I took Romilly to a birthday party on the weekend. Romilly loves parties, particularly the food. Lollies and cake and chocolate and sugar in all its various and wonderful forms. There is nothing Romilly dislikes about parties, other than the fact that she doesn’t get to attend one every day.

I, on the other hand, am not really a party person. This party was particularly uncomfortable, but not for the reason that you might suspect. It was the first time since our separation that Debs and I had to be somewhere in public at the same time. We handled things okay, and Romilly defused anyone else’s potential discomfort by turning to me when Debs arrived and loudly introducing “This is my Mamma!”, as if I had no idea. As always, Romilly gets to be the centre of attention, but this time she did so in a way that made everyone feel a little more more relaxed. Laughter solves so many problems.

Alas, laughter did not remove the primary source of my discomfort. My recently discovered — and still unnamed — emotion appears to increase in intensity with proximity to its cause. Once or twice I found myself barely able to breathe. This is not normal for me. Normally I am quite good at breathing.

I still find myself unable to describe it accurately. It is, in a strange and ironic way, not unlike the nervous feeling you get when you first find yourself falling for someone, and yet it is entirely the opposite at the same time. It is also reminiscent of the feeling of adrenaline pulsing through your body when sudden dread sets in. It is a tightening that starts in the stomach and continues up into the diaphram. It sneaks up and suddenly rushes, taking all the strength from the lungs.

It is not something I would wish on anyone.