Isn’t it funny how listening to your children’s innocent conversations can hurt your heart without them even knowing…..
Driving along with all five babies and Betsy points out out the window to Tallulah her friend and her mum….
Tallulah “It isn’t her mum, I told you, it’s her foster mum, she isn’t allowed to see her real mum anymore”.
The others are curious & ask her why….
“She told us that when she was little she used to see her mummy giving herself medicine injections in her arms and legs…like we all have at the Doctors, but this isn’t the good medicine we have, it’s bad medicine that made her mummy fall asleep all the time then be nasty when she woke up so she couldn’t look after her anymore because she forgot to make her tea and take her to school”.
I then have the job of answering all their questions about the medicine her mums injecting…whether I’m ever going to need to have it… if they’ll go without dinner…they want reassurance this child is still being loved and they want to know who by…
And I do this, without removing my sunglasses so they can’t see the tears in my eyes – and I keep the radio turned up so they don’t hear my voice break…yet as soon as Josh walks in from work and we’re alone I ask him all the same questions that they asked me because although they got that reassurance from me I now need it from him, because my head doesn’t understand and my heart feels broken for this little girl and how she will survive after what she’s had to witness & endure, how her foster and perhaps adoptive parents will cope with what they know about her situation and then I wonder what you must have gone through as a parent to get to a point where injecting a needle of drugs into your limbs takes priority over making your baby her dinner.