Wednesday, 7 December 2016

A year ❤️

One year. Twelve months. Funny how a year can feel like five! Our first year has been one of knowns and unknowns.

We know that we love you so much it's overwhelming some days.

We know that you absolutely love people.

We know that you are intentionally the most comical of our family.

We know that despite everything you are by far the most empathetic toddler we know.

We know that nurture is stronger than we thought; if you live in a house long enough your mannerisms seem to match your mummy's. 

We know it was a great decision to be placed with a sibling; the glue that held our family together for the first few months when you were unsure of the adults.

We know that some of your pain will always be with you no matter what we do.

We don't know why your cry is different when you're left somewhere; like it comes from so deep within you don't know how to voice it.

We don't know whether you'll end up with a chronic illness diagnosis after a gazillion of tests. 

We don't know why you don't make a sound when people put needles in you or take blood out of you. Maybe you're just tough!

We don't know if we'll ever stop reading into things you do, because we want to recognise if you feel differently to other toddlers who have had one person care from them from birth. 

We don't know if slight changes will always send you into a spin. 

But we do know that we trust in Jesus. He doesn't promise your pain will go but he promises to be with you always. 

He says that even if you walk through the valley of the shadow of death that He will be with you. 

He promises that He can comfort you when that deep pain that you can't explain comes up when you least expect. 

He doesn't let you down like we sometimes do. 

He'll never leave you, even when we will. 

We love you little guy. Praying on for many more years 💕

Thursday, 24 November 2016

I don't know

I'm not one of those people who dislike saying they don't know. I regularly say it in answer to things, especially when you work with anything to do with the Church of England you spend lots of time clueless!! 

Anyway...what is slightly disconcerting in a hospital setting is being asked lots of complex questions about your child's family history & having to say 'I don't know'. The first part was the worst as I got asked in the middle of a waiting room full of other people three times his family history. In the end thankfully a lovely nurse sister scooped us up, whisked us to a side room & we talked. She listened, I felt loads less like a failing parent & she was absolutely fantastic. She also explained that nine times out of ten children who end up with a long term illness don't have it because of genetics at all & it's just the luck of the draw. 

But you know I just didn't like that it stung a little. I felt embarrassed that I didn't know what they needed. But also a little part of me would like never to have to say what I have to say & just pretend his history is my history & that we can forget the past. 

We can't of course & my head says I wouldn't want him to. His roots are his roots & they're not to be forgotten by him or us. They're important to him & for him. His heritage is his; it is part of who he is. But every now & then it stings that's all. 

Complicated this parenting lark isn't it?!! 

Saturday, 24 September 2016

One size fits all

I've got some lovely friends who for one reason or another are in relationships but don't have children & would love them. The down side to knowing us is that lately they've all had the same thing happen to them. They've had the line 'oh well they've adopted & you should too!'. 

I was having a chat with my friend who this has happened to (9 times in one week to her the poor thing!) & it really upset her. I mulled over what I thought about it for a bit & I think this is what my thoughts are. Excuse the splurge!

Firstly, if someone's husband had died & they were grieving we likely wouldn't say to them 'oh well I know he's died but look at them, they've remarried you should too!'. Because we know one size doesn't fit all. And we know that's a bit insensitive. So really everyone's different & let's face it every child is different. 

Secondly it sounds like we've are pitted as some kind of 'success story'. Do we adore Squidge? Yes! Is he a total joy? Yes! But is he only teeny? And has he got a million hurdles to come? Of course.  I think if he gets to 30 & is still speaking to us then we'll consider ourselves a success. Until then maybe not! 

Thirdly, imagine just for a second what you imply an adopted child to be in this scenario...They become the 'fixer'. It implies that once the childless couple adopt, the child will fix everything. No more grief for the child you didn't carry, it's okay adopt one & that'll go! Well you know what, I don't think that happens. And any subtle hint to a child that they are there to fix you puts an enormous pressure on the little person who has already been through more than you'll ever know & more than the adoptive parents will ever know. 

So please please please think about it. It's not for everyone, just as IVF isn't for people & children aren't everyone's thing! You just don't know what struggle they're going through.  

