I would never have thought of something so simple. The best thing? The aprons are wax-coated and can be wiped clean.
I think bringing Emma into our lives may well be the best decision I’ve ever made. She’s aforce of nature, with a sparkling wit and a kind heart. Just one more thing I can thank Corey for.
***
The next day, when it’s just me and my daughter, I’m bathing her before bedtime. She looks up at me with her big doe eyes, a beautiful shade of light blue I wouldn’t usually expect from a child with such dark brown hair.
“What’s up, sugar plum?” I ask. “Close your eyes.” I pour the jug of bathwater over her sudsy hair as she leans back, eyes scrunched shut so tight, her whole face looks different. I chuckle to myself and shake my head.
“Daddy,” she sputters before realising it’s best to just wait a second to speak. When the suds from her strawberry shampoo are gone, she wipes her face with her Bluey face cloth, before pinning me with her ‘I mean business’ stare. “Do you love Bunny?”
I’m taken aback, once again, by her. We don’t hide our affection around her, but she’s never outright addressed it in any way other than telling us that we’re unhygienic, kissing in the kitchen.
“I do love Bunny. Very much. Is that OK?”
“Do you still love me?” My heart cracks.
“Of course I do. Come on, out you get, and let’s get cosy and chat, hmm?”
She nods her head and gets out of the bath without argument, a miracle in and of itself for my little water baby. I get her dry, put on some talcum powder to make sure she’s comfy, and then pull on her pyjamas. These ones are pink, with red lettering on the T-shirt that says ‘girls just wanna have fun (-damental rights)’. A gift from Wren that my daughter is obsessed with.
She brushes her teeth, and then I brush her teeth properly, and then I tuck her into her bed.
“OK, now, Sweetheart, why did you ask me that?”
“Well, you love me, but then you said you love Bunny, too, and what if you run out of love? I’m only little, and Bunny is big. I need it more.” Her eyes are watery, and the fact that she’s questioning my love for her is breaking my heart in two.
“Sweetheart, I love you the most most, out of anyone. You are the very tip top of my important list, OK?” I need her to understand this one salient point before I can tackle anything else. She holds my gaze as though assessing the truth in my eyes. Before nodding slightly.
“OK, Daddy.” Her chin wobbles, and I know she doesn’t truly believe me. This is one of those times where she is saying what she thinks I want her to say, rather than what she necessarily truly believes or understands.
“Listen to me, baby girl.” I shift position and hold my arms out to her. She rushes to disentangle herself from her blanket cocoon and leaps into my arms, clearly in need of comfort. I lean against the wall, sideways on her bed, and hold her small body to mine. “There are lots of different kinds of love. There’s the way you love family, the way you love friends, the way you love certain books, or Bluey” – she giggles at that – “the way you love chocolate Hobnobs.” I tickle her belly at the mention of her favourite biscuits, and she squeaks with delight. Her body relaxes, and I continue. “And all these different types of love look slightly different, but they’re all important. The way I love Bunny is called romantic love, and it’s what boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, and wives feel for each other.” I’m simplifying, I know, but I can’t think of another way to tackle this. To make her understand.
“Like Bandit and Chilli?” she asks, referring to, who else, Bluey’s parents.
“Exactly,” I confirm. “But the way I loveyou, the love a mummy or daddy has for their child is very, very special. It’s different from all the other types of love. And for me, the way I love you, it’s the most special, and it lasts forever. Does that make sense?”
“Even if…” she hesitates.
“Even if what, sweetheart?”
“Even if I’m ’dopted?”
I will never cease to be amazed by how aware ‘looked-after’ children are of their situation. The children living in foster care that I’ve met in my career have been almost painfully knowledgeable about the system in which they’ve been placed. It’s heartbreaking because their experiences vary as much as their backgrounds, and not every placement is successful. Despite the ups and downs we experienced as she was settling in, overall, Nancy and I have been immensely fortunate with how well ours has gone, a testament to the hard work of people like Abigail and incredible foster carers like Drew and Caitlin, who Nancy still sees regularly.
“I think for us, it’s especially because you’re adopted. I always wanted to be a daddy, but it took me a long time to be able to. And you, my precious girl, are the most important person in my life. You made me a daddy, and I love youso much.” I squeeze her tight to me while she’s quiet, clearly thinking things over in her mind.
“OK,” she says, then kisses my chin, clambers off me, and snuggles back into bed. I’m shell-shocked at her quick turnaround, but decide she may still need some time to process what I’ve said. “Can Bunny come and read me a story, please, Daddy?”
Corey and Emma were having dinner together tonight for the first time since they moved here, and I really don’t want to intrude, but I also worry that Nancy may be feeling a little bit insecure about my relationship with him and may need some reassurance from him, too.
“I can ask if he’s free, OK?” She nods, and I pull out my phone. When I explain the situation, he tells me he’ll be right over. True to his word, not three minutes later, there’s a soft knock downstairs on the front door. Nancy allows me to leave her room just long enough to send Corey up.
“Just Bunny, Daddy?”
“OK, sweetheart. I’ll be up to say night-night when you’ve had your story.” I press a kiss to her forehead and head downstairs to let Corey in.
As soon as I open the door, he takes onelook at my face and wraps me in his arms.
