The Uncomfortably Familiar Surrounding of the Hospital Ward No Longer Sits Well With Me.


The moment you arrived in this world, those nine weeks prematurely, was the moment I knew our journey was going to be jaggered. 

Your Brother had done very little to prepare us for a poorly child, he’d not once been ill in the 9 months prior to your birth. We left ward 10 of UHND skipping with positivity, marvelling in the miracle of life. Only to return somewhat nine months later anticipating your eager arrival. The car journey to hospital with your brother was full of excitement and readiness – and even though he arrived three weeks early, we were both mentally and physically prepared. My pregnancy APP had told me that he was officially ‘full term’ and had done all the growing and developing he’d need to in my womb. The car journey second time round was not so clear cut. The feelings we experienced were completely worlds apart! With you, there was so much to fear, so much at stake of losing. We were told there was a chance you wouldn’t survive and although we were compelled not to believe this would be our reality, we couldn’t deny that this could be our truth. 


It took 5 weeks before we could skip down the corridor, focusing positively on your future. 5 weeks of getting to witness just how miraculous growing life could be. We physically saw your eyes unpeel, your lungs grow stronger. In a conflicting sort of way, it was a privilege to see.  Once those 5 weeks were over, we had visions of plain sailing from then on out, to wave goodbye to UHND once and for all. We had visions of routine check-ups going exactly as the should…no hiccups, no complications, no more reasons to worry.

I wished for this so much.

Your 1st Year of life saw us returning to hospital almost as much as we were away. Your lungs just didn’t seem ready to cope with any common childhood bug you encountered. I spent many nights watching the sats machine, praying you’d turn a corner. I sat in the darkness of the hospital room, feeling all too uncomfortably familiar within my surroundings. The smells, the noises, the chaos and commotion just felt so much like the beginning of your life. I started to feel as though maybe this was just going to be part of your jaggered journey.


Almost as quickly as I admitted that, you suddenly seemed to flourish. Your lungs appeared to be coping with the demands of toddlerhood, we rarely used your inhaler and started to believe you were over the worst of it.

That’s not to say your trips to the Hospital came to an end. During this time, we came to realise you had Cerebral Palsy. The MRI scans, blood tests, kidney scans, hip X-rays, hearing tests and optometrist appointments just seemed to replace the late night ventures to A&E. on top of your ECG scans and routine paediatric visits, we began to see regular physio appointments, hydrotherapy, and occupational health. We became more aware than ever that UHND was always going to play a role in your childhood. This, however, all seemed manageable. The trips were expected and planned, we knew when you were going, how long you would attend and always that you’d be back home in time for bed. Most appointments were promising and we left with a sense of direction and confidence in your consultants. You were moving in the right direction. Every visit, every scan or X-ray shed some much needed light on how we could get you to where you needed to be. The familiarity of the hospital ward was certainly diminishing.

Then you turned two and things just seemed to turn upside down. 


You even started your 2nd Birthday poorly! We awoke on the 30th November 2016 to find you covered head to toe in Chicken Pox. You were irritable and understandably agitated but like we’d grown to expect, you appeared no different to any other toddler. It wasn’t until two weeks after your Birthday – a week before Christmas – that the late night rushes to A&E returned to our lives.

Since then, we seem to have visited more than ever before. Your lungs which we once rejoiced over maturing, no longer seem to tolerate any additional pressure. You’re susceptible to chest infections as a side effect of your large ASD (something I had hoped we’d have sorted by now), when your chest is infected, your lungs just can’t handle the strain. I’ve watched you work so hard to breathe that it’s rendered you incapable of speaking. I’ve held your listless body in my arms – agonised by your intercostal recessions. I’ve listened to Doctors tell me you have Asthma then tell me again that you haven’t. There always seems to be a battle whether it’s viral-induced wheeze, Bronchiolitis or Pneumonia which has knocked you down. Lately, they’ve branded around Chronic Lung Disease as if it’s not something that should scare me witless! I’ve heard them say you need a consultant then walked out of the hospital doors so maddened by the lack of progress on this front. 


