She wanders out to the kitchen, a look of urgency on her face.
“You take me” she directs,
“you take me to the hospital”.
“Why?” I ask.
She rushes down the hallway and I follow. She has picked up her Dorothy the Dinosaur handbag and starts to pack it.
A plastic mobile phone, a pair of undies (important when you are still in nappies), a drink bottle and “Catty”.
It’s always serious when the Dorothy bag comes out.
So I ask her again, where we are going and she cups my face in her little hands, looks earnestly into my eyes and tells me…
“Take to hospital, Mummy”.
I am starting to worry. Perhaps she knows something that I haven’t picked up on, maybe she is sick.
“Why are we going to the hospital, bubba?” I ask.
” Because *M’s* there, I luff* him. I live with him, he make me feel so betterbetter”.
My sigh is huge.
She is not sick.
Well, she is,
just a bit.
Love sick.
*M* - paediatrician
*luff is an Ivy - ism for love.
