I have a newfound hatred for midges — I’ve found myself angry this week. A sudden rage, more than an irritation, that took me entirely by surprise. And it was all down to a tiny midge bite on my son's eyebrow.

How dare they bite my son, I remember thinking. I spent nine months growing organs and limbs and eyelashes only to have a wee beastie mark its territory - on his beautiful face, no less. I am one of those annoying people who isn’t bothered by midges too much. They can be annoying, yes - their incessant in-your-face buzzing is enough to ruin a beach picnic or even just a walk to the shop. But they don’t seem to care for my blood, so I tend to get off lightly. Meanwhile, if I look to my right, my husband is sporting several new bites - they like him. And apparently, they like Cailean, too.

It feels unfair in a way that only small, irrational things can. As though our wee island has rules, and we had somehow managed to avoid this particular one until now. Of course the midges would find him eventually. Of course they would go straight for his face.

He was entirely unbothered — it was me that carried the indignation, the protective flare of anger that motherhood seems to have gifted me. Thanks for that.

Living on a Scottish island has taught me you have to rely on people - not........

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