You Gave Me Purpose


    Purpose. It’s funny to think but the power of purpose is often forgotten about. In our hectic days and manic lives, purpose can become lost or confused, hidden or overshadowed. Yet the power of purpose is phenomenal.
    Purpose drives us forward, pushes us to achieve. 
    Without purpose there’s simply no point. It’s the catalyst for our actions, the sole reason for why we do.

    For so long, I searched for purpose. I lived, I breathed, I existed. But nothing felt worthwhile, nothing felt meaningful. 
A life without purpose just isn’t fulfilling. You can carry out routine procedures but the joy behind it just isn’t felt. It’s sad, when you think about it, to consider that some people never recognise purpose. It’s sad to think that purpose can be so easily masked or mistaken. 

    I had no idea myself just how powerful purpose could be…until there were you!
When you entered my life, you revealed my purpose. I know that this sounds cheesy but I need you to know this. I need you to always remember that my purpose was you! 

    Having children is certainly life altering. There’s times everyday where I still feel so intensely overwhelmed by Motherhood, so intensely submerged. I’d love to say that this was always positive but it’s not. There’s times everyday where I need to say ‘I didn’t enjoy that’ and not be judged. I mean, who really wants to argue with a two year old in public? Who wants to feel undermined by a toddler, with little beady judgey eyes on show? Who wants to feel embarrassed and worthless? Throughout these trying moments, please never forget that I still find reassurance in my purpose.


    Throughout all the mania, there’s something so magical about it all! Something that makes it so outrageously worthy.

    Before your Brother arrived, my body had meant nothing. I’d overworked it, abused it. In an attempt to find purpose, I’d put it under immense duress to stay slim and slender. Your Brother taught me that being ‘skinny’ wasn’t my purpose. As my hips cracked to make way for his arrival, I accepted the full extent of my body’s purpose and worth. The purpose of my body was not to be viewed as beautiful, beauty lay in the roundness of my childbearing belly. The purpose of my body was to protect both you and your Brother – through childbirth and forever after. Your Brother taught me to love my body, to appreciate every curve. 

    Suddenly, I had purpose.


    I had purpose to live, to breathe, to take care of myself the best I could. The change in me began, I felt it from within. Unlike before, the most measly of tasks could supply pleasure. That feeing of pleasure made everything so worthwhile…late nights, early mornings, lack of sleep…all of it had purpose!

    When you arrived, it’s fair to say that I already had purpose but nothing could prepare me for how much more purposeful my life would become. 

    The day you nearly died, I realised my purpose was to make you stronger. Your strength was already admirable but I needed to teach you to WANT to survive. I knew that I needed to teach you to see how magnificent living could be. I needed to teach you that living would be worthwhile! I knew that this could only be accomplished by showing you all the wonders of life, to show you how to be a glass-half-full kind of person. I knew that my only way of succeeding in this would be to change my own mentality (this harder than I’d like to admit, I’ve too many people in my life who ridicule this outlook on living, too many people who’d rather focus on the negatives). 


    Suddenly, I had purpose to change.

     Then, the day we discovered you had cerebral palsy, I realised my purpose was also to champion you. Your determination was just as admirable as your strength but I knew that I needed to make you feel the extent of your worth. I realised immediately that I just couldn’t ever allow you to feel self conscious or doubt. The only way I’d succeed in doing this is to show you how to love yourself, that this also meant me having to love myself too (again, this is harder than I first imagined. For too long, I’ve listened to the listing of my flaws, the reasons as to why I shouldn’t). 


    Suddenly, I had purpose to accept myself for who I am.

     The day I heard that you may never walk, I realised that my purpose was to support you – both physically and mentally. If your own body won’t supply you the means to show you the world, then mine will. The purpose of my arms is to carry you wherever your heart desires. The purpose of my legs is to walk you wherever your feet want to travel. The purpose of my heart is to love you enough that you won’t feel hurt by the rejection of others. 

   Between you and your Brother, my life will never be short of purpose. Purpose to love you, protect you, guide you and direct you. Having purpose has given me more confidence and strength than I’ve ever felt before. There’s something so gratifying about knowing the importance of your existence. Never before have I felt so comfortable in myself, known what I deserve and what I don’t. 


   So, through all the hard times, the tears and the tests – I need you to know that I’m so grateful for my purpose. 

