"I-I-I don't li-li-like it here-here" sobbed my little girl tonight. Her little arms were wrapped so tightly around my neck and her body shook with the ferocity of her tears. Her words completely broke my heart and when I looked up over her sobbing head and saw Tim, I could feel his pain too.
Are they the words of a little girl who got told off and sent to the naughty corner for being rude? Is it her mastering the art of being manipulative to make me forget she has been naughty? or are they the words of a baby who truly is unhappy? I really do not know.
It doesn't help that I told the international packers that it was OK to ship Pooh Bear - a soft toy that I honestly had no idea was so important to her. Two more sleeps just doesn't seem to pacify her - "I just can't wait that long" she sobs even more. Maybe it's now tiredness? She did fall out of bed last night and then get up at 6am for school.
I feel like a bona-fide member of the bad mummies club.
It's strange really - when telling all my friends and family about moving here, they asked how I felt it may affect the children. "Oh, they'll be fine" I answered. "Ella at 3 is too young - I think she will be fine as long as the rest of us are here. Oliver perhaps, the more sensitive one, may find it a little more traumatic as he's grown very attached to some people." How wrong I have turned out to be. Oliver is having a whale of a time. He has a lovely friend, Nur Sofia, and seems to be making other friends by the day - his appetite is enormous, he loves school and his teacher is a wonderful lady - energetic, efficient and very caring. He also seems to be growing up more each day and for the most part, really looks after his little sister who bosses him around without a second thought. But Ella . . . . who knows quite what is going on inside that little head of hers?
As I type, she has passed out in bed - asleep with, hopefully, not a care in the world. Having said that, I still haven't had an apology for her being so rude before all of this started. Maybe, just maybe, she diverted me enough to feel sorry for her, that I let her get away with her rotten behaviour.
Oh dear, looks like I need to pay for another year's membership to the afore-mentioned club . . . .