Velodrome Victories.

Yesterday was a fantastic day for Team GB. The shower of Olympic gold was impressive, heady and tipped us fans of British Cycling over the edge of ecstasy. (I was at work yesterday evening, and realised the days events ' schedule was CYCLING, when I was with Mr H, one of my patients who loves to follow the Olympics on the bedside telly, and has become a harbinger of Good News for us, as we nurses often ask him about the latest Team GB victories!!) With poorly controlled enthusiasm after a peek at the nail -biting events unfolding on my patients' Hospedia screens, I bantered and chatted with the lovely people- my patients, their families, young kids visiting their Dad, granddad or uncles, as the historic events unfolded! Many of them shared my grins and agreed that this was the most amazing day- with  Sir Chris Hoy, Victoria Pendleton  and the Fab Four boys taking the podium. Here's to many more victories, personal and national, and many many more people who can, potentially discover the joys of bicycling!!!
 As the band played 'God save the Queen...' and the crowds sang as one voice, their voices clear, patriotic and emotionally charged with boundless fervour and joy I felt optimistic, happy and a bit nostalgic myself! Memories of a childhood spent roaming carefree and joyous, along deserted summer streets in India came to my mind. Riding on a bike exploring the neighbourhood with my brother and sister for company in the early 1980s, I had forgotten the freedom and peace just being on a noiseless piece of engineering gives a person! All this happened as I went about my duties, on the ward, but part of me was also proud and thankful to TEAM GB in general and Victoria Pendleton in particular, for encouraging and inspiring me, a mother of 2, to take up cycling again, here in GB. Having participated in two Cycletta events myself, and with increasing confidence as I now cycle on the roads, I feel Cycletta has inspired not only me, but also many thousands of mums, grannies and teenagers alike to join the women's cycling revolution!
Why am I waxing eloquent about my love and passion of cycling, when I'm blogging about my daughter, you ask? The reason is simple, if a bit unusual. When S was four, her Granny (my MiL) brought her a little bicycle for her birthday. S loved a good set of wheels. As a four-year-old, she thought it unfair that her toddler sis gota ride while she walked alongside me. To her great frustration, she had grown too tall for the 'buggy board' I'd used on the back of her baby sister's stroller, to ferry her to nursery and back.
S had enjoyed bumming along on the trikes at her nursery the previous term, and we had hoped she would learn to love riding her bike. All kids do, I figured, and it would give her a bit of gentle exercise, which I often craved myself, owing to our unpredictable TBW: Typical British Weather. If this worked out, I reasoned, it would scatter her daredevil sense of bravado over a wider area of the neighbourhood as she took her energetic self outdoors with me on my own bike...
But it was a case of 'Man proposes, God disposes...'. Mind you, this was before her SN were formally acknowledged via a statement and well before B and MiL even began to comprehend there COULD be some truth to her Nursery School SENCO's recommendation that her School Placement works closely with us parents and investigates her Social Communication, Language & Gross and Fine Motor Skill Difficulties... It was simply too much to expect and dream on my part, I guess. Harder still for her,too. In spite of hours of careful and patient demos from me, and the training wheels still attached, she pedalled, furiously, backwards, rendering herself immobile and immensely frustrated. At our 'attempted rides' she sat on the bike, rigid with anger or pound her feet on the ground and bang her small, sensitive palms viciously on the handlebars yet refuse to get off the bike. In all, the agony I went through watching her helplessly locked in that state of extreme frustration was what put me off kids' bikes altogether.  In S' case, there is something to be said for consistency of behaviour. A pattern has emerged, which I can now clearly see, but at the time, it made me go numb with helpless worry and turned her into a chopper whose blades whirred furiously fast and dangerously close to my sanity. S has always gone from a difficult task=frustration=meltdown. any help proffered is often unwelcome and boy! does she tell me that!  She'll scream, cry and shout at me (or my husband) launching herself into a tizzy of frustration and a cesspool of deep anger...
But today is four-years-later... today is gloriously sunny, and I feel particularly optimistic! I will try today to take my (now) 8 year old (who has always had a love-hate relationships with all tasks involving balancing owing to her motor skills' difficulties) and attempt to get her and her little sister to start riding their little bike. At an appointment last month,her OT (Occupational Therapist) mentioned that if I was keen for her to balance on a bicycle and slowly get used to the idea of stability, (before she even learns to pedal,) I should take the pedals off the bike... something I'm going to try today!
So, whilst they eat their breakfast and change, I'd better get stuck in an sort out their bike, testing its road worthiness, and giving it some TLC via a can of WD 40!
Wish us luck!!

