We meet you tomorrow my darling.
You must feel terrified and confused and angry and lonely. So lonely.
We’re here. We’re thinking of you. Wishing we could scoop you up tonight and tuck you in and kiss you goodnight. But it’s another Mother’s job tonight.
We’re going to be rubbish tomorrow, but my god we’re going to try our best for you, my darling.
People keep telling me that you are lucky to have us, but I think it is us that are the lucky ones. Because of your trauma, you have fallen into our care. There certainly is nothing lucky about that.
We are the lucky ones because we get to love you.
It’s a strange thing, falling in love with pieces of paper. I don’t know your face or your name. But I feel responsible and protective somehow.
A mothers love, I guess.
Even if you never call me Mum, you are going to make me a Mother tomorrow, and for that I can never thank you enough.
Until tomorrow my darling.
Things will be different tomorrow. I promise.