    Thank you for giving me purpose, thank you for making me a Mother, thank you for giving me the gift of watching you grow.

Love you – Mama 💕

I’m Raising a King


There was a time in History when men were chivalric and bold, romantic and loving. To win the heart of the fair lady they adored, they’d shower her with affection, smoulder her with emotion.
Somewhere along the timeline, things changed. It was no longer popular for men to bear their heart and soul. Men became afraid to demonstrate vulnerability and I suppose, Women stopped wanting them to.
When I was younger, I thought most men were typical ‘blokes’. Beer guzzling, football crazed, deep-voiced and unemotional species who cared more about Deadline Day than their Wedding Day. Of course, society told me that this was expected. Hell, society told boys too that this should be the way they acted. I’m not judging it (I’m really rather fond of the ‘bloke’ style) but now that I have you, I wonder if there’s some other way.
I’ve been the girl dating the ‘bloke’ (I am the woman married to the stereotype!) and although I still consider my Marriage to be perfectly healthy, I don’t want this for your wife. You’re better than this, you’ve far more to give.


At the moment, you’re two – two and incredibly tactile. From the moment you awake, to the moment you fall asleep – you crave love and affection. Between wild dinosaur adventures or high speed car chases, your arms are firmly stitched around my neck, your legs are perfectly curved around my waist. You’re not ‘needy’ for the attention, you don’t rely on it for comfort (actually, as far as I’m concerned, you’re magnificently independent). You do it because you’ve no shame in showing your emotions!


And I couldn’t be any more proud of that!
Your desire to display affection makes me beam and rejoice. I don’t yet need to show you how to be a perfect partner, a caring and empathetic man. You’re showing me that it’s built within your nature. My only worry is, how do I nurture this instinct and not let society strip it away? How do I encourage you to stay tactile and loving when society now tells me there’s an age limit on how long I can acceptably kiss you on the lips? The thought of which leaves me feeling mournful for the precious moments I’ll surely lose.


In your beautiful ways, you love to shower me with kisses. Recently, we seem to have a little system – you kiss my nose, my forehead, each eyelid then my lips. Each time, my heart bursts and I could cry with sheer love and joy for you. You tell me I’m beautiful, that I’m gorgeous and you love me. You won’t part unless you’ve kissed me good-bye, can’t sleep unless you’ve given your good-night kisses. These things, I hope never leave you in your lifetime. I want to know you’ll tell your wife you love her at every end of a phone call, won’t leave without making sure she feels the extent of your love. I want to know you won’t sleep on an argument, will kiss both your wife and your children to sleep each night.
Nothing would make me prouder!


Your tactile nature extends further than my direction. You’re loving with all the family, especially your sister. Although sibling rivalry will always be preset, there’s times when you’re so loving and caring that I can’t believe how lucky she is. You cuddle her in, snuggle up to her always. You comfort her when she cries, wipe the tears from her lids, stroke her hair when she’s upset and even sing to her. You’re always looking out for her, making sure she’s equal to you in every way, making sure she’s never treated unjustly. She already admires you and I completely know why! You’re not only her ally, you’re her biggest supporter and I know you’ll make sure she feels special – even when others judge her or make her feel weak. You don’t see a disability, you see someone that you love and I love you for that all the more!
You’re incredibly nurturing. Today, you’ve cared for me so gently. I’ve been feeling ill – you’ve stroked my head, rubbed my delicate tummy (you even rubbed sudocrem over my brow to ‘make me better’. I’m not entirely sure how warranted this was but it was incredibly touching). I saw how you put effort into fixing my ‘ouchies’. It made me proud just to know how you’ll always try your best to make the ones you love feel better.
Your affectionate ways already make you stand out amongst the crowd. On days out, you pick flowers for the girls, wrap your arms around the boys and show them you care for them. I can see already that your friends will feel appreciated, will never feel ashamed to tell you how badly they’re feeling. You’ll have a way of showing them that it’s okay to talk about emotions – even if they are men…or boys. In turn, I know you’ll never suffer in silence because you’ll always be brave enough to express what’s on your mind or in your heart. This reassures me that you’ll never feel lonely and your partner will never feel alone as well.