Cakes, Bakes and summer Birthdays- Vol 2

B's birthday was aglow with the beauty of the summer sun, and made me smile as soon as I pulled back the curtains.  Actually, it was R who woke me up with her excited cry of " Mummyyy, we have to finish Dade's cake (she says Daddy and writes it as Dade, and, so did I.)!! So, I got up and we all wished B a very happy birthday.He was sorry he had to go to work (little knowing the surprise I had in store for him later!) and promised to try to get home soon that evening.
After the girls had their lunch, I fried some samosas added squashes for the journey and a packet of Doritos to our backpack and set off with the girls beside me in their summer hats and jumpsuits. We walked to a bus stop nearby and waited for our bus to arrive. After half-an-hour of waiting (by which time the girls had counted cars, trucks and trailers, smiled at babies in buggies and women on bicycles and swigged from their drink bottles a few times) the bus drew up level and we got inside, thankful to have escaped the heat for a bit! Then, S started her favourite 'journey' game, loudly commenting on why the bus made her fall back into her seat (at which I tried to recollect my vaguely remembered knowledge of Physics- momentum and the inertia of motion) She seemed satisfied by my answer but the answer itself, gave rise to more questions. I promised to google it later on, and show her the results. So, once more, peace prevailed in the bus! On public transport, S constantly observes people, things and views out of the window, and occasionally says, "Are we there, yet!!?" a-la- donkey in SHREK. She is fidgety, affectionate and sometimes gets upset when I tell her off for smacking her little sister out in public places. At home, she is always pushing, punching, poking or shoving her sister, which makes me sad and angry.
When we reached Hemel Hempstead, where B works as a store manager in the Town Centre, we thanked the bus driver, got down at the stop and made our way down the high street.
Inside B's store, his staff, who were in on the surprise, tried to help smuggle us upstairs to B's office. S, however, had different plans, and had started giggling, and grinned at her Dad when she caught his eye! So, we all came out of hiding, and it was so worthwhile just to see the delighted surprise on B's face as he said, "Hi!! What are you all doing here!!!?" and scooped the squealing, smiling girls up into a big, high hug!
Later, after an office-room birthday celebration with his good colleagues AB and NG, we headed home after the tills had been balanced and the store closed for the day. The ride home, in B's car was special too, as we felt part of his daily commute; something I had only imagined him doing everyday for the last few years.  the kids chatted excitedly in the back, and nibbled on the Doritos. The wind whipped through my hair as I gazed contentedly at the orange ball of fire that was the setting sun, dipping down gracefully, low on the horizon...It had been a good day!
We chatted about the loveliness of the countryside, his face and eyes bathed in the glow of the sunset. Inside, I smiled and thanked the Lord for having given me the idea and will to do this for us all. In more ways than one, it was a truly beautiful birthday!! Happy Birthday, honey! You are the sun, glowing on my horizon, guiding me home, making me fly... you are the laughter of our children, the naughty twinkle in their eyes, the gentle touch of their fingers and the trusting clasp of their tiny hands... You, my dear, are my life.
Thank you for being mine!
xxx

