I won’t think about that now. Nothing must spoil this precious time.

Putting little Leila to bed – the one good part of my day. I cover her with her favourite duvet. (Also Barbie. Also from generous, free-spending Auntie Shalani).

“Want me’s story, Mama. Want me’s monster story.”

So I read her the kiddie story about the monster who was frightened of everything – even his own reflection in the mirror. And we laugh together at the silly monster. And we cheer together when the monster realises that the scary figure in the mirror is – himself! And so he is able to rescue his little sister from the huge, scary ogre.

“The end,” I read finally.

Leila yawns and cuddles up with her head in my lap. “And now me’s lul-lee-by, Mama.”

So I sing her favourite song – my favourite too, even though it’s not a lullaby at all:

Even when the winds blow icy
And the stars in sorrow hide
Just remember
I will never leave your side.

I sing it over and over. It’s the only part of the song I know.

Reginald used to sing it to me – back when we were together. I don’t even know where it comes from. And of course, in the end, Reginald never managed to keep his promise. He left my side, the coward! But no, I don’t want to think of him, not now. Not during the loveliest part of my day.

Leila’s head is heavy on my lap as she falls asleep. I love the sound of her peaceful, steady breathing. I love the feel and the smell of her soft, warm, baby-girl skin. My beautiful, amazing little child. My reason to get up every morning and face all that must be faced.

At this moment, nothing else matters: not the bills piled up on the kitchen table; not the dirty washing piled up in the bathroom; not the ‘pending’ files piled up on my desk at work. This is my mini-holiday, my mini-escape from the stresses and problems of life.

And then my phone rings. Shalani, no doubt.

How many times have I begged her not to phone at this time of the day? But of course Shalani doesn’t understand my need for a mini-holiday. She’s a chick who doesn’t have stresses and problems to deal with. She doesn’t have to worry about bills and dirty laundry and work files piling up. Every day is a holiday for her.

And then, just to top it all, she gets real holidays too – to amazing, exotic places. Mauritius, Aspen in Colorado, Barbados …

Gently, I lower Leila’s sleepy head onto her Barbie pillow. I tiptoe out of the bedroom and to the kitchen table.

“Hi? Shalani?”

“You took long enough to answer, Jane. And I just have to talk to you. I’ve had such a dreadful day!”

***

Tell us: Which song would you choose to sing as a lullaby for a little girl?