Having to expose your child to the darker truths of life maybe the right thing to do, but it's a miserable task. Photograph: Jose Cabezas/AFP
I was only a couple of years into motherhood when I began to understand why you tell your children: "There are starving children in Africa who'd like that dinner."
I'm not talking about the (annoying) amount of food they leave on their plates. It's more the dawning realisation that it's entirely up to you to let your children know that, while they may be blessed with a loving home, a warm snug bed, plenty to eat, many people are not.
Childhood is all about the slow expansion of your world, from birth when you are quite clearly the centre of the universe, through the colossal shock of realising, when you are about three, that you are not actually kings and queens, that there is a whole world beyond the kitchen table and the bedtime story.
My oldest son, Sam, is six now and a lovely boy; thoughtful and concerned about the world, kind to his brothers (mostly) and in love with nature, insects and reptiles. I get nervous at the fact that it is my responsibility to make him aware of the darker side of life - war, famine, environmental catastrophe - part of me wants to preserve his innocence, and part of me thinks that I'm just being a sanctimonious old cow. But most of me thinks he needs to know and I should be the one to tell him.
We've talked a little bit, about climate change, but I find it hard to be really honest with him. I sat down with him recently, to read something that Green Books sent to me, called How to Turn Your Parents Green. I thought a lighthearted book might be an easy way to talk to him about all this stuff which he's going to have to deal with.
I asked him if he knew about climate change and he said no and then yes. I asked him if he knew what was causing it and he said: "It's because there are more and more cars on the roads. Maybe too many planes too. Maybe trains as well, but only a little bit". He likes trains.
I said it was because we had too many lights on too - he jumped up and turned off the light straight away.
"What do you think it means?" I asked him. "I don't know. Is the world getting hotter? What will happen?" he asked. "Well, some people's homes may get covered in water, and other people may not have enough food," I said. "There might be some big storms and hurricanes."
"Will there be lightning?" He doesn't like lightning.
"Sometimes."
He was quiet and thoughtful, and I couldn't bear to push it any further. We did some colouring instead. But later that afternoon, as I was separating his brothers during a particularly rowdy wrestling match on the sofa, he came up and put his hand in my back pocket. "I didn't like that book, Mum. It made me feel really worried," he said.
I still feel miserable thinking about it now.
