The sweetest day

I am as rigid as a cadaver with rigor mortis set in.

I am an icicle.

Cheeks is a popsicle.

And Dee? Well, let's see.

Here he is - a picture of frost - wearing Danielle's balaclava, demonstrating how very cold it has been.

It has been, a very VERY cold January.

Inside the house, my crimson ponsiettas stand withering in their pots. I've started taking down the Christmas decorations - our little Christmas tree is packed, along with all the ornaments my MIL bought from Daiso, into a TESCO plastic bag. The party streamers have been rolled up and silver tinsel plucked from off the carpet floor.

I am finally ready to store away Christmas.

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Tonight I saw a woman bury her husband. On TV. The scene was so devastatingly painful it pierced my heart in more ways than I could ever imagine.

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But enough about finales and farewells.

Cheeks said the sweetest things to me at bedtime today.

As I tucked her under her duvet, calming her day down with a couple of bedtime stories, she turned to look at me and in all earnestness uttered, ' I feel safe with you, Mummy'.

She then interlocked her fingers with mine and whispered, ' Let's hold hands and close our eyes at the same time.'

As we lay in bed, side-by-side, with our hands clasped, I muttered softly in her ear, 'If Mummy is not here when you wake up, it's not because Mummy doesn't love you. It's because you're a big girl now and need to learn to sleep on your own.'

Wherein she replied, ' I want to be your little girl then.'

As her eyelids began to droop, her soft chattering replaced by gentle snores, I hugged her tight and offered her this assurance - You will always be my little girl, Cheeky. Always and forever.

Then I left her, alone in her bed, safe with the knowledge that I must be doing something good, up till this point, to deserve the sweet, sweet love of my child.