Kids are truly the most amazing little creatures God made. They surprise you when you least expect it, and most need it.
They whinge, cry, snivel and screech at the edge of your patience all day long til you begin combusting a million mummy pieces all over the kitchen bench. Then, just as you squeeze them into the highchair trying hard not to strangle their belly on purpose with the belt, they hold your face delicately and say “Mummy? Lub yooooou!”
Your vibrant little chatterbox is in hospital so sick he hasn’t moved from foetal position, opened his eyes or spoken a single word for two days. Then his beloved brother walks in the room: He sits bolt upright, colour pouring into his cheeks, points a demanding finger and states “Wash your hands with the squirty stuff before you come to kiss me”.
You spend the week in tears because you have been told, after six months of waiting, hoping, worrying and doing everything in your power to avoid, the very worst news: Your beautiful baby girl will be disabled.
Five days later she takes her first steps.