Someone once said that the essence of being a mother is to have your heart broken and glued back together again a million times a day. Or perhaps I just made that up on the spot, I don’t know.
But anyhow. Today I had my heart broken into a thousand tiny little pieces.
This is the culprit:
My lovely n°2.
She is my baby. My tiny perfect, funny, adorable baby. And that is what I have always called her : Babygirl. She is my Babygirl. My youngest child, my precious, my little bundle of joy.
I called her Babygirl from the moment she was born and she has always responded enthusiastically when I called her that, with a hug and kiss, because – young as she may be – she understands that she is indeed mama’s baby.
Until this morning.
This morning she broke my heart.
When I dressed her and asked: ‘what does my Babygirl want to wear today?’ (She may not yet be two but that child has a fashion sense to rival Alexa Chung’s) instead of the usual ‘skirty’ I got : ‘No mama, not Babygirl. Girl’.
* blink blink*
‘Are you not mama’s Babygirl?’
* My heart breaks. It sound a bit like the shattering sound of a thousand fine Venetian crystal goblets breaking at once*
And with that she used the magical superglue that is a toddler hug and kiss and my heart was mended again.
Until tomorrow morning of course, then she’ll probably sledgehammer it into the ground by declaring that she prefers her papa.