I’ve fought! I’ve insisted and I finally feel as though I’m getting somewhere! Tomorrow, we’ll meet your Asthma nurse and eventually a plan of action can be put in place. 

You’re two and a half now and I’m so exasperatingly ready for that plain-sailing part of your journey to start. I want to be able to take you to a park on a sunny day without fear of hearing that wheeze. I want to take you to ballet without feeling guilty that the exercise is too much for your lungs to handle. I want to wake up on a rainy morning loving the possibility of spoldging in puddles – not feeling the dread that the humidity will change your temperament. 

The uncomfortably familiar surrounding of the hospital ward no longer sits well with me. Surely, it has to be time to move on! 

P.S I’m forever grateful for the care and attention Siena receives from UHND. The staff here are beyond miracle workers, keeping me sane one admittance at a time. Thank you for your hard work and support xx

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Nobody Told Me


I remember announcing my pregnancies to people, I remember the smiles on their faces, the ‘you’ve no idea what you’re getting yourself into glares’. I remember the stories of joy…of horror…of happiness and sadness. I remember the lectures on what to do and what not to do…it seemed everyone I spoke to was keen to share words of wisdom, of experience.

But nobody told me the things I’m about to tell you!

Nobody told me that parenting was the hardest thing I’d ever do – physically, mentally and emotionally! That I’d have days so draining, I’d wish it all away…then hate myself immediately for feeling such a way. I wasn’t prepared for such a conflict of emotions,  for feeling so much love, guilt, stress, admiration, pride and anxiety…all within the same minute. I still don’t know how to handle this, how to manage my emotions when they become too powerful to distinguish apart. 

Nobody told me that I’d doubt myself in ways I never knew possible, that I’d be transformed from a confident, assured person to a dithering, uncertain mess within moments of entering Motherhood…that all the education, study, knowledge and intelligence would go straight out the window and I’d be left apprehensively second-guessing my every move! That I’d feel like a child again myself, needy for others to guide me, desperate for help and comfort but too shy to speak out to get it (like the quiet child at the back of the classroom, suffering in silence – too scared to admit they don’t know what they feel they already should). That I’d look at other mothers and feel envious of their natural sense of maternal instinct, that I’d spend countless moments wishing I knew only half of what they seemed to. 

Nobody told me that my heart would shatter a million times each day – through love, through worry, through pride and guilt. That seeing my child hurting could cause my own heart to rupture in so much pain that I’d feel it beating outside of my chest. That it would break over seemingly mundane moments like a kiss on the cheek or an unexpected cuddle. That the words ‘I love you’ even pronounced incorrectly could render me breathless. I wasn’t aware that my heart could ache for something so lovely, that the curve of an eyelash or the creamy colour of delicate skin could make my heart pound with so much emotion.


Nobody told me that I’d spend endless hours anxiously fretting over scenarios which may never (I pray never) happen. That I’d hear stories of loss, of tragedy, of cruelty and heartache and not only mourn for the families involved but for myself as though I was experiencing it too. That my sense of empathy would grow to be so dramatic, I’d be able to place myself in unwanted shoes and feel the extent of pain. That I’d cry over adverts, over fictional storylines, books and news – praying to never know for real…knowing that a life without my children would never feel worth living.

Nobody told me that I’d change so drastically – not through enforcement or circumstance but through want. That I’d want to be a better person, to change my priorities, to live for someone more than for myself. That I’d love in a way which inspired me to grow, to alter, to become more focused. That every aspect of life  would change, including my dreams and visions of the future. 

Nobody told me  of the gratitude and appreciation I would feel towards my own family. That I’d look at my Mother with a confound sense of understanding and astonishment – that I’d eventually feel the depth of her own love for me. That I’d ‘get’ all the worry and the warnings. That I’d want to show her more than ever how amazing I find her, for her strength and support, her love and encouragement.


