She looks impossibly small, like a bee-sized human. The large-format Lego blocks she’s been plopped beside make her already slight dimensions appear positively lilliputian. Even the other babies around her seem giant in comparison. None are older than 18 months and only one appears capable of walking, but a couple seem twice her height. I remind myself that in any other context these other children would themselves seem self-evidently tiny, but placed in context with our daughter, they look like they could help me with my car insurance or do my taxes.
The waterworks haven’t started yet, but the childminder asks me to set up a WhatsApp group with her, my wife and I, that will let us know as soon as they do. We hover anxiously, until she politely tells us we should go. At her request, we slink out of the door without looking back, feeling like we’ve placed an incendiary device in her home.