For a two-year-old, you have it totally right! I just hope I manage to make sure you always have the confidence to proudly be the sweet, strong, admirable person you already are. I hope you have the confidence to stand up to society’s pre-judged ideology of what a ‘man’ truly is.
At the moment, you’re every bit my prince but what makes me happiest is knowing, I’m raising a King!

You’ve Got This


     I’ve not always been noted for my positive outlook. I’m one of those highly strung people who never seem to balance their emotions (surprising considering I’m a Libra and meant to be wholly balanced). I’m either high or low, happy or sad, excited or miserable. My reaction to situations or circumstances is undeniably unpredictable – and by that – I mean that I can’t even predict which way I’ll handle somethings. 
     Since you were born, I’m definitely making progress here. 
     Before you, I could easily wallow when things didn’t go my way. I could sulk endlessly in a way which would make me quite unbearable to be around. I’d always focus on the negatives in any predicament. In my mind, it was my way of protecting myself. I deludedly thought that if I prepared for the worst, I wouldn’t feel as bad when it actually happened.
      Spontaneously (9 weeks early) you entered this world and immediately taught me that preparing for the worst could sometimes be unthinkable; that preparing for the worst could sometimes be unimaginable. 

     There was never a moment I allowed myself to believe that we’d lose you – even as we waited seven hours for the Doctors to stabilise your condition. Even as we followed the blue-lighted ambulance 30 miles South knowing there was every really possibility you wouldn’t be strong enough to survive the journey.
     Following your pneumothorax , the Doctors found themselves in unnerving territory – If they transferred you without being stabilised, you could die but if you stayed at Durham, you surely would.
     As they prepared us for this chance, I heard the words swish around in my mind but I couldn’t digest them. You seemed too super to die, too determined to give up. 
     At 23 hours old, you made me view the world differently.

     I was no longer looking out at the world from the shoulders of a Mother full of vulnerability and emotion. I was looking at it with more strength, composure and self-assurance than I’d ever felt before. I knew instinctively that in your moment of need, I would never let you down. I felt it in my heart that my own strength and conviction was needed to carry you forward. I knew instinctively that I’d always believe in your ability, never doubt your capabilities.
     Nearly two years later and I can’t thank you enough for the strength and positivity that you’ve taught me. 

     Your prematurity made barriers for you we’d never imagined. You’ve had so many obstacles to overcome. So many more fights to conquer than other children your age. Since your diagnosis with Cerebral Palsy, were realised just how many challenges you’ve actually had. Many of which you must have suffered silently for so long but your attitude towards overcoming every barrier is truly amazing.
     You’ve a zestiness that is utterly captivating and instantly contagious. Your passion to succeed is completely admirable. The way you handle your disability makes me feel so incredibly proud of you. Every doubt you’ve heard us utter has played on your mind, willed you to prove us wrong. 

     There hasn’t been one challenge thrown your way that you haven’t tackled with ease. Your blasé attitude and confident approach to overcoming your ailments has, on many occasions, given me insight and perspective. There have been many times I’ve worried about your condition. There have been many times I’ve wanted to cry inconsolably for fear of what your future may hold. There have been many times where I’ve wanted to focus on the negatives and prepare myself for the worst.
     But every time I do, you show me that there really is no need to.
     Today, you met another milestone, one I’d once thought I’d never see you do. You pulled yourself up into a sitting position! For so long, I waited for you to sit unaided. It wasn’t until you were 18 months that you eventually learnt to hold your own. This accomplishment felt massive and although I beamed with pride, a little part of me still focused on the fact that your sitting wasn’t natural. You could only hold your stance if you’d been positioned, the notion of sitting on your own hadn’t registered in your mind. Having cerebral palsy, I knew that this would always be your biggest barrier.

     Your brain doesn’t communicate to your limbs the way that it should. It doesn’t send signals intuitively. We’ve been told to prepare ourselves that it may never learn to send those messages. We’ve been told to prepare ourselves that you may never walk. Although I hear this warning, I can’t allow myself to believe it. Your progress today proves that you won’t be defeated.
     I see you progress so rapidly recently that I feel more and more excited for your future. There’s no goal unreachable to you, no target you won’t strive to achieve. That tenacious attitude of yours inspires me to be more like you. You don’t see the negatives, you don’t focus on failing – and that is what I love about you! 
     Thank you for showing me a different way to be, a more positive, more constructive, more enthusiastic way to be.
     You make me hopeful and incredibly proud – I’m more grateful for the strength you’ve show me and the way you guide me to being a better person.
      You’re my fighter, my Warrior Princess, my Dolly – my daughter! And you’re completely amazing. 