Nobody ever told me that my children would grow too quickly. That I’d wish them to remain so little for just one more day but urge for them to grow with the same breath. Nobody told me that I’d look back at photos and panic at how rapidly time passes us by…that I’d feel saddened by the moments I missed absorbed in my tiredness, anxiety or guilt. That I’d wish I played more, cuddled more, laughed more. Nobody told me that I’d count down the final moment of each day, desperate for my children to sleep but also clinging to the memory of each bedtime story, savouring every kiss goodnight. 

Oh man, he’s on the ‘big’ swing!

Nobody told me just how much I’d LOVE being a Mother, that even in the hardest moments, I’d love so passionately and devotedly. That the tears, the struggles, the feelings of downright incompetency would be so intensely worth it. 

So intensely worth it!

Motherhood is beautifully manic, painfully brilliant… and I guess nobody told me because I’d never have understood until I felt it firsthand. 

The Trouble With Two Is…


To say I live my life in the fast lane would be an understatement; I’m never settled. In fact, the whole concept of settled makes me whince. There’s something about ‘settled’ which makes me feel uncomfortable – almost as though if I ever stopped, I’d probably never start again!

This ridiculous trait can be handy – always being on the go means I never have time to feel bored, to dwell or wallow. Even when my body is still, my mind makes up for the lack of physical action. 

I’m alright with this! I mean, it’s just the way I was wired…to work hard, to get stuff done. My Husband doesn’t share my love of the fast life. He wants to take things slow, spend time relaxing. It’s just as well really, he manages to bring me to a halt, calm me down when I’m at risk of taking off. He levels the pace, helps me deal with the collateral my flighty life can cause. 


My need to be speedy about things has become a running joke in our household. In one respect, I’m incredibly laid back (mainly about the things I should apply some urgency to) but I’m also manic, unable to sit still. Put it this way – I don’t waste time!

This was also apparent in the way I chose to have my children. Most couples still spend many a married year planning to have children, they prioritise saving, getting their affairs in order (this one I kind of did right!)When they’re blessed with their firstborn, they spend time as a unit. United by the love of their offspring.

Me? I dove straight into having another!

There’s awkwardly 9 months and 3 days between my Son and Daughter and I’m yet to tell anyone this without flooring them with disbelief. It appears to be rather socially unacceptable to have such a small age gap between the two – I mean, they were born within the same year. It’s an alien concept to most to have children so close together. As mentioned previously, most parents wish to savour time with their first.

I get that! In truth, having two so closely wasn’t how I planned to do things. It is, however, completely in-fitting with the way in which I run my life. That quick pace, inablitly to slow down! If I’d chosen how my life would pan out, I’d wish for at least two years between siblings – an acceptable timescale! That wasn’t how life was meant to be though, not my life! That would be too leisurely for my liking. 

Having two so close in age is testing! This currently seems so intensified as we have a Daughter in the midst of the ‘Terrible Twos’ and a Son sulking into the ‘Terrifying Threes’! Between tantrums and taunts, we have sulks and sobs…we have anger and aggression, frustration and fury. There are days I just can’t wait to be over, for my children to sleep so I can slop in a heap. 

On that note, we do little sleeping these days. We seem to have a system at the moment not too dissimilar to that loveable fairground game where you hit one frog with the hammer only for another to jump up. As we settle Tristan, Siena stirs…we settle Siena, Tristan returns! It’s like a battle to see who can sleep deprive us the most (my Son is currently winning).  It’s tiring and waring…and emotionally draining! 


Having two so close together means we’ve been through the stage where both children were unable to communicate their emotions effectively, where they were both unable to comprehend their feelings or deal with them in any sort of reasoned way. 

We had two to carry, to rock to sleep! 

At the time, I remember feeling so desperate for my children to grow, to reach a point where life seemed easier, less of a hassle. Right now, I look back and mourn the moments I didn’t grasp!

Having two so close together means I missed out on all that savouring with my first. Most of Tristan’s first year was spent suffering with horrific morning sickness which lasted until the day I gave birth prematurely to my Daughter at 31 weeks. The latter part of his first year was spent in hospitals visiting his sister, in strange beds sleeping not in the arms of his Mother. I missed out! 

