Teenage years are like the teething period of the soul. They are inevitably painful, and the uniformity of that pain makes them boring. Not everybody gets to hit their teenage years in their actual teens. Some people are terrorized into not even attempting to grow their own soul until they are 30 or 50. Or ever. And if you have to wait that long, the process becomes atrociously hurtful.

I hate reading about teenagers. A good depiction of teenage life is the most boring one. If it’s less boring, then it’s not realistic. The teenagers in Tana French’s novel The Secret Place are realistic but that’s what makes them so soporific. French is a good author but this is a subject that can’t be rescued. No matter what you do, it’s coming out just like the billion and one similar novels written before you.

Klara loves to play with the remote. Whenever she manages to do something with it – turn the TV on, turn it off, change the channel – she gets scared and hides under my arm so that I can hug her and reassure her that everything is good.

She also really loves cords. She only decided to learn to crawl when it became clear that she can’t get to the cords any other way. I spread the most enticing toys around, yet she ignores them and heads directly for the cords. And yesterday she found a very inventive way to switch off my desktop. She tugs on all the cords she can reach until she gets the camera cord. The camera falls and hits the computer’s switch off button.

On weekends, I get to sleep until 11 am. I have the best husband ever.

Single people: follow my example and never settle for anybody but the person who will be perfect for you. Every day of married life brings endless opportunities to grow to detest your partner, and only an absolute, dumb, gooey love for them will save you from that.