A little man

My heart broke this morning.
For a couple of days now there’s been a little boy who doesn’t want to leave the person dropping him off, who is his nanny, as in carer, not grandma.
He holds onto her neck for dear life, his skinny little boy legs dangling from the bottom of his shorts, goosepimpled in the 10 degree weather. He’s not crying – is he past crying he’s so upset? It could also be a game he plays, I don’t know any of them well enough.
"His mum’s away… She’s going away for weeks soon… Resort... Several marriages, two handful’s worth of kids and wanting even more...."
These all paint a picture which it is very easy to judge. I'm trying my darndest not to because who’s to say the way we’re raising our children is not breaking their hearts, or that this little man will turn out to be a got-it-completely-together, caring man of the church and ours will be jailbirds.  No book says what I'm doing is right, no book says what she's doing is wrong.  My own mistakes are obvious and all the time.
But simply the sight of him clinging to someone 20 years old and saying he misses mummy makes me want to wrap him up and bring him home to my warm house for some lamb chops, a snuggly blanket and some ABC TV on the lounge with our boys and I'll be his mummy for a couple of days.
Just can’t shake the feeling.

No comments:

Post a Comment