That’s why I get it – wanting to take your time. There are moments I feel so incredibly sad for Tristan, as though I deprived him of the love and affection all nine month old children rightfully deserve. His time was divided, his attention and affection divided. 


Then, there are moments like this morning whilst I lay in bed watching my two children play so heartily with each other on our landing. Tristan took the lead, showing his younger sister what needed to be done. She was transfixed, happy to oblige…loving the bond the two clearly feel together. 

In plain, I wouldn’t change my life in an instant. The challenges and the tests are all just in their gameplan, the grand scheme will see brighter days for us as our two grow together…so beautifully. The tantrums and taunts, sobs and sulks all seem so worth it when I see how happy they can be together, how happy they will be once they learn to manage their emotions more maturely. 

So for now, I’ll overdose on strong coffee, sugary drinks and focus on getting through one terrible and terrifying day at a time…and let my manic approach to life lend many distractions. 

Can’t I Just Pee in Peace?


Let me just start by telling you everything you want to hear…everything Media has taught me I should be saying.

I love being a Mother! 

There – I’ve said it! And for the most, it’s true…so, if by change you doubt this come the end of this blog, please remember to return to this bit here where my positivity glares obviously and bluntly.

I do love being a Mother – nothing quite compares to the feeling of being in the presence of your children, feeling their love, their unconditional, unjudgemental, eternal love. 

But I can’t deny it any longer…man, it’s hard! 

Whilst my children were babies, I think I sufficiently managed to put my head down and plough through the tough parts (albeit done with a lot of crying on my behalf). I envisaged by the time they were they age they are now…I’d have some peace restored. Can you believe how incredibly naive and ignorant I was? 

It feels like I’ll never know peace again! 


Picture silence, long lie-ins on Sunday mornings, summer days relaxing in the garden…late nights, friends dates, dining out at 10pm because you were hungry (and obviously unrestricted by social ideologies of perfect bedtime routines)! 

I can’t remember the last time I even dared be out of the house after 6pm with children in tow, the aftermath of a broken, spontaneous jolt from routine has bitten us once too many times. Then there’s the judgemental glares of childfree onlookers to contend with! 

I recall one evening when our son was maybe 4 months old; we’d met with friends during the day but still being out at 6.30pm, we decided to head to the closest Indian Restaurant. Tristan was still at the stage of sleeping most of the day. He cared very little about where he guzzled his bottle or closed his eyes so taking him with us seemed natural and unproblematic – yet I remember leaving said restaurant an hour later enraged to the point where my hands itched. The couple sat beside us thought it was completely out of order having a young child out so late (7pm by this point) and felt the need to tell us so. Since then, I’ve dared very little to take my toddlers out passed their ‘apparent’ bedtime. 

This results in me being ‘housebound’ most evenings from 6pm. Although my Husband would undoubtedly grant me leave on social occasions, my role of Mother means most nights I just crack on and carry out my duties…no questions asked. Preparing tea, running baths, reading stories, locating lost dummies, scaring away imaginary wolves…have all become part of my own routine, part of my life. It seems like a long time ago I arrived home after work and decided to do something I actually wanted/enjoyed. 


To add insult to injury, I’ve been ‘Mother’ for so long now that I actually believe my own Husband has forgotten I’m real underneath it all! He seems to have the opinion that I stroll around on my days off doing things I WANT! That’s right pet, my idea of fun at 30 definitely entails crawling through miniature tunnels, playing on swings, jumping in puddles and rolling down hills. Yep, in my time off, I’d apparently choose soft play, toddler groups, playparks and farms. He’s obviously forgotten my love of shopping, sipping champagne in the sun and trips to the cinema (not to watch Peppa Pig). 


