Family Placement Worker visits

As Peanut spends half the week at her dad's, Very Lovely Family Placement Worker has not yet managed to catch up with her since we adopted Peaches three weeks ago, and so requested that Peanut be present when she called round this afternoon. It not being my usual day to have Peanut, I arranged that she could come home and then get the bus to her dad's later. I waited with Peaches outside school, and Pasta came out promptly with her class and teacher as usual, scanned the crowd of waiting parents for my ridiculous sunhat and came rushing over. Peanut, however, kept us waiting for a quarter of an hour, and sauntered out when and only when she had kept all the necessary social engagements between the classroom and the bottom of the stairs which only eleven year old girls understand and are privy to.
The girls' stomachs dictated that we stop off at the local baker's for the required carbohydrate fix, while 3 horrible old not-low-floor buses rumbled past (I will have to rant about this another time); luckily, we were able to catch a kneeler and arrive home at the allotted time for VLFPW's visit.
Peaches, on arrival, was found to have almost finished the apple she started shredding this morning, and needed a good dust down before we entered the house. A later inspection of her nappy would reveal several shreds of apple skin therein (which had not made the journey through her alimentary canal). I suppose the same thing must happen when she eats bread or rusks - a certain proportion finds its way into the far reaches of her underwear. How uncomfortable must that be, having crumbs in your knickers? No wonder babies sometimes cry for no apparent reason!
VLFPW came and sat at the table with us while we ate toast (yes, more carbohydrates). She asked Peanut how she was finding life with Peaches. Peanut was not quite monosyllabic, but I was a little taken aback at her apparent reticence. Yes, everything was fine, yes she loved having Peaches around, no, life was not the same any more, no, she did not have the same amount of attention from her mum, but yes, she would get used to this and it was also fine. I have to remember that when I was being assessed for this adoption, I was obliged to tell VLFPW that Peanut was less than enthusiastic about the whole endeavour. She, Peanut, had been 6 when we adopted Pasta, and she remembered what it felt like making the transition from adored only child to adored child who now had a usurper in her space at mum's house, and who, horror of horrors, was actually still there in her space even when she was at her dad's. Peanut initially remembered this trauma, and had thought that things were okay the way they were, and protested long and hard against me adopting again. Eventually, with much persuasion, explanation and working through, she was won over. I think today, her uncharacteristic reserve was influenced by her memory of how she felt then, and maybe the realisation that although she was wrong to have been so worried, maybe some of her fears may not have been totally unfounded.
Pasta spent the whole half hour of VLFPW's visit trying to make herself heard. She is used to this, as she has speech therapy for her difficulties with pronunciation and syntax (more on this too at a later date), but I think today was just ordinary rivalry for attention. She resorted to trying to show VLFPW how she could get Peaches to perform the whole repertoire of her tricks, which includes tongue clicking, raspberries, and simple mimicry.
Later on when Pasta and Peaches were in bed, Peanut phoned me from her dad's to say she felt like she was about to cry, and she didn't know why. She very rarely does this. (Now, nine years after I was separated from her for half the week, I am usually able to put my own feelings about not having her here always to one side; time does marvellous/sinister things.) She said she didn't feel tired, and couldn't get to sleep and she thought it was excitement about just having had a birthday! It's lovely that she phones me, and that we could talk about hormones and hot drinks, and warm baths with lavender, and reading 'til she falls asleep.
I wonder will she still phone me next year, the year after? Will she still phone me when she's at university, when she's abroad, when she's feeling like she might cry?
I don't want to know the answers, and I don't want to think about it.