Loves xxx

Friday, 9 September 2016


There are really few times that you have the kind of relationship that we had with our social worker. 

For the last two years she has assessed us, by asking pretty much everything there is to know about me whilst we know nothing really about her. I've no idea where she is from, her children's names, anything. Yet she has asked the most personal questions and knows our responses. 

She's also shared during the last two years some weirdly intimate moments. She's come to find me in the ladies toilets when I was so nervous my head was down the loo. She's driven us back from a meeting in silence because our head was so full there were no words to say. She's seen us parent & listened to me sat in hospital with a toddler telling her my drama. 

And now we say goodbye to the person who wrote that she unreservedly recommended us to adopt. The person I've splurged on occasionally when I've been over thinking life. It's a real mix of relief & sadness; you have a strange connection with someone who knows so much but yet isn't your friend. 

Social workers get so much flack but to be honest in our experience they've been amazing. They have masses and masses of work and never enough hours to do it. They have emailed us back immediately when we have sent it at 11pm. They are the little forgotten special people in the process who you miss once they've gone! If you'd have told me that two years ago I would have called you insane ❤️


Wednesday, 17 August 2016

It's just a piece of paper

It's just a piece of paper that tells us that you belong to us. It doesn't matter; it doesn't mean anything. You're part of us & our tribe. 

We don't need a piece of paper to say how much we love you. We don't need anyone to confirm that we're your mummy & daddy, or that the person who bosses you round is your sister, or that this is your home. Because you've always been part of us. You were even more the day we met you. You topped that off the day you arrived at your forever home & slept in your bed. 

But we had the call. The piece of paper has been granted. And now we have the irrelevant paper, it's like that last bit of weight is off & we feel happily like we can breathe out a little. It means other people know you're in our tribe; we don't have to spend ten minutes explaining to health professionals anything. Your name is our name, your forever home is legally yours. 

It's just a piece of paper, but it tells the world you're ours. Are we are thrilled 💕

Friday, 10 June 2016

Joy comes in the morning

There's a Psalm in the bible and the end of one of the verses says that 'weeping may stay for the night, but joy comes in the morning'. It's actually about how God treats us & how he loves us despite us rejecting him, but the end of the verse is often used as a normal everyday saying, mainly because it's true. 

There are times when you feel like grief might overwhelm you, that you've been through something so hard you'll never see the other side of it & never get over it. And there are some losses we know from our friends that you don't 'get over'. Ever. But the raw vomit inducing pain of loss does ease a little, you do have a moment where you don't wake up, remember & then physically hurt but it takes a while. 

But joy eventually comes in the morning. 

And then there's times where it's confusing; where nobody knows the answer to all your questions, when even professionals conclude that they just don't know why things happen. 

One year on from a whole panel of people saying we could adopt our little person & I have a little man speeding around currently popping wooden letters down the back of a radiator & giggling when they come out at the bottom. Who this morning when we dragged his sister out of bed came & stroked her face & kissed her ten times then gave up & pinched her nose! Who pulls a funny face that means you have to go & see what he's got because it gives away that he's doing something he's not meant to. Who has filled our house with even more laughter than we already had. His sweet sister said the other day when we were checking we hadn't left anything in the cafe: 'make sure you don't forget him! It's like we always had forgotten him but we didn't realise until he was here that we had forgotten something!'. How true she is! 

Joy comes in the morning 💕 

Tuesday, 17 May 2016


Hey buddy 
That's what you've called me today, I'm apparently your 'buddy' as well as mummy! Well let me tell you, you are most definitely my littlest sweetest friend. 

The first time I left you last week I felt like I was missing something. No one clung to my leg every five minutes, nobody climbed up onto my lap when I ate lunch, nobody made themselves a pretend cup of tea & made a little slurping noise whilst I sipped a real one. We are buddies, for sure. 

You're the only one who doesn't call me Mummy, but calls me Mummymummymummymummymummy without taking a breath. You're the one who can't quite get close enough to my face & body when wanting a cuddle so you try to squeeze even harder. You're the one who welcomes me back from a five minute dash to grab milk with a squeal. I hope we'll be sat in twenty years time still being buddies. For now though I'm going to enjoy it whilst it lasts!