House of Cards

From day one, David and I have been in awe of how well Emily has adapted to us moving to Malta. We've thrown so much at her and she's taken it all in her stride. She's smiled and danced and sung through it all and seemingly has become a much happier and more confident toddler.

Then two days before her birthday*, we were getting her ready for bed. She was overtired and very moany, and she announced, through tears, that she wanted to go home.

It hit me like a sharp slap to the face. I couldn't keep my cool and tears started to flow. It was a heartbreaking moment, knowing I couldn't even begin to give her what she wants, what might make her feel comfortable, and not even really be able to explain to her further than the fact that our belongings are "in boxes on a boat."

She saw my tears and put her hands on my face.

"Mummy sad," she said. "Don't worry Mummy, you're safe."

It's what I tell her when she's scared of cars in the road. (Cue more tears on my part.)

Then Mummy smiled and there were cuddles and she could see it was all ok. She hasn't mentioned it since, but she does often mention that her toys and our clothes are "in boxes on a boat", and we do remind her the boat will arrive soon, and she seems happy with that. She's been to the place we'll be moving to once everything arrives, seen her room and knows she's going to have a bed there ("Exciting!"). So it's fine really. I'm not worried. I only hope I never hear those words coming out of her mouth again. (And if they do, there'll be more cuddles but less tears and more talk about exciting plans.)

* She turned two on Monday and we celebrated with family, and old and new friends... I'll blog about it soon.

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