I gaze down at the tiny girl, almost swamped by her own curly hair and feel her fingers wound around my forefinger like a boa constrictor.  She peers up at me, her eyes twinkling with wonder.

Just as I’m about to make some bland small talk about a leaf or something…

“You’re my mummy” she says, her eyes locked unwaveringly on mine; a huge grin spreading across her face like the sun rising over the horizon,

I nod gently as tears of joy spring to my eyes. Speechless.

A Wish Come True

She’d wanted a mummy and here I am; her wish come true.

For the last week, she has looked at our photos and watched the video we sent every tea time. She knows who I am.

I can’t quite believe it (I might be in shock).

You’re My Mummy

Maybe she reads the doubt etched on my face.  Or maybe she is so thrilled that once is not enough.

“You’re mummy, you’re my mummy, you’re my Mummy”

Overnight I’ve become a mummy to two children.  Children I met just ten minutes ago. Despite all the preparation, the interviews, the training, the gradual disclosure of information since matching, I don’t feel like her mummy, I feel like a fraud.

“You’re my mummy”

How long will it be, before I feel like her mummy, until you could cut me in two and see Mummy painted inside like Blackpool through rock?

How long was it before you felt like their mummy?