One day last week I awoke to one of those days. You know the ones (the particularly SAHM ones) when you mope around, do some housework, and think Nothing I do really matters at all. Bit glum really, but combined with pregnancy hormones and the daily ups and downs of raising an almost 2 year old, days like these make for some easy tears over the course of dawn through (the ever earlier) dusk. I continued through the motions. Hanging clothes on the line in the autumn sunshine, I caught myself humming an incongruous tune. When I realised what I was humming, I had a small, nostalgic cry at the memory of my dad. The tune was Tchaikovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers, from The…