     You’ve got this!

Motherhood Made Me


Before I fell pregnant, I thought it was something that would only ever happen to ‘other’ people. I’d notice the grand gestured announcements on Facebook and feel as though it was never going to be my turn.
In truth, I have to admit that for a long time, I didn’t know whether I ever wanted it to be. A part of me would feel pathetically sad each month when my period arrived and yet, another part of me would rejoice and think ‘thank god, I can continue as I am’. I was a mixture of desperate to fall pregnant and desperate to remain the same.

I’d been in no rush until my periods started having a mind of their own. I’d go two weeks over my cycle and the wonder would start to kick in. ‘I must be pregnant’ I’d think. Then the show would come and I’d be left questioning why my periods were so out of tune.

 

After several blood tests, it was confirmed that my body wasn’t producing the right amount of hormones. Some months, my fertility was suddenly jeopardised and my ability to join Motherhood was threatened. Having the choice of whether I wanted children, had allowed me to take it for granted but the moment I was told I may not be able to, I instinctively knew I HAD to become a Mother.

 

In a bid to drown out my sorrow, I made myself as busy as possible. I distanced myself from my Husband so I didn’t have to admit that I might be a bigger failure than he even realised; so I didn’t have to admit that I wanted children more than we’d really discussed.

The issues surrounding my periods had almost tricked me too many times into believing this was the time I was pregnant. I started taking contraception again as a means of feeling as though I had some control over what was happening. Through packet breaks, I’d wait anxiously to see if my period arrived.

Mostly, it didn’t.

 
I was 9 weeks into the first trimester when I first realised I was pregnant. My Gran had warned me that I would know intuitively when I fell…I didn’t have a clue!

Days before I took the test, I’d ventured up coast with some of my closest friends. We’d joked over how I’d gained weight despite dieting strictly and upping my gym routine. Worryingly, it wasn’t just my stomach that was showing – I could no longer get a pair of knickers to fit comfortably (I later learnt that this was due to my pelvis widening to give way for childbirth). I’d made us stop a million times to pee and felt bizarrely nauseous every time I sipped soda water.

 
But it wasn’t until I nearly passed out at my Auntie’s funeral that I realised something was a miss.

 
I’d began to resent purchasing pregnancy tests – the singular pink line was just an insult to me and my failing body. This time, I felt blasé about it all. Suspecting the result would reinforce my inability to conceive, I headed off into a local supermarket toilet. I mean, why get sentimental about it all? The test was most likely going to end up in the sanitary bin along with my pride and hope.

 
Also, I was incredibly hungover and just wanted the whole scenario to be over as soon as possible.
What can I say? I froze with fear when the second pink line manifested right in front of my eyes. Instantly, I vomited (which could have been the effects of the shock or the hangover).

 
I felt sick because I knew I hadn’t been looking after myself like a pregnant woman should. I’d drank far too much, restricted my calorie intake and overworked my body in hope of shifting those piling pounds before my holiday (which was only two days away).

 
I felt sick because my ideal moment had taken place in a skanky cubicle toilet with no-one close to share in my joy and fear.

 
I felt sick because the surge of maternal instinct was powerful and intense. I could not lose my child, ever. The need to protect was overwhelming and immense.
That doubt over whether I’d ever wanted children vanished instantaneously. I’d never wanted anything more in all my life!

Becoming a Mother made me. It wasn’t until my Son arrived that I realised, I was lost beforehand. I’d struggled with who I was, with what I wanted out of life, with what I’d tolerate.


Motherhood made life clear. I wanted love and affection but not from those who didn’t deserve it. I wanted for me what I wanted for my children. I wanted happiness, fulfilment, joy and laughter.

I wanted meaning!

 
Motherhood made me value my worth. It suddenly became obvious to me how I needed to be treated…by others but mostly by myself. I found myself admiring my body and appreciating it in ways I’d never been able to before. My swollen postpartum stomach was worn with pride. My newly carved (and much wider) hips were beautiful and miraculous. I understood that if I put myself down, I’d only encourage my children to view their own flaws as negative or unattractive. I couldn’t entertain the thought that my own behaviour could be responsible for inflicting their own self-loathing in the future. Instead, I knew that I must instil confidence in them through displaying my own confidence outwardly.
I realised that I only needed the love of myself and my children. Anything above this was and is a bonus.