Cakes, Bakes and summer Birthdays - Vol 1

Today is my B's birthday. That's my girls' Dad, to be specific. He's all of 38, working hard, without a break, since his return from India last month. Last night, the girls helped me clean and tidy up the kitchen, and watched me bake a cake. We had driven B out of the 'female' domain  as soon as he'd had his dinner. He wanted to cook outdoors on a barbecue, and I wanted to get a move-on my my cake. So, with S helping me inside and occasionally rushing out back to check the progress on the sausages, we both managed to finish everything around 2300. Good timing, if you ask me!
B was quite knackered and was asleep as soon as he got into bed. Settling down S was another matter. She has begun to hate me for putting her to sleep, and now shouts and hits out at me when earlier she would snuggle into my arms, or nuzzle my neck and nod off to la-la Land... Its painful, this transformation in my little girl. But I keep my emotions in check. "This too, Shall pass", I remind myself stoically, as the Buddha said...
Today, R woke up first and reminded me that we still need to finish Daddy's cake! After writing out or cards and packing our presents for him (with their approval, of  course!), I cleaned the house. The girls' helped too, by dusting (R) and staying well out of the way (S). At present, they are out on the driveway, drawing rainbows, flowers and hope! Now, on to our next challenge, the icing on the cake. Literally a task so fraught, it makes me want to do it myself. Knowing them, however, I feel that they would love nothing better than to get 'stuck-in' and slap, dash the icing with their own small hands! It may not be the most good looking cake, but it will certainly be brimming with their love!

Last day of School... now the Chinese torture begins...

As much as I love my 8 year old, I am often shocked at her behaviour.... She is usually kind to kids, but is often deliberately unkind to those who are closest to her- Her sister, myself, her grandmother...
Take for instance, today. She pulled her little sister into a big strangle-cuddle around the neck, leaving her bleating like a goat while she grinned like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland, then kicked her on the shins when she cried out for good measure. My husband, when he witnesses such behaviour, tries to ignore it. If it gets too much, gently but firmly tells her not to behave like that. Seems to work for him all-right, but not for me, so I often lose my rag and physically 'rescue' my younger daughter. I know, we're giving S conflicting messages and emotions. To my chagrin, my Bee (as I call my hubby) recommends 'distraction' to me, when I get agitated at the unfairness of it all sometimes my feelings threaten to tip over the edge of reasonable motherly 'punishments' like time out and / or 'quiet-time' which would give her the chance to mull over her behaviour. Now, I have finally come to realize, it is too much to expect from her.

Yes, I do go all 'mother goose' when she (or anyone, for that matter) tries to bully my younger child (or even S). I'm not an in-you-face mother, but neither would I sit on a bench in the park, watching them play, fight or hit each other (which seldom happens in public). Well, you get the picture!

Last Friday was the last day she spent at her mainstream school and the change to a Special School, welcome and full of hope as it is, has made me a bit sentimental. About how she would cop, in a new place, surrounded by new people, kids and a whole new environment about how beautifully they managed to occupy her at her old school. Be it her key-workers, T.As , Class Teacher or PE instructor Mr S who helped her overcome her fear of the balancing beam and the monkey bars, the rope ladders and  the crash mats... now, she jumps and prances in the P.S.H.E class like a new-born foal!! So, as the last day of her schooling at the mainstream primary approached, I wrote to her Headteacher, requesting her permission to take pictures of my daughter wit her classmates, teachers and others who had made such a huge contribution to her well-being at school. The pictures are a memory- bank, and so are the lovely presents she was given.  

Right now, I am thinking of how I and my family will endure the weeks of holiday.Six weeks of hell, more like..Besides, I have not taken  any anual leave... (I have only ten days left of A.L till April 2013). So trips out to the park will be limited to early morning saunters (highly unlikely as they never wake up early) or on my days off, and clubs and groups like F.L.A.G and F.U.N are hard to get to, as I don't drive a car... In all, it looks rather bleak, as Bee is more interested in finishing his pet-project, his Car. 

