I'm lucky, I do only occassionally lose the plot and even then not too drastically. I don't know why that is and I'm sometimes not sure it's a good thing. I think perhaps it's because I'm lucky enough to have another 2 children who need me. I sometimes wonder if it's because I didn't love Monkey enough and I have to remind myself that the only thing I was certain of when he died is that I couldn't possibly have loved him any more than I did. Maybe I'm just built that way. Perhaps we all are a bit - maybe it's just survival.
Whatever it is, Friday (for me) was a 'losing it' day. Which basically means crying intermittently at the little things.
Driving boys to nursery, Pickle and I are discussing Christmas and for the first time I explain to him how lucky we are and how there are lots of children who won't get toys for Christmas and who actually just need food, water and clothes. He offfers to give them some of his. Cue disproportionate tears.
We arrive at nursery. Pickle is deposited in the hut. I take Wotsit to his room. Just as I'm leaving he trips (whilst reaching to snatch a toy from an unsuspecting child) and lands head first on the pointy roof of said toy. He's a tough nut but this definitely hurts. One of the girls starts to comfort him and I intervene. I find a rocking chair, we cuddle and he starts to settle. There is Christmas music playing in the background and an occassional whimper. Cue more tears (mine). I eventually extricate myself (still crying) and convince the girls I'm fine. I think they get that I'm not overreacting to Wotsit's bump and maybe understand there's a bit more at play but I'm not sure. And I don't mind.
I confess my tears to a couple of friends at work so they are suitably warned, just in case. And as a result get at least 2 cups of tea and some chocolate to help the day along. But I'm actually fine, keep vey busy and have little time (zero) to dwell.
I collect the boys from nursery and I wonder if someone has told them how I'm feeling as they are reasonably angelic at bath time. I manage to get them to bed with no tears (mine or theirs).
I phone my friend who is moving home the next day and am unprepared for the tears that follow as I realise I won't visit her old house again and how many memories there are of Monkey there. She is the friend most likely to cry with me but (in a nice way) has no time as she still has a million boxes to pack...
And I am fine.