A sad day

We've just come back from a long weekend in Amsterdam, and I was mentally preparing a very chatty post about it when disaster struck on the way back.

Two stops from home - and we'd been on a train for 8 hours - Emma was grumpy (as I say, we'd been on a train for 8 hours) and I did a casual hunt for Monkey to calm her down.

Let me backtrack a moment: anyone who has ever met Emma has also met Monkey. To most of the questions in Emma's life, Monkey is the answer. Tired? Monkey. Teething? Monkey. He has been her companion at every single bed and nap time since she was born.

I last saw her idly holding Monkey's hand by the train door as people were getting off at Biel/Bienne station. I actually thought to myself "it would be awful if he fell out now." Less than 10 minutes later, it became apparent that he was missing from the train. Did he jump? Did he fall? Was he pushed? Was he enraptured up to the big banana plantation in the sky?

Like idiots, we never got round to buying a duplicate. We saw an identical Monkey in a shop once, and waved it in E's face going "look who it is!" - and she saw through the duplicity straight away. Of course he wasn't Monkey: he was much too fluffy, didn't smell and didn't crackle with 2 years' worth of baby body fluids clogging up fur. (I think he made it to the washing machine only 3 or 4 times, but please: no hygiene lectures. I'm grieving.) I knew the risks of him getting lost were great, so he was never allowed to leave the house unless we were staying overnight.

I cried all the way home. "Mummy crying!" said Emma, which made Mummy cry some more. R explained to her that Monkey had gone on holiday and he was unlikely to be back. As we walked back to our flat, I imagined a large part of her little world falling apart and having to deal with loss for the first time and my heart broke for her. Plus he was a very sweet little toy, a present from the matron on my old ward when I went on maternity leave. A job that I thought I'd go back to, but now won't.

We ate with heavy hearts, dreading the Monkeyless bed time routine. I fed Glorymouse while R put Emma to bed. "Would you like to sleep with doggy/teddy/Sean the Scorpion?" (Sean might actually be a lobster, we're not sure.) One by one, each replacement animal was thrown from the cot. Emma whimpered "Monkey!" two or three times. Then she started playing with a small, plastic lion and chatting to herself. And now she's asleep. No tears, no trauma. At least not for her.

So there you go: adaptable little so-and-so's, kids, more than we give them credit for.

But I haven't given up on Monkey quite yet. I am phoning the station tomorrow, and will keep you posted.