He is working all week long, and will struggle too...To make matters worse, my brother and Sister-in-Law flew back to India on Friday, leaving me with no one to turn to for advice. My friend P is in Czech republic, with her six yr old, and will be returning, alone, this Friday. (Her son J, will spend the hols with his granny).. Maybe my girls' granny can help!? But she has her hands full at the moment, and looks after them as I work. Apart from cooking, baking, painting, pavement-drawing and running, I have run out of ideas, as her special needs mean she needs my undivided attention so she doesn't pour the whole pot of glue all over the page.

I have no bright ideas on how to occupy my ASDish so she doesn't beat up and bully her little sis all the time. Factor in her screaming, shouting and back-answering tantrums and loud bawling, its no wonder I am at the end of my tether... I dislike the holidays already, and its only been a few hours... I HATE this dread. Hell, I'm supposed to be feeling happy.   : ( 
Maybe distracting her, teaching her new games, giving her freedom of expression on a 'paint' programme on the PC or a half hour on the trampoline out back is the answer. Last month, a friend of mine gave her a box of chalk for her Birthday, so she can draw on the driveway and eat' make-believe' picnic lunches whilst I keep an eye on them from the kitchen window as I clean. MiL had serious reservations about letting them out as we live on a relatively quiet street. She never ceases to voice her concern and greatly influences my anxiety levels (for the worse). I try to listen and still do as my judgement sees fit, but there is always a niggling fear in my head that if she were ever to be proved right (if S were to rush into the path orf a car on the road) she'll never let me live it down.

I will keep thinking positive thoughts, I remind myself!

Celebrating her smiles...

My eight-year-old never ceases to amaze me. With her vivid memory, her zest for life and her absolute, unadulterated love for people she likes and cares for! She often reaches out and caress little children tenderly, or holds her TA's hand and says something so totally, disarmingly simple and heartfelt, it makes my hear clench with joy. She strikes up a conversation as I wait in line at the tills at the shops, sayying "Hello," to perfect strangers with such a genuine, cheery smile on her face that even the most spectacularly serious sort of folk break into a grin and say 'Hello' back! S is very straightforward. She says things like, "This is my mummy...I am shopping with my mummy...", making those of us who are with her or talking to her, smile widely.

Lately, S has been going through what I can only describe as a 'dark phase of the moon'. she would scream and shout at me and other adults at school if she was asked to do something. She has recently resorted to punches and abuse directed at me when I say something to her. On one occassion, we were walking home together, and as usual, I ran through the drill, " let's look left, then right and then wait until it is ok to cross over the road." I was holding my younger daughter's hand and bent down to ask her if she agreed it was 'ok' to cross or not, suddenly, over her head I watched a white van approaching, and noticed the driver hesitate, as if unsure... Instinctively, I whipped my head around, and was horrified to see S prancing into the middle of the road, her naughty, defiant eyes teasing me...daring me. I rushed forward and tried to hold her hand and bring her back, but she kicked-off right there and then, making me feel as small as an ant..... When incidents like this occur, I try to put myself in her place and think of how she would need her mum to react... It takes a few deep breaths and a good deal of self-control (which I, sadly, somehow lack) to refrain from shouting at her and giving her a royal 'talking- to'... Its a constant process of learning to invoke my reserves of empathy and patience and unlearning expectations, rational thought and "Oh, she's just trying to spite me" kind of thoughts...
Today, after nearly a year of watching her temperament gradually change from sunny to surly, I was ecstatic to see the obvious change in her demeanour. She smiled and greeted her Paediatric Occupational Therapists- Kirstie and Sharon at her O T review this afternoon and giving Sharon a big hug, happily settled down to do the activities she was meant to do. K observed, assessed and for some activities, timed her making observations and chatting with me about how I feel things are getting along. We had this review nearly  4 months too late because of other events in our lives and I was secretly thankful they even considered seeing her today. 
K said she has made great progress, which, although not quite in line with S's age-expectations, is progress all the same..."you should be really happy" K told me as she finalised the discharge paperwork and shared her observations with me. I was! Ultimately, what made my day was the big hug and kisses she gave me, and the realisation that, for the day atleast, I would be there to pick her up from school! 

