Won’t You Walk With Me?

The day the Doctor confirmed you had Cerebral Palsy will always be etched in my mind – I felt calm sat in the chair staring at your MRI results. Cerebral Palsy, at least, I thought we could conquer. I had been worried for so long and had speculated so many other possibilities, the outcome felt positive and not as alien or unbeknown as some of the other potentials. I felt reassured by the Doctor’s words and although the truth was that you may never walk, everything was still possible!

In that moment, sat in the Doctor’s room, I had clung to every minute positive. Tinted overlays had glazed over my eyes, protecting me from every uncertainty.

It wasn’t until the morning after that the seriousness of your condition cascaded over me like a thick hue of darkness. Every ‘what if’, every supposition impacted upon me greatly. The notion that I may never see you walk down the aisle as a beauteous bride or walk hand-in-hand on shopping sprees galore floored me. I realised that when you were born, even through the turmoil, I’d taken for granted that I’d still have all the little things.

I’m not sure any Mother could deny the pang of excitement they experience when they learn they’re having a girl (don’t hold this part against me, I celebrated finding out I was having a boy with just as much enthusiasm but the experiences are different). Instantly, I saw us…at the family celebrations killing it on the dance floor, I saw us sharing many a cinema trip, shopping trip, meal and cocktail. I saw myself at your ballet classes cheering you on from the side, I saw myself at sports day taking pride in your athleticism (something I undoubtedly, had been denied). Never in any of my dreams had I seen you in a wheelchair, never in my wildest thoughts had I pictured you incapable of that independence I already knew you craved.

I look back now at my former self crying over these ideologies with a strong sense of sickening. How dare I be so judgemental! How dare I write your life off as though you’d accomplish less or succeed less. If only I’d known back then that all this meant was that you had more to achieve, more successes for me to witness and more hope for me to feel than I could have ever imagined.

You were – and are – after all, still my beautiful strong, determined Daughter. Please don’t think that my tears were ever for me. I cried for you! I cried that you’d never get to experience the joy of running down a bank, letting your legs tumble in the moment and the wind carry you forward. I cried that you’d never play ‘tig’ on the yard with your friends or chase the boys you fancied with daisies in your hair and love in your arms. I cried for your first dance, I cried that you’d never stand on your Daddy’s shoes as he twirled you round the living room in glee.

I cried that you’d never know life as I’d known it.

And as you grew and your disability became more prevalent, I cried for you more. I cried for the times I consoled you at soft play when the boys and girls couldn’t understand that you couldn’t keep up and left you on your own. I cried for the times you looked at the other children and asked me why you were different. I cried for the unintentionally cruel comments ‘why is she just crawling?’ and ‘put her down, it’s not healthy to smother a child her age, you shouldn’t still be carrying her’. I cried for the Birthdays you woke up convinced that a year older would have granted you the ability to walk! Oh, I cried for those moments the most.

Though the tears sound mostly through sadness, please know that there was many a tear shed through joy. I remember the day you learnt to army crawl along the floor to retrieve your toys and the time you crawled out from the row at ballet to claim your certificate. I remember the day you took 5 steps unaided between myself and my best friend whilst we were at the Baby Gym. I remember the time you entered your nativity on your KAYE Walker and made it all the way to the stage!

Every step, every milestone seemed so much more magical and baby girl, you are still firing them at me today!

I marvel at your progress, at your tenacity and resilience. I’m thankful for the first lockdown when we focused so much on your physio. I’m grateful for Heel and Toe Charity, for all the support they’ve given you!

2020 may have been a monstrous year – but not for you! Whilst most people fought their demons, you struck back in force! You went from cruising furniture to walking without it. You turned corners unaided, stood up from kneeling down.

You walked and walked and walked and walked your little socks off.

Whilst the whole world cheered Captain Tom (we did too), I had my own hero dominating my living room…and on your sixth Birthday, you woke up smiling at never having to ask the question ‘will I be able to walk?’. You turned every single doubt I’d ever thought, upside down. You took the can I’d been storing them in, opened the lid and let them trickle to the floor. Then, you stood up, walked forward and trampled on every single one of them!

I have never been so proud!

And it hasn’t just been the walking, it’s been the dancing too! Your feet know rhythm more than your mind can keep up but it doesn’t matter. You’ve nailed your signature moves and they couldn’t be any better!

I can’t wait for the shopping sprees, for the late night parties and the scandals we’ll get up to. I can’t wait for the sports days and the Paralympics when I’m there cheering you on from the sides at a far greater level than sports day could have ever been! I can’t wait for the moments we are gifted together…

And we’ll walk them hand in hand!

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 😂)

Your Dreams are What Matter! 


I have to admit, as shallow as it sounds, I was desperate to have a little girl. It was just something I’d always imagined for my own life, something I’d definitely hoped for. 

