Today, it’s been raining. Not a Costa Rican style tropical downpour which overwhelms the gutters, makes conversation impossible, and cuts the power. Nor yet an icy Vancouver rain that pounds on for days turning the whole world grey and featureless. But still a pretty impressive rain, coming straight down in fat drops, making it difficult to see out of the car as I drove in to collect Petra from kindy.

When I arrived, all the children were sitting on the floor waiting for story time. Petra scrambled over bodies yelling, “I’ve got to see my mum,” so that she could get to me for her hug and kiss. We have a greeting ritual – I pick her up, she wraps her arms round my neck and kisses me, then she slides down to the floor and carries on about her business.

She’s a very tactile, cuddly little girl. When we were in Dunedin, she would pause her games to hug her cousins or her grandmother. And when she sat next to anyone she put an arm around their neck. At home, she comes over to sit on my knee or give me a kiss or snuggle against my legs, then leaves to continue with whatever she’s doing. And she still puts her hands down my top or down my back when we curl up together. She sleeps with one arm thrust down the Travis’s back, hand rubbing against his skin, and missed him in Dunedin. Apparently, the bed just wasn’t as cosy without Daddy’s back and she wasn’t happy about it.

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