It’s hard to believe that you’ve only been with us for four years, Isla. From the moment you were born you completed our little family. We knew we were always meant to have you. Severe reflux aside, you were a happy baby, a patient babe. You never really made a fuss unless you’re reflux was hurting. You were happiest being held and cuddled. We thought you’d be a quiet little thing who loved books. You’ve turned into the brightest, funniest little girl. You are so caring and kind and your smile is like sunshine, which fits since your favourite colour is yellow. But I wish I could say this day…
And now for something completely different! I’m not usually a poet, but, the other night my tiniest girl was having trouble sleeping, and it just sort of popped into my head. Who knows where it came from, but didn’t Percey Shelley do some of his best writing on opiates or something? I’ll not be the poet laureate anytime soon, but I thought it was rather fun and that I’d share x
I am pretty sure I never intended this blog to become what it’s going to be, but fuck it. That tends to be my general view these days. If having the big “CC” has taught me anything, it’s that life is too damned short for wasting it wondering if you should or shouldn’t do something. I am doing a lot more things these days than I would have before. But the hardest thing about living with this hideous disease is how hard it has made being a mum.
He doesn’t get enough credit, truth be told. The man that has been propping me up since my pregnancy with our second baby begun.
Tonight I sit on a fold out bed in a hospital room on a children’s ward watching you sleep. You are here because you don’t seem to like your milk, and as such you don’t eat enough.