7 year old me would brag on the school yard that some day I was going to have two children. A boy first, of course…and a girl second, so that her older Brother could look out for her. Coming from a family where I had experienced the love and support of having an older Brother, I knew I wanted exactly that for my future. My childhood had been perfect, so much so that I wanted to mirror it for my own children.


The day I discovered I was pregnant, I instinctively knew I was expecting a Boy. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind! As the sonographer revealed the gender, I cheered so proudly to have been right. I had my perfect son – my perfect start to our family. 

Having a son was so important to me, I wanted a boy because I knew how loving they could be, how proud I could feel about raising a man but most importantly, I knew how special older Brothers could be. I already felt so lucky to have one amazing child but my plan was always that my Son would be an older Brother.

When we discovered we were expecting again, my heart ached for you. I know how this sounds and yes – I would have loved a second Son just as much. A healthy child – no matter the gender -would have made me so incredibly happy. But, my life’s plan was always to have you!

Our 20 week scan was on a Tuesday. Your Father had left work early and the three of us headed to the Hospital.  I recall sitting in the waiting room almost pained with eagerness to see you on screen. Obviously, our priority was to know that you were healthy and growing as you should have been. Yet, I just still couldn’t wait to know your sex.


Although too young to comprehend what he was seeing, Tristan looked at you on the screen with so much awe. He marvelled at the flickering image wriggling around contently and he cheered at the noise of your heartbeat. The sonographer told him he was getting a little Sister; I cried and cried with happiness. 

My perfect family was complete! 

Finding out I was getting my girl was such an incredible moment. From being 7, I had high expectations for your future. I had in mind exactly how I wanted you to be.

Without question, you’d have blonde hair and blue eyes. You’d be quirky and individual, confident and assured…undeniably beautiful. I envisaged you’d be good at sport, always energetic and full of desire to achieve. 


In my mind, you’d be a ballerina. A perfectly poised, enigmatic ballerina. At 7 years old, I saw you dancing on stage – people looking at you in absolute admiration. Radiantingly elegant, you’d hypnotise your audience with irrefutable skill. 

I’m going to be honest here, my vision of what I expected from you is almost cruel and unkind. I had expectations of you that even I was incapable of. Expectations of you that most women never accomplish.

Your early arrival in this world taught me some well needed perspective. In the moments where you nearly died, I grieved solely for my little girl, my Daughter. As I watched the Doctors relentlessly trying to stabilise you, I had time to ingest what I was at risk of losing. Hair colour, eye colour, academic or physical ability did not once enter. Instead, I saw only the love I could be denied. 

In the days that followed your birth, I swore never to burden you with unreasonable ideology. Just to have you breathing, just to have you living would always be enough! 

At 17 months old, you were eventually diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. Part of your diagnosis meant accepting the fact that there may be things you’ll never manage to do, physical ailments you’ll harbour all your life. I’m struggling the most with this. 

You see, to me, there’s nothing you can’t achieve!


I once ignorantly worried that my 7 year old vision for your future had been crushed. That I’d never get the chance of fulfilling my dreams for you. I want you to know that I’m aware of how pathetic I have been. My 7 year old dreams for your future were always going to be completely inconsequential.

Something I learnt very quickly about you is your strength of mind. From 9 weeks before you were due to be born, you had your own style of doing things, your own wants and desires. These are what matter the most! 

At almost two, you’re the cutest most quirkiest Doll I’ve ever known. You’re passionate about living, approach everything with a ‘I can’ attitude. It’s this attitude which leaves people spellbound. You’re not even two and already so many have marvelled at your strength, are astonished by your decisive and domineering demeanour. 


Your passion for 80’s disco hits is entertaining and bewildering but you don’t care! You dance your beautiful heart out in whichever way you please. You care only about the pleasure you acquire and not at all about how you are perceived. This is something I hope desperately we can retain. 

Recently, I took you to a ballet class. I must admit, although trying to look calm on the outside, inside I was bubbling with anxiety. I worried that other Mothers would think I was cruel, as though I was forcing you to be something you may never be…may never want to be! I worried that others may think I was delusional, expecting you suddenly to grasp physical demands you’re quite obviously incapable of doing. Mostly, I worried that you’d hate me for pressurising you with those unrealistic dreams I once promised I wouldn’t. 

Of course, you proved me wrong. 

You attempted every dance, giggled with magnificent joy as your legs bounded around the room. You waved your arms side to side and danced with so much pleasure that my heart felt blessed to watch you. 

Every day, you make me realise that there’s literally nothing you can’t do! I’ve no doubt in my mind that you’ll conquer every challenge you decide to take on – whether that be ballet dancing or not. 


But for the moment, you just love to dance. So, go ahead my Unlikely Ballerina and enchant the world.

Lots of love, your biggest fan xx

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 💕