50 shades of anxiety

And a long illness that was. Uff, the guilt of going to work and leaving your child to be looked after by someone else...said my friend, the only worse one is stuffing them full of calpol and sending them to school. We had basically a week and a half of being at home with the not feeling well and the hell and the beauty that it brings. Coz it's rubbish when they're sick but it's gorgeous to be all cuddly and snuggly and he just wanted me. One morning, he was clinging to me and crying his heart out and we were just laid on the sofa for about half an hour until he calmed down. Where did my head go? What about the last time he was sick? Who cuddled him? Who held him? Who loved him? Anytime I think I've got a handle of this - the autism, the adoption, the trauma, the newness...something else hits like a big bag of hard things. I've said before that I never know which bit the behaviour is coming from, but sometimes I just need to sit back and think 'love'. Just love and that will be all I can do for the moment. 

This weekend was brutal. I broke my toe, whilst on the phone to my sister and turning to run to the kitchen where I heard Emilio climbing on something...did not find out what because an offending metal legged chair was in the way. OUCH. Just massive, massive OUCH. Then dogs had to go to the vet. Then to a big park where I thought we had lost Bridget forever, twice. Emilio ran in one direction, Bridget the other. I'm aware that this happens to all toddlers but when he responds to NOTHING and it can be dangerous...anyway. Then we all piled