From the moment that second pink line appeared, I had changed. Changed in ways which made me whole and better.

 
Being a Mother has made me more patient, more tolerable, more kind and empathetic. It’s made me more confident, more assured, more certain and assertive.
It’s shown me how to be the best possible version of me and for that, I’ll always be grateful.
Grateful for the two amazing gifts I was granted.

I Hurt because I Don’t Know How to Fix Things


Ever since you arrived, I’ve had conflicting emotions between you and your Brother. I’m desperate to preserve his childhood, I watch him grow so swiftly that I want to pin him down and clutch on to his baby demeanour for as long as I physically can.
You, on the other hand, I’ve pressurised to grow.
Knowing you’ll be my last child, a part of me has passionately savoured the lengthy wait between each development. You’ve been my baby forever and I need you to know how much I’ve appreciated that. But still, I will you to grow.
The hardest part of your disability for me is the ‘not knowing’. We knew from birth that your brain bleed would leave permanent damage – it wasn’t until you turned 17 months that we learnt the extent of the trauma. 17 months of anxiety and doubt. I thought that once we had confirmation of the cause of your slow progress, I’d magnificently feel better but now knowing you have cerebral palsy leaves us with a new extent of uncertainty. 


There’s every real chance that we’ll never see you walk unaided, never watch you dance your 1st dance at your wedding, your Father may never be able to walk you down the aisle. This kills me! Especially because we’ll never know you won’t do this until you don’t. 
There’s a million moments each day which take me by surprise – I can look out the window at our neighbouring children chasing butterflies, with that wild tenacity young children have, and feel paralysed with dread that I may never be watching you join them. I can load up social media and see videos of children much younger than you climb slides or take their first step and feel sick to the pit of my gut that I may never share those moments for you. After all, it’s not for me that I want these opportunities – it’s very much for you.


You’re growing more mature now, you’ve started to realise you can’t join in. I see the frustration in your eyes, feel your heart ache with every glistening tear which rolls down your cheek. I spot the desperation in your mind to fit in, I watch you idolise other children, admiring their movements and itchy to copy. It’s that same will and desire which makes me feel more at ease.
You’re too determined to give in. You’re too strong to not conquer your hardships. 
More than ever, I’ve seen you transform recently. Our latest holiday was almost a catalyst for your growth – you decided to join the world of toddlerhood. Each night, the music would begin and your legs would spontaneously thrash out shapes, not too dissimilar to dance moves. Your arms would join in and your smile would radiate the space around you. Your laughter was infectious, captivating. You squealed until we took you to the dance floor, broke down if we tried to remove you from the fun. 


It was both mesmerising and incredibly hard in equal measures. Mesmerising because I’ve wished you to grow for so long that I almost couldn’t believe I was watching you do it! Hard because you harboured so much frustration and resentment at the lack of your own ability. Each night began with your untamed laughter but ended with your violent cries. 
This is why I will you to grow. 
As your Mother, I’ll always want you to succeed in everything your heart desires. I can’t handle listening to you scream because you want to run with your Brother. I can’t handle trying to settle you because you want to dance independently. Each head-but, each bite is confirmation as to how much you’re hurting. You thrash outwardly to make us identify with your pain. The thing is Dolly, I already feel it just as strongly as you do.
I hurt so much. I hurt because I don’t know how to fix things, don’t know how to get you to where you want to be.


All I can do is cuddle you, let you air your frustration and encourage you to succeed…even if this means picking you up after every single fail.
I’m proud to see you toddle, so grateful for the progress I see you make. You’re no longer my baby and I promise I won’t treat you as one, I won’t hold you back in ways that may be harmful to your development.
Together, we’ll do this. Together, we’ll make sure you have your moments…but if, somehow, we can’t – please remember that I’ll never ever give up on you. I’ve said before that I’ll carry you forever. If there ever comes a time I can’t carry you any longer, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you still succeed in everything your heart desires. I’ll push you, I’ll guide you, I’ll always support you.

