“I could feel it coming for three days prior to the meltdown. There was a slight lag in her step, an insistence on just one more hug/kiss/check each night, and an ever so slightly quieter tone in her voice. She wasn’t herself.
She was holding it in, waiting for the right moment to come along. I resisted the urge push, to try to help her get those feelings out just a little bit faster.
I held her hand every second. I read to her as much as I could. And I snuggled up with her whenever she felt the urge.
Safety, for my daughter, comes in the form of snuggling in her bed, under her blankets, with her mommy. Safety, for my daughter, means whispered conversations while holding on tight. Safety means never ever letting go.
“I don’t want to turn 5. I’m afraid everything will change. I like it the way it is.”
My heart skipped a beat while tears formed in the very corners of my eyes.
I want you to stay small too, I whispered, only in my mind…”