from The Stranger in the Mirror, chapter 1, Message in a Bottle (Jane Shilling)

Meanwhile I notice that my contemporaries have gone quiet.  The bold candour with which we always used to report to each other from the front lines of our lives has been replaced with a muffled discretion.  Once upon a time we couldn't wait to tell the next episode.  The vagaries of our lovers, our employers, our parents, our shopping habits, our looks - all became part of a rolling comic monologue.

With pregnancy and childbirth, a rich new vein of material emerged: the preposterous indignities of pregnancy, from the moment your navel pops inside out, mutating overnight from a sexy hollow to a ludicrous fleshy bobble, to the weary realisation, towards the end of gestation, that you'd pull down your knickers and offer your underparts for examination to almost anyone who demanded it with sufficiently crisp authority; the outrageous shock of labour, the unexpected catastrophe of raw feeling - rage, exhaustion, terror, boredom, love - with which the passionate intensity of motherhood is compounded.

Time passed, the children began to grow up, but still the conversation continued: more fractured now, and at longer intervals, reduced by the rending demands of work and family; the savage battle to secure some scraps of time in which to remind oneself of who one used to be, from a daily soap opera to erratic messages in bottles, brief bulletins flung into the overwhelming tides of domesticity, often saying little more than, 'I am still here.  Are you?'

Cookies (Arnold Lobel)

Toad baked some cookies.
“These cookies smell very good,”
said Toad.
He ate one.
“And they taste even better,” he said. 
Toad ran to Frog’s house. 
“Frog, Frog,” cried Toad, 
 “taste these cookies
that I have made.”

Frog ate one of the cookies.
“These are the best cookies
I have ever eaten!” said Frog.

Frog and Toad ate many cookies,
one after another. 
“You know, Toad,” said Frog,
with his mouth full,
“I think we should stop eating.
We will soon be sick.”

“You are right,” said Toad.
“Let us eat one last cookie,
and then we will stop.”
Frog and Toad ate
one last cookie.
There were many cookies
left in the bowl.
“Frog,” said Toad,
“let us eat one very last cookie,
and then we will stop.”
Frog and Toad
ate one very last cookie. 

“We must stop eating!” cried Toad
as he ate another.
“Yes,” said Frog, 
reaching for a cookie, 
“we need will power.”
“What is will power?” asked Toad.

“Will power is trying hard
not to do something 
that you really want to do,”
said Frog.
“You mean like trying hard not 
to eat all of these cookies?”
asked Toad.
“Right,” said Frog.

Frog put the cookies in a box.
“There,” he said.
“Now we will not eat
any more cookies.”
“But we can open the box,”
said Toad.
“That is true,” said Frog.

Frog tied some string
around the box.
“There,” he said.
“Now we will not eat
any more cookies.”
“But we can cut the string
and open the box,” said Toad.
“That is true,” said Frog.

Frog got a ladder.
He put the box up on a high shelf.
“There,” said Frog.
“Now we will not eat
any more cookies.”

“But we can climb the ladder
and take the box
down from the shelf
and cut the string
and open the box,”
said Toad.
“That is true,” said Frog.
Frog climbed the ladder
and took the box
down from the shelf.
He cut the string
and opened the box.

Frog took the box outside.
He shouted in a loud voice.
“HEY BIRDS,
HERE ARE COOKIES!” 
Birds came from everywhere.
They picked up all the cookies 
in their beaks and flew away.
“Now we have no more cookies to eat,”
said Toad sadly.
“Not even one.”

“Yes,” said Frog,
“but we have lots and lots 
of will power.”
“You may keep it all, Frog,”
said Toad. 
“I am going home now 
to bake a cake.”