Friday, 18 February 2011

What becomes of the broken hearted?

This morning I was roused from an unpeaceful slumber, by a little girl sobbing her heart out.

My daughter has had her heart broken for the very first time, and I so would love to say it will be the last but at not quite three years old, I fear she has a long way to go yet.

About a month ago Little Girl's key carer left nursery. Although only about four and a half feet tall, Big Isabel had been a big part of Little Girl's daily life for about two years. Her departure whilst it did not make Little Girl too sad, it did have a profound affect on her; we had a week of wet knickers which must symbolise heart ache in anyone's books.

Yesterday I was on a course and I needed someone to collect Little Girl from nursery for me. I knew it may be too soon, but I also knew the both would love to be reunited.

When I got home I saw the love, the cuddles and Little Girl's pure bliss at having her favourite people around her. I believe she had taken great pride in showing Big Isabel every inch of our house and explaining every little thing.

But, of course, after bedtime and a cuppa, Big Isabel left to go home.

This morning I thought my daughter was inconsolable, but after 20 minutes of determined cuddling and sympathising, I received what I believe is the greatest accolade for mothering I have so far received.

Little girl said: I happy now mummy, you make me happy mummy.

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