My girl, you are small, and poorly. And I had to go away for work. And now I feel small, too.
When I ran into your room at midnight because you were crying my name, after the initial revulsion at the horrible smell of vomit and calling your poor, half asleep dad to assist me, I muttered under my breath, ‘this is all I need’.
I feel so guilty about saying it, thinking it. Because actually, all I really need is my family, of which you are the tiny, thrumming heart.
I said it because I had to hop on a plane to a meeting today and I was worried I’d have to cancel if you were poorly. We thought you were better, but you were sick on your dad as he tried to drop you at nursery. Which earned you a 48 hour exclusion and a day with dad at home.
It was really hard for us all. I hated being away from you but I enjoyed being part of the conference I was at. Your dad loved taking care of you, but hated being out of the loop at work and worried about keeping up. You nibbled at food, tried to be cheery, were a little less bossy. You’re asleep now and I really want to go up and see you.
I felt really lucky today, to know you were safe with your dad, to enjoy my work and feel supported, and to know that you were feeling better. I felt horribly guilty at the same time, though, that I wasn’t there, and that your dad couldn’t work.
Us three peas in this pod, we will be ok. And tomorrow, whilst I look after you and put CBeebies on so I can do two conference calls, I’ll try not to feel small, and appreciate the extra four hours together that this nursery exclusion will bring us. I’m thinking let’s do some drawing practice. Or maybe read a book or seven.