I remember a time when I once enjoyed my own company! I mean, who else looks after you quite like YOU? Reading a book, just sitting in silence contemplating the world, making plans…I could do it forever! These days, I rarely get to pee in peace! From morning until noon…I have either one or two little humans attached to my side. Even when they’re sleeping, the dog seems to take their place, squeezing in his ‘Mam’ time undisturbed by mini terrors! 

Don’t get me wrong – I want to reiterate what I said to begin, I love being a Mother…but for crying out loud, can’t I just at least pee in peace? 

You’ll Never Want For Love


Before entering the realm of Motherhood, I truly never understood just how strongly I could feel about someone else. I’d always considered myself to be empathetic and emotionally astute but even then, I could also be so emotionally detached. As far as Motherhood went, I’ve kept no secrets that it wasn’t something I was looking forward to.

It always felt so hard to relate to those who swore I’d feel differently once you and your Sister arrived. Babies made me uncomfortable, nervous and a little scared. Even around your cousins and friends, I couldn’t relax in the company of infants. I didn’t know how to hold them – how to comfort them or reassure them. I assumed, in plain, that this wouldn’t change once I had my own treasures to care for. 
It’s true though – what they say – you are always different with your own. Yes, it took me a few weeks to settle into the role of Mother but once I had, I knew it was my calling. 

Both you and your Sister arrived into our lives like tornados! You came in screaming, threatening to disturb the peace, life-changing and altering all in an instant. You changed me eternally, made me so scared to envisage a life then without you…taught me true pain, true heart ache, true love. You showed me the flaws of my soul, showed me a way to want to be better! 

Your Sister arrived even more turbulently, traumatic and harrowing, she taught us all that tragedy is real – that our lives aren’t protected, shouldn’t be taken for granted. Even though her story ends positively, her entrance made us all aware of just how precious life can be. She confirmed what you’d already taught me – that no one else matters, no one else is just as important as you two. 


That’s why – you’ll never want for love!

Life has been challenging recently, more challenging than I’m ready to admit aloud. Your Sister’s poor immune system seems to have darkened our spirits, left us all feeling vulnerable and exposed. It’s made me question my parenting, evaluate how I can ensure you’re both safe from harm’s way.

It has matured you massively. It saddens me so much that at the age of three, you’re already so aware of the signs to look out for. You’re anxious and cautious, protective and caring. So caring! At the age of three, your imaginative play consists of administering your Sister her inhaler and medicine. You tell me to check on her, that she’s coughing and poorly. You worry so much;  I worry that your heart is burdened by things you shouldn’t even be aware of. 

The past few hospital visits have hit you harder than we all could have imagined. I sense it still plays on your mind, still lingers in your thoughts. 

Suddenly, you’re nervous about me leaving. 

38 months we managed without you being needy. 38 months we survived without attachment issues…and yet here they are! 

You were only nine months when Siena entered so poorly. The five weeks we spent in hospital should be a distant memory by now but they aren’t. Moments of recent have taught us just how much they affected you. Last time Siena was in hospital, you cried for me for nearly three weeks after we returned. Even when I was there – even with my arms around you!


I remember distinctly a moment not long after we came home. I’d ran downstairs quickly to answer the door, leaving you and your Sister on the 1st floor. When I returned, moments later, your cries were so violent you’d nearly vomited. When I asked why you were crying, you told me “I’m crying for Mammy”. 

One sentence, one small simple sentence broke my heart in an instant. Baby, you never have to cry for me. 

Sibling rivalry was also something we manage to go unscathed by…although, undoubtedly, we’ve seen small glimpses of it…this wasn’t something that has ever truly affected us. Yet, it’s something that seems to be play a huge part in every day. You’ve become jealous of your Sister, resentful of the extra time and care she needs. I can understand it, it mustn’t seem fair that she gets to be carried for most of the day. I see it in your eyes (you’ve told me honestly, aloud), you want me just as much as she needs me. 

It’s hard for you – having a sister with Cerebral Palsy affects you in ways I don’t think I’m even sure of. At most, we don’t give you credit for just how amazing you are! We expect so much understanding from you, expect you to help us when all you want is to be three…and free as all children your age are. 