A Special Daughter

My First Child.
Godsend.
She shows me how to span the deepest chasm of doubt and despair,
To look up at the peaks of joy in life, however high or unreachable they may seem...
She's always smiling delightfully,
despite her difficulties... overcoming her lowest ebb with effervescent laughter...
She is, truly  'A Special Daughter'

For any couple, the birth of their child is a life-altering experience and when that child has a special need, whatever it may be, it is all the more so. First-time parenting has its learning curve and, like all of 'parenting', its very own "DOs" and "DON'Ts". My husband and I, too, were touched by the Blessed hand of God when our first child, our daughter S was born.

 Initially, everything was the same just as it is with most parents, and my husband took to fatherhood like a duck takes to water! Those were the days when he worked as a 'Harvester' Restaurant Manager and usually returned home way past midnight, only to go back to work the next day around evening... In the time I got to spend with S, I would put her littleness in her moses basket, put that on my bed and watch her as she slept...! I marvelled at the smallness of her, the perfection of her newborn self, I touched and fell in love with her tiny fingers, the curled-up fists, the softness of her skin, the mop of spiky, dark, jet-black hair... I gazed for hours, at her tiny self, as she slept... and held her close, as she fed.
 We were all so 'taken' with the little one, that apart from feeding and nappy-changing times, I got to hold her only incidentally;  my Mother-in-Law, herself a single mother to an only son- was delighted to have a grand-daughter who looked exactly like her 'baby' did, 30 years ago! So, it came about that my husband felt he / we  'owed' it to her to let her spend as much time as she liked with the little one. She would have S on the sofa next to her for hours, as a tiny infant, with the TV blaring into her little ears, and if she woke up, (which she would do everytime a loud tune played or a sharp sound perforated her ear-drums), mum would jiggle her on her lap to fall asleep again. Nothing I could say would make a difference, so I mostly, kept quiet. I watched the descent of my beautiful child, my divine child into the crass, loud world of TV viewing from a very, very alarmingly early age... When she was two or three months old, I would take her to bed upstairs and try to leave her to fall asleep, but she invariably cried, and MiL commanded me (from downstairs) to bring her down and to let her "put S back to sleep"...

Add the that the fact that in our household, as a new mother, I was deemed too incompetent to deal with things like bathing my baby, or putting her to sleep, I got to hold her in my arms when my MiL was already asleep and before hubby got back home from work... I can see that my memories of her early days and, indeed, months and year, are quite vitriolic, vis-a-vis my MiL... but that is something I have learned to contain... until now. I know I should have signalled to her to let me take a more active role than hubby envisaged for her when he put S in her arms for the first time, but I was a one-day-old mum and totally emotional, so I went along with what he said and did not fight it then and there. This, here, though is ME being ME- speaking my mind, and expressing every positive or negative emotion I ever had, and to hell with the niceties of MiL and DiL relationships... In my honest opinion, MiLs should butt-out and leave the kids to their parents unless the father and mother both shove the baby in her arms and say, mum can we please have a little break!!?? In all honesty, she is a great grandma, and a loving one at that, and since we all lived together for nine years, she looked after my girls as I go to work... but I digress; this is not about my relationship with my Mother-in-Law, but about my Daughter, S.

