My first vlog: The end of an era

The baby phase is long gone. Now I've had to accept that the cuddly toddler and beyond phase is to be packed up and put away too.

For Natty, who grows and develops at her own gentle pace, this has extended to 6 years, but I finally had to face the fact that she had grown out of many of her firm favourites. The clothes that had been worn while so many memories were made. We affectionately call them her 'trusty steads'.

Last week I read a touching post by Ross Mountney: Parenting - What Really Matters. about appreciating and enjoying our children while they are young, even if those phases are the toughest, for it simply does pass too quickly.

So please join me for my first ever vlog, about packing away that phase and looking ahead to pastures new. I'm rather nervous about it and would love any feedback you have.

           

I Love You x

Mia is often the spokesperson for both girls

3 small words. Too often spoken. Not said enough. 

"I love you."

Our daughter Natty, Natalia, Noo Noo is very vocal, very chatty, little girl with Down's Syndrome.

She's had speech therapy over her 5 and a half years, half-heartedly from local SALT sources, (because they are under-resourced), and once a year from a UK top private therapist who visits all our local children when we've fund-raised enough to bring her down. In between it's Mummy and Daddy who provide the additional help. Thank goodness my background is in teaching...

We tell our children we love them all the time, many times a day. Natty has begun to repeat those words, copy us parrot fashion over the last 6 months.

Tonight, as I lay next to her in her crisp white, pink-dotted bed, after reading Where The Wild Things Are and acting out the comedy 'terrible roars' and 'gnashing our terrible teeth', she looked at me, squished me close and said;

"Mummy, I love you."

The perfectly articlulated sentence pierced my ears and filled my heart all at once.

My head said "Good talking Natty", but my heart melted. It crumbled, tears welled, despite my trying to hide them.  In 5 and a half years I have not heard this phrase spontaneously spoken. A phrase that I heard from Mia at around 14 months as I recall. Back then it brought tears to my eyes, when it arrived, on cue, as expected...

"Mummy sad?" asked Natty.

I bit my tongue and coughed. Smiled and squeezed her hard. Smiled like a Cheshire cat.

"Noooo, Mummy is crying because Mummy is happy" Much Makaton was used to reinforce the message.

We snuggled and I said goodnight, Daddy and I swapped children and he and Natty had their snuggles too while Mia and I read Clarice Bean together. But the lump remained in my throat.

Coming downstairs and reflecting on hearing that phrase, the phrase that all family relationships pivot around, brought the tears back. I realised that I had told myself that not hearing those words spontaneously was not an issue. It didn't matter. I had buried the feeling of wanting to hear them, smothered it in pride about Natty's other achievements, taken her hugs and kisses as supplements for the phrase itself.

Mia says it all often, draws pictures even, to show us how much she is loved, and that has always filled the void. It has more than made up for hearing the spoken phrase x2.

But at the same moment I realised that Mia is saying it less often, only when she really means it. She's 8 and has suddenly lost her chubby cheeks, replaced by racehorse legs and a bob haircut. Wanting to be at my apron strings has been filled by a desire to be an Olympic dressage rider/actor/poet. Creating some art masterpiece at 7am has become the new creeping into bed with us in the morning.

And so, in one stroke, we have a gorgeous little person realising what love is, grateful for her family and drawing us further into her intricate personality with 3 little words. And another, slightly older person, finding her wings, stable and confident in our love for her, and discovering her first footing in the world, using her family as the bow from which her arrow will spring.

That too makes me weep with tears of pride but tears of sorrow at the infant phase now lost.

This summer has been a line drawn in the sand indeed.

Read our words of love to our daughters, written in a letter at the beginning of term Mummy and Daddy Love You Both More Than Words Can Say.

Natty Misses her Big Sister Mia

Mia and Natty are separated for the first time when Mia goes on school camp. But Natty doesn't like it one bit... 

Strong sisterly bond, right from the start

When I was warm and safe inside Mummy's tummy, Mia's was the voice I heard the most.  

More distant than Mummy's, but always there in the background. Sometimes sing-songing, sometimes loud, a tantrum, often laughing, whining or crying, asking questions, talking to Mummy or Daddy, reading a book, whispering to Huggy her teddy.  I often heard music too, shakers, xylophone, castinets, the same song over and over 'Girl, Put Your Records On', or a tune from TV programmes that I now enjoy too.

My favourite times were when she put her mouth close to my warm tummy house, and whispered straight to me, into my ear.  

She told me she loved me, even before she saw me.  

She would tell me what she was eating for tea, and Mummy would pretend I was clapping her when she ate her vegetables. I was doing exactly that of course. 
Then she would hug me by rubbing Mummy's tummy. Tickly.

When I was born, I was a bit tired and not very well. Mia's voice was the only one I could muster the energy to turn my head for. I needed to open my eyes to see her, my beautiful sister who had loved me from the beginning.

Since then, we have been together every single day.  Not all of everyday, but always a part of it.  Even when I was having my heart fixed, she came to be by my side. 

She helps me. Sometimes she gets me dressed or takes me to wash my hands. She reads me stories, and draws amazing pictures. I annoy her at times, but I don't really mean it.  Then she walks away from me and I cry.  We always cuddle on the sofa afterwards though.

I help her too. I hug her when she is sad. I share my dinner with her. I make her giggle with my silly faces and funny noises. I show her little things she has missed, like a daisy in the grass of a bird in a tree. Mia says she wants me to live with her when we are grown up. That might be fun, but I might have others plans.

Today, Mia isn't here. 

I ate my tea with Mummy and Daddy but she wasn't there to kick under the table. 

I had my bath and she wasn't there to splash me.  She didn't wrap me in a fluffy towel afterwards.

She wasn't around to bounce on the bed in our pyjamas which Mummy hates.

I wondered if she was playing hide and seek, but she wasn't in any of our best hiding places.

I kept asking Mummy where she was. 

Mummy said she was on a little school holiday. But she surely can't go on holiday without the rest of us! I asked Mummy if Mia was on a beach with sand.  Mummy laughed and said no.  So where is Mia? Mummy said she was in a big place like a school with all her friends and teachers. Why? (Handily, they have just taught me these question words, so I was putting them to good use.) Mummy said she was learning lots of things on a school trip and that she would be home soon. I bit like when my class visited a farm, only her class were sleeping away from home.

I cried. I cried really hard, and just to make sure Mummy understood, I said that I was sad, that I was crying and that I was missing Mia. I wanted my sister to kiss me goodnight.  I wanted to know she was in bed nearby me. Mummy put Mia's nightlight on so it seemed as if she was there in bed, and gave me one of her teddies to hold while I slept.  It smelt of her but it wasn't the same. Mummy held me until I fell asleep, tired from crying. It was nice, but tonight, I wanted my sister to kiss me goodnight more than anything else in the world.