One of the hardest decisions of my life was deciding to leave my birth country. The country I grew up in, and had lived in for 22 years - the country where most of my family live, the country that I met the love of my life, and the country in which my little boy was born.
I have lived away from my family now for two and a half years, and while most of the visits end in very teary goodbyes, this last visit had to be THE worst. Don't get me wrong, the visit was amazing and full of very extraordinary memories, including a family photo shoot - but the goodbye was heart-breaking.
My little boy is three years old now (a very special age). He is at the age where he makes amazing connections with people, can hold a relatively good conversation and has a very distinctive way of making people feel important and loved. He has most people wrapped quite tightly around his little fingers.
My parents, who come across to visit us relatively often, have just been over - as I said in the last post (they flew to the US, and stopped over in the UK). My dad and my son were so connected, it was as though they were one soul living in two seperate bodies - truly very special to watch.
This all came to a rather heart-wrenching end, the minute the taxi arrived to take them to the airport. We had obviously worked my son up for the farewell - but the minute we told him he'd have to say goodbye, he broke down. He cried from deep within his little heart, and it broke my heart - his first heart-break. Needless to say it was the worst farewell I have ever had to witness.
While it is so lovely to be able to live in another country, there is nothing more lonely than living so far away from your family.
We Skype-d them tonight, and my little boy was back to his happy little self, quite content that granny and grampa were back on the other side of the computer. We were really worried how he would take seeing them again.
Hope you have a lovely Friday tomorrow, and an awesome weekend!
Love Kalli x
