Every day, when my husband, Andy, gets home from an 11-hour shift as a kitchen manager, he’d be forgiven for flopping down on to the couch, exhausted. But instead, it’s like his day is only just starting. Together, we’ll hoist Ruby, seven, into a chair to feed her, then dish out her medication. Giving her a kiss, Andy will chat to her about his day – and even though she can’t talk back, she’ll giggle at everything he says. Then, at teatime, Andy will help me cook for our son Teddy, three, before we put both the kids to bed.
It might seem like we have a lot to cope with but as I watch Andy cuddled up with Ruby, stroking her hair and reading to her so she can…