I wish I could magically change things for you. I wish I didn’t need to care for your Sister additionally. You know she needs extra support, for the main, you’re brilliant and understanding but I can see how it pains you – I can see why you feel the need to act out.

I can’t promise you the world. I can’t promise that I can protect you from heartache, from failure or hardships (although I swear to do my best to prevent them). I can’t promise your future will be easy, that you’ll get everything you ever need or want…but I can promise that you’ll never want for love. 

What Motherhood taught me was that selflessly, my life is no longer my own. For now…it belongs to you and your Sister! Whilst you’re both so young and so needy, I’m yours as you need me! To cuddle, to protect, to make you feel better…to be tough when I need to be! For every fall, for every scrape or scratch – my lips are for kissing you both better…my arms are for wrapping you up and making you feel the extent of my love.

And of course, I promise that I’m never leaving so please don’t ever cry for me – I’m doing my best to make you feel that you’ll never want for my love, attention or affection.

It’s already all for you and your Sister!

Look How Far You’ve Come


Looking at you now, it’s hard to recall the delicate start to life you had. You’re, quite obviously, no longer the tiny premature baby I once watched struggle for breath…no longer the fragile little doll you once were. 

Looking at you now, it’s so clear just how far you’ve come!

You’re relatively tall for your age, you don’t look out of place amongst your peers. You’re still slender (you’ve always struggled to gain weight) but it no longer highlights your previous battles. I look at those beautiful long legs and immediately acknowledge the cause of envy they’ll become. Your slight and toned appearance will undoubtedly serve you well amongst those awkward and harrowing  teenage years. It will become one less burden for you, one less aspect of pressure.

Your gorgeous golden hair is perfectly bobbed…and thick! Like your Mother, it will always be one of your most treasured features. It makes you look older, more mature than you are.

Looking at you now, you’re most definitely a toddler!


That statement is definitely not limited to your visual attributes – you’re also incredibly intelligent for your age.

Last week, your Health Visitor (the same one who is still concerned for Tristan’s development) came to complete your two year check. She was left completely awed by how far you’ve come. Since birth, doctors have given us a period of grace to meet milestones, to compensate for the nine weeks of development you missed out on in my womb. There’s been less pressure to meet milestones in the same timescales as your peers, less pressure to perform at the same rate of full term babies. Yet, at only a day after two years from your due date, she arrived – clip board in hand – eager to complete her lengthy questionnaire.

When Tristan turned two, the sole purpose of the questionnaire was to check gross motor skills…could he climb, could he jump? I felt instantly saddened when I heard it was your turn, afterall, why did we have to endure telling her all over again that you couldn’t do any of the physical things on her list, that you could barely manage the physical milestones of a nine month old? However, this time, your emotional awareness was also to be measured. Doesn’t that sound utterly crazy? That a two year old would be checked for skills some adults can’t master. 


You left her amazed! She couldn’t digest how excellently you scored. 

Thankfully (and to my delight) she left out the questions about what you were physically able to do…but we still took pleasure in demonstrating what new skills you’d been working on. Instead, she focused on your mental astuteness. This proved, much as we’d thought, that you are a very bright and capable little girl. 

In particular, she just couldn’t believe your ability to communicate so effectively. At just two, your Brother struggled to formulate sentences. His bank of key words was limited and lacking in impressiveness. You, on the other hand, can already formulate full conversations. You can ask questions, listen with focus and respond with appropriateness. You can talk in depth about what’s on your mind, tell us exactly how you feel and why. 

I love this about you!


Our undisturbed conversations are fast becoming one of my favourite things in life. They make me think about our future, the bond we’ll have, the relationship we’ll share for life. I can’t wait for the discussions we’ll have over boys, your dreams, your hopes and wants, thoughts and feelings. It makes me so excited to know that we’ll always be able to communicate with one another, we’ll always understand one another as well.

