The girl in the bubble

Big likes the bubble. The bubble is safe. The bubble is routine. The bubble is familiar food. The bubble is me, Little and her and Daddy coming home at teatime.

Big does not like it when the bubble pops. When she has to visit the ‘big playground’. When she has a birthday. When her daddy has toil and finishes work early enough to come and watch her at football.

But the bubble keeps popping. For many reasons. One of which is that it is so intensely hard to stop it from doing. As much as I would like, I cannot help everything that happens. Some things just happen. She will get poorly, she will lose a tooth, she will move to Primary 1.

Living in the bubble is hard. It means that it falls to me to make sure that I minimise the fallout. It’s hard to explain to people about the bubble. The bubble doesn’t mean that I don’t want help, it’s just that the help that I need might be different to what they want to give. I would like people to make a cup of tea. I would like people to load the dishwasher. I would like people to play with the girls in the house, while I hang the washing up so that I don’t have to do it with them round my legs. I need people to be with the girls when I’m there, I don’t need people to take the girls away because actually, this pops the bubble with an almighty pop and at the moment we’re just not ready for it.*

It’s about understanding what’s best for the both the girls and that trusting me when I say that sometimes going to the Post Office is too much and could you just understand that it might take a while. Or understanding that I can’t stop and talk in the street because Big can’t manage it. Or understanding that sometimes, when there are lots of people in the house, I will take the girls somewhere quiet, because after nearly two years, I can tell when they need it.

And it’s also a bit selfish because when the bubble is intact, everything is a little bit easier. When there is a pop, everything gets harder for all of us.

Big went to visit the ‘big playground’ today while the rest of the school were playing on it. I didn’t know this was happening, nursery didn’t fill in the home/school book today and obviously Big didn’t tell me. I had to work this out. And I did work it out, it’s just that it took me until half past two and by that point everything was ‘not good’.

I like the bubble too. The bubble is safe. The bubble is happy (ish). The bubble is being able to do things and it being okay. But we cannot live inside the bubble so I need to find ways to keep handling things. And keep trying to help my wee girl live out of it.

*Some people do get the bubble. Some people help lots.

The best bits

We went to see the deer again this weekend. Spike came to see us, minus his antlers and the girls gave him a wee tickle. Was lovely to see them being brave.

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In and amongst the carnage that was today, we went to the beach. Little has a heart shaped bucket and she made a heart sandcastle for ‘me and Big and Mummy and Daddy. Because I love you all!’ She makes me realise what it means to feel love.

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4 thoughts on “The girl in the bubble

  1. I know this bubble well!! Here, I am the bubble, and so long as I continue to be there and be predictable in a bubble kind of way, things bubble along nicely!

    I totally get this 🙂

    Like

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