I’ll Carry Her Forever


For as long as I’ve been a Mother, I’ve been completely honest about the guilt I’ve harboured. It’s taken shape in many a form, sought me out at some point every day.
Guilt has consumed me.

Two and a half years into my parental journey, I thought I’d learnt to tame it. Then…our world changed and I was thrust into a new, more intense and unreasonable state of guilt.

Siena was born prematurely at 31 weeks; it was her birth which triggered the most uncontrollable guilt I’d ever accosted. In the past nineteen months, I’ve encountered guilt about every aspect of her premature arrival. I’ve blamed myself continuously for her impatient entrance, convinced myself that ultimately I must have been to blame.


For a long time, I couldn’t imagine ever feeling at ease with the situation. Guilt had become a part of me – a constant reminder of my unforgivable failure as a Mother. It felt as though I’d never escape the reality of having a baby born too soon. The first year of her life was cluttered with hospital visits, stays and check-ups. It seemed that there was never very long between each date but we remained hopeful that life would eventually normalise.

When Siena was nine months old, I started to worry about her lack of physical development. Mentally, she’d shone. She’d showed signs of intelligence and astuteness but physically, she was weak. I felt guilty that it had taken me so long to spot the signs. I’d been happy to blame her slow development on laziness, always thinking ‘she’ll get there in her own time’.

Time passed and Siena remained unchanged. Deep down, I longed to live in the warmth of denial. I wasn’t ready to admit that there was something potentially very wrong.

Two days ago, she was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. I sat at her Paediatrician’s desk analysing the results of her brain scan. The damage to her brain was obvious. It highlighted the scan, unashamed and brash. There was no escaping the prognosis.


I’m not entirely sure I can even articulate the surge of emotions that consumed me as I peered at the white lines surrounding her brain matter. I’d known it was suspected but hearing it confirmed, paralysed me. For months, I’d fought away thoughts of ‘what if’, barricaded myself from the possibility. It seemed silly to worry myself over something that might never have been.

But there’s no longer a façade for me to hide behind.

Somewhere throughout her life, the unbearable guilt I’d once experienced had subsided. As Siena met other milestones, we’d cheered and admired her undeniable strength. Watching her transform from the tiny baby she once was to the fierce toddler before us, had, undoubtedly eased the onus I’d concealed beneath my armour. I hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility of its sharp and undignified return.

Here I am, almost twenty months after her birth, feeling guiltier than I ever have. What hurts more is accepting that this guilt will never go away.

At current, I can’t discard the feeling that this is my fault. My body should have been stronger. I should have waited longer between having children. My diet could have been healthier; I should never have forgotten to take folic acid tablets some nights. The iron my body couldn’t absorb, I should have increased it through nutritional rich foods. I shouldn’t have carried heavy objects, should have rested more and for longer. There’s a million ways I could have triggered Siena’s birth – a million regrets I have to live with each day.


If Siena can’t walk, I’ll feel guilty for inflicting disability upon her. If my own body hadn’t failed, her body wouldn’t have either (not that I see disability as a failure…I’m desperate to make sure I protect her from such views).

When she returns home from school crying that she’s been teased for being different, the guilt will kill me inside. I want her to have the confidence to understand that her condition doesn’t make her different. I want her to have the tenacity to educate those around her whose ignorance could hurt.

If Siena comes to me bearing heartbreak that the boy she fancies won’t return her feelings, my heart will shatter. I want her to see the beauty I see, to have the self-assurance and worth not to chase those who don’t deserve her heart.

I once said that I was desperate to chase fairies with her, I feel guilty that I no longer believe this might even be possible. I want to be positive for her, stronger than I’ve ever been but I also need to accept that the stark reality of her future may not allow this. Like every Mother, I had dreams and ambitions for her -I had a preconceived vision of how her life would pan out. Right now, I no longer know what to dream. I don’t want to set unrealistic aspirations which may pressurise her but I don’t want to sound like I’m giving up on her either. I’ll never give up on her!


I’m frantic for her to know that I’ll never let her fail. I have to believe that she’ll be capable of achieving whatever she sets her heart upon. I’ll be there beside her to push her and guide her as much as I can. I won’t let her feel vulnerable by her condition; I won’t let her wallow in unnecessary self-pity.