Your creativity also astounds people. At only two years and two months, you can throw yourself whole-heartedly into imaginative play. You use your imagination in ways which reassure me you’ll always be able to use your mind creatively. You love to pretend, take on the persona as a Mother to your dollies with such ease and enthusiasm. You also interact with your Brother, take on roles as different animals, make each other laugh with so much joy. 

Your sense of creativity makes me so proud! When your journey through education begins, you’ll be able to draw upon these skills to help you achieve. I only hope that this is something we can nurture and grow as you do.

It’s also fair to say that you’re incredibly charismatic. You’ve an easiness to your character which makes you such a delight to be around. You’re forever able to make people laugh with your cute but quirky individuality. Although younger, your sense of leadership is also clear. You seem to have set a precident that your Brother is always trying to achieve. He looks at you to show him how to perform, craves the attention you so naturally acquire. He follows you, copies your every move in a bid to share your limelight. He’s charismatic in other ways, it’s not as natural to him to be so mischievous and cheeky. 

So, looking at you now, it’s only right that we note just how far you’ve come. 

Some days, I look back at your journey, to the uncertainty of your beginning. I recall the conversations we had with consultants, the x-ray which revealed you’d been left with a level of brain damage. I recall those early days at home, the worry over missed milestones…the arguments I had to have just to get your Doctor’s to listen to my warranted concerns. 


I think about the moments I felt saddened by the lack of progress you once showed…the fear that you’d never get to where you are now. I remember every time I cried over videos I saw of younger children doing things you should have already been able to achieve. The pain in my heart that I’d never get to share those moments on your behalf – knowing how shallow this made me – knowing that I shouldn’t care. I was pained not for me but for you! I wanted you to do everything others could, for you to feel equal to everyone. 

I look back at those moments and thank god for how far you’ve come!

Eventually, at the age of two, I can see that you won’t let anything hold you back (okay, so we still have your confidence to contend with but we’ll conquer that). 

Tonight, as I sat reading to your unsettled Brother, you managed to climb out of your bed…you crawled into your Brother’s room in a bid to ensure you weren’t missing out. I know how hard that must have been for you, how much your hips and limbs will have ached yet you persevered…

That determination, that strong sense of will, are what is completely admirable about you! 

All I can say Dolly is that you inspire me! I hope you’re as proud of yourself as I am, I’m floored by your achievements.


Just look at how far you’ve come! 

Love you lots
Mama (p.s: crapping myself until we get you a baby gate 😂)

Dolly, Don’t Worry

siena-1

Growing up, I’m inclined to admit that I significantly lacked confidence. I spent most of my teen years completely unsure of who I was or who I wanted to be. I never appreciated my own worth or knew how to value traits others admired.

Since I’m being honest here, I can only really say that adulthood taught me to cherish myself in a way which others wouldn’t. Truthfully, it was Motherhood which taught me to like the person I was, to feel happy with what I had to offer. It upsets me now to think that I spent so much of my youth doubting myself, wishing I was different.

I’m telling you this now because I worry that I see the same in you. If there’s one mistake of mine I hope you learn from, please value yourself now whilst it matters the most!

From the day you were born, you’ve earned the title ‘strong’. Undeniably, no-one could ever doubt the strength you’ve shown, the strength you’ve needed to survive. I worry now that this has placed a level of pressure on you which makes you feel compelled to contend with. It’s almost as though you feel aware of the need to showcase your strength at all times, even at times when vulnerability would be completely expected or necessary. I wonder whether this level of pressure is forcing you to evaluate your own worth. You’re too young to be socially aware of how others expect you to act…It breaks my heart to think you already feel burdened by this at such a young age.

You’re nothing like your Brother – he’s cocky with his abilities, ready to showcase all to whomever will watch him. He craves the attention, loves to be a part of the limelight. You’re almost polar opposites! Quiet and meek, you’ve a modest demeanour quick  to hide your talents. Your Brother’s tendency to seek attention has made it easy for you to take a step back.

siena-6

I never realised before that children your age were capable of feeling self conscious but this is something I wholly recognise in yourself.