Time passed us by, and soon it was September..S was now two months old... then Three, then Four...
As she grew and began to smile, I felt as if my heart would implode with joy! I took hundreds of pictures, and wrote to her, so she could read about her first few days when she was older.... I took her for walks in her stroller, along the by-lanes of our neighbourhood.... At night, when my husband returned from work, he would try to creep into the room as silently as possible, so he wouldn't wake her up, only to find her awake in her cot, arms flailing, cooing at him to pick her up. They have always shared a beautiful, simple bond.... deeply loving and special. I went back to working part-time when she was just four months old... I tried the whole " express the mother's milk into a bottle" etc but when  I would be at work, the pain, both emotional and physical, was unbearable. Then, at six months, she started on solids, a little at a time, accompanied by formula, which made me feel, strangely, redundant. She got along with all our relatives, and anyone, could carry her and she would peacefully survey the world from her perch in their arms! So MiL took her grocery shopping with hubby's uncle (MiL's brother) and to visit another of her brothers at his place... S was the cynosure of all eyes and gazed curiously at everything, and generally behaved amazingly well for a eight month old.

When my second daughter, R was born, Raj and I left for the hospital at ten AM on a Saturday, leaving S, 19 months old at the time, at home with Mum ( my Mother-in-Law). R was born just over two hours later and since it was a natural, spontaneous delivery, the doctor agreed to discharge us the very same day. All I could think of was how I wanted my litle family to be one again, and we made the fifteen-minute trip back home from the hospital with R sleeping in her little baby seat at the back of the car. At the traffic lights, my husband looked at my exhausted but eager face and we talked about how S would greet her little sister!?  As we made our way home and finally got inside, S was with her Grandma in the living room.... The memories of that firs day are etched in my mind, as Raj took S in his arms and showed her the baby, asleep in mine. S touched her face, her little nose and her eye... she seemed curious and I felt she looked exactly like a child with a new doll...

That is why, when I was first told she had social communication issues at school and poked and prodded other kids' eyes and pulled their cheeks, I had a sinking feeling in my heart. I tried to rationalise it, but all I could see was that she was aping the behaviour of the adults around her, who would, affectionately, pull her cheeks (gently!). That is a typical Indian way of expressing endearment to a baby or toddler, BTW, just as the in the west we see people kissing their babies!)... To this day, I am fighting a lot of battles for my dear little girl... some with family (her Grandma and I are polar opposites when it comes to understanding her as a child with SN, although Mum is, for her part, a loving grandmother and accepts and loves S unconditionally.) The NHS is studying her development and speculating the future of a diagnosis as she presents as a child with myriad difficulties at present. As of now, my daughter, who turned eight on the 6th of July, is described as having 'complex needs' which range from difficulties with social communication, expressive and receptive language, social interaction amongst her peers, and problems that are related to her behavioural needs, sensory and motor skills...
How 'complex' can she be, however, if she smiles like an angel, gives affectionate hugs, and strikes up a conversation with strangers at the supermarket tills making them smile and chat with her. No matter how old they may be, what their gender, race or social circumstance, she can make anyone sit up and take notice of her. At times, I wonder if this is because she is unbelievably beautiful, with her big eyes, perfect smile and chatty nature (OK, I admit it, I AM BIASED!!)
Celebrating her positives gives me hope, joy and teaches me a lot...
Just a case of looking at the glass as half-full, I guess...
     

Happy Birthday, Shivangi!

Whenever the birthday of a loved one rolls around, I get excited, begin making plans if they're close by my side, or think about how I can get in touch, if we're oceans apart.. I must admit, though, that birthdays also make me ponderous, wistful and, at times, a little bit sad. Just a little bit, though! Last weekend was one such day. What made it extra special and extra poignant is that my first-born, S, turned eight that day.  There's something irrevocable and definitive about birthdays. Especially my kids' birthdays... Like time has been stamped and chronicled...so-and-so is now and henceforth eight years and counting....time that has passed on, never to return...All that remains are memories. Growing fainter and fainter with the passage of time, save those special details that make memories feel so very much alive...and makes me want to write it all down, keeping it fresh in my sieve-like mind!