I’ll carry her burdens so that she doesn’t have to. I’ll carry her worries and anxieties so that she can be free from doubt. I’ll carry her troubles to ease the weight on her shoulders and if she can’t walk, I’ll carry her through life – wherever she desires.


Cerebral Palsy will not define her, shape her, mould her or restrict her…it may be an additional challenge but we’ll conquer it together. Of that, I’m sure.


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A Mother’s Guide to a Good Bribe

“I’ll let you watch Finding Nemo for the 3rd time today if you eat your tea”


Bribery – a bargaining tool, a godsend or a self-inflicting torture device. No matter what age your child is, undoubtedly at some point, bribery will be your only gameplan.
Over the past two years, bribery has featured heavily in my mothering techniques. At times, I’ve immediately regretted this decision. At others, I’ve been incredibly grateful for such winning little tricks.

As awesome as a bribe may be, there’s a definite dark side. A bribe can be a gamble – it’ll either pay off dividends or cause you so much more hassle in the long run.

With that in mind, here’s five tips to the good bribe.

1) Be Consistent

With most toddlers, consistency is paramount…when it comes to discipline, rewards and bribery! Your toddler will suss out pretty quickly whether it’s worth taking the bait. If he or she feels as though your bribes are flakey, they’ll be less likely to see the advantage of taking it. Never offer a bribe which you have no intention of honouring. Remember the boy who cried wolf? Well, when the wolf arrived no-one took him seriously and this is exactly what will happen. The one time you need your child to accept a bribe, they’ll be thinking ‘yeah right, you said that last time and I’m still waiting for a month’s supply of Milky Bar’. 

Not my finest bribe “Finish your tea and I’ll let you have a chocolate pot”


This brings me nicely to my next point.

2). Don’t make unrealistic bribes

A bribe is a delicious little gift to help you through your day with more ease…or silence. It’s main purpose is to aid you not hinder you. If you offer unrealistic bribes, you may be at risk of making more work for yourself. For instance, don’t offer a bribe which will cost you money, time or patience. Be resourceful! If you suggest to your child that you’ll take them to the park for a run around, this could be a lovely concept but have you time today to fulfil this? Were you intending on taking them already or did you have other plans that you’ll now need to change? If so, you haven’t won…you’ve definitely lost the battle however sweet the victory felt when the bait was bitten. 

“We’ll take you to Beamish if you put your shoes on real quick” score – we were going anyway

 
3). Choose your bribes wisely

A packet of crisps may not be part of a stable diet but without doubt, they are adored by toddlers all over the world. Personally, I’d rather offer crisps as a bribe over chocolate or cake. In saying that, some crisps are not worth the bother. Take a Cheesy Wotsit, the golden puffs of wheat can be a delicious treat but the residue they leave behind will stain everything in their path. A pombear will fulfil the brief without half the mess. Fruit can be an even better offering (especially if you’re luckier to have one of those delightful souls who enjoy it) but once again, choose fruits which are self efficient and easy to prepare. 

The banana – little mess, cheap and full of goodness

4). Time your bribes 

Picture this, it’s a Saturday morning. You’ve been up since 5 am and just want five minutes peace and quiet. It feels like the ideal time to thrash out the promise of a Disney film. You’ll be able to recuperate and even enjoy a warm cup of tea…but are you desperate? Dropping the bribe too soon could be detrimental in the  long run. Wait until you’re completely flagging, that way, it will feel ever more sweet. Mainly, my bribes are timed with deadlines ‘if you get in your car seat, I’ll put the nursery rhymes on for you’ is one I use religiously when in a rush to get out of the house. Bribes have saved my not-so-little behind on several occasions when tardiness isn’t an option.

“One chocolate but then you have to go straight to bed”


My last piece of advice is:

5). Don’t rely heavily on bribery.

Yes, bribery done well is an absolute art form but overusing it can devalue the impact. Utilise bribery in a way which asserts your power and control over your child. Relying too heavily on bribes will reveal a weakness to your toddler and let’s face it, toddlers are like a pack of wolves, they sniff out weakness and use it to their own seedy advantage. They’ll become expectant of a bribe and will eventually learn to play you at your own game. We are all owned by our children – bribery is our one chance to have the upper hand.


I can’t promise that following these tips will transform your journey but I’m pretty sure they’ll help conquer bribery to a tremendous degree.

Enjoy and bribe well xx


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