Your self conscious approach is most noticeable in those rare moments when all eyes are solely on you. I see you turn inwardly, recoil in embarrassment and fear. It makes me wonder whether your progress is hindered more by an emotional barrier rather than a physical one. It makes me feel incredibly sad that you lack the confidence to be proud of what you’ve achieved.

Those moments that you freeze are always the moments I feel most proud of you…proud of you for trying…proud of you for wanting. Having cerebral palsy means that there will be undoubtable moments where your brain won’t communicate effectively with your limbs. When I see you try, it shows me that your brain is working far better than we were told to prepare for.

In your short life, you’ve had more challenges than some. You’ve worked hard to meet milestones that others take for granted. Each milestone you’ve met has made me admire and respect you in ways I wish you truly knew. You don’t know ‘easy’ yet you make no fuss over what others would deem ‘hard’. There was a time when doctors were quick to call you lazy (admittedly, there were times I even used this as an excuse for your lack of physical agility). I hate that I’ve done this! Have I caused you to doubt yourself? Made you feel insecure about what you haven’t yet achieved? Have I ever made you feel anything less than miraculous?

I need you to know just how very little your disability matters to me. You’re my Daughter, my gorgeous, precious, courageous, special miracle and I will adore you eternally. I’ll adore you for the strong, intelligent, beautiful being that you already are!

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Whether you can run, walk, cycle, ballet dance or fly…I’ll love you with that deep gracious love only a Mother could show. I’ll love you enough to make sure you’re always aware of your worth. I need you to know just how grateful and appreciative I am to have been blessed with you.

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Recently, you’ve began making progress so quickly and eagerly. This, in turn, is where your self doubt has been exposed. The first time you attempted to crawl, we watched you drag your legs in a desperate attempt to locate a chocolate. Unable to contain our excitement, we cheered aggressively. I don’t know whether it was our raucous applauds or the realisation that you were doing something momentous which made you stop. Your face wore every inch of your embarrassment and fear. You felt it, that pressure to perform and it scared you immensely. I wish you understood that our cheers amounted from pride and love. They were meant to encourage, to show you that we believe in you and admire you so much.

If this had been an isolated moment, I may have been inclined to dismiss it but you’ve shown the same sense of embarrassment and self-awareness on more than one occasion. In spite of owning a multitude of walking aids, you’ve never shown an interest to walk independently. That was, until, you received a wooden doll’s pram for Christmas. Instinctively, you craved the ability to walk your Dolly. Your caring and Motherly instinct definitely conquered…you wanted to nurture him, Mother him in similar ways you’d seen others do. You wanted to push him to the Doctor’s!

Both your Nana and I couldn’t retain our awe as we watched you take each step without the need to hold our hands. There you were, walking independently. I couldn’t help it – I cried deeply and emotionally. I was moved completely by your strength and determination. My cries were affirmation of my love and pride, they came from a place of happiness and hope.  Of course, my over-dramatic reaction caused you to fret. Self-consciousness devoured you and you were left, once again, feeling overwhelmed by your achievements. I’m sorry if my silly reaction made you doubt yourself, I’m sorry that I ruined it for you – made your play feel tainted by pressure.

Days later, as I tried to encourage you to try again, you told me that you felt scared.

Darling girl, please never feel scared, promise me you won’t let fear hold you back.

Myself, your Father, your Grandparents and Brother…We’re always behind you – both literally and metaphorically! we’re there, supporting you, waiting to catch you, dust you down and watch you try again. You’ve the strongest network of support around you. In whatever you do, we’ll be by your side. This won’t end with your childhood – it will extend throughout your adult life.

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When you’re older and you crave independence, we’ll give you the space to show us what you’re made of. We’ll watch from afar and encourage you to grow freely but I want you to know that we’ll always be there!

What I’m trying to say Dolly, is, you may not yet know your own worth but we do! We do and we couldn’t be more inspired by you.

Together – we’ve got this! So please Dolly, don’t worry!