I quite vividly remember the day she was born in all its glorious details... It was a Monday, and a sunny one at that. I had walked home, after being discharged from the hospital that very morning, after a weekend 'under observation'. After reaching home, I cooked and waited for my M-i-L to return from work. As we watched TV that night, I felt an uncomfortable pain around my bump, as if an invisible band was being gradually tightened around my ample middle... Mum asked me if I was all right, and, since I had no clue, I nodded. Later that night, as the discomfort intensified, she told me to take care and get some rest, and to wake her up if I felt any pain. My husband worked afternoon shifts as a restaurant manager, so I called him and we talked about the possibility that tonight was THE NIGHT!! After an excited exchange and numerous text messages to him, I rang the Delivery Suite team and was told to take some Paracetamol and try to relax until the contractions were five minutes apart. When I told my husband Raj, he just jumped up, and said, "Let's go!!" 

I can recollect, with some accuracy, the way the Delivery Suite Midwives settled me in, and the way I held my husband's hand with bone-crushing intensity. (Its a good thing he has always been fit and works out at the gym, come rain or shine; a lesser man would have howled and pulled away as the waves of pain crashed over me with alarming regularity.) It all felt so rushed, and uncomfortable that I felt like saying, "hang on, can we run over this bit again!!??" It left me ill-prepared to use the gas-and-air mask that a nurse told me to breathe with when the pain intensified. Consequently, I managed to deliver my precious first child whilst feeling as if I were being ripped from the inside out. I pushed and pushed and then some more until the searing pain gave way and I felt a warm, wet and soft form escape my body... I craned my neck to catcha glimpse of my child, (all I could see was black hair and a tiny, limp form, face down on the sheets between my knees. Worried and anxious when I did not hear her cries (as I had expected, thanks to the hundred-odd hindi films depicting the birth of a child) my feeling of dread was pushed to the back when the super-efficient midwife wrapped her up in a clean towel and proffered my husband a pair of scissors to cut the cord...With shaking hands, he did just as she instructed, and she lay my baby in my ams for a quick cuddle.... Meanwhile, Senior staff who entered the room (I had no idea who they were and scrambled to preserve the remnants of my dignity) A supportive midwife helped me sit up and I was relieved to see I was decent! The seniors consulted amongst themselves about her low APGAR score, and debated on the next course of action. All this took just a few minutes and soon after her birth, they had a little sterile trolley brought in and were ready to take S down to NIU to be monitored for a few hours.

In the moments following her birth, as the NICU staff whisked her away, my dear husband looked worried sick and torn in two as he brushed away tears with the back of his hand. A nurse plunged a needle into my thigh to give me some vitamin K and another prepared to 'stitch me up'.  Late that morning, after an hour of bed rest, and a wash (that made me feel like I was still alive, and after my husband,B, and his mum had gone home after seeing to it that both of us were okay and resting...B, owing to his immense dislike of hospitals and MiL because she was , understandably, exhausted after a day & night of no sleep on a weekday.) and being examined and monitored by the wonderful staff, I was wheeled down to see my brand-new baby daughter, who I had only just held in my arms briefly, until that point... She looked so tiny, so fragile and yet so much her own person!! Her spiky, jet-black hair stood out in all directions,  her eyes tightly shut, an unmistakable frown (her Dad's) imprinted her forehead as she lay on her tummy, under the warm light in an incubator. As she slept, I looked and looked at her, unable to fight the urge to hold her close, yet afraid to do so, as she clearly, needed the drip and the warmth. I debated with myself and continued to look at her until a kindly nurse asked me if I'd like to hold her!!?? So, as mother and daughter were finally re-united outside the womb, a new chapter of our lives began! A chapter that said, "Hello!!"

In all our interactions so far in her young life, I try and recollect that first meeting and that first touch... As she snuggled up to me at night and fell asleep... To this day, I smile when I feel her breathing becoming regular and her little hands clasping me in different places, I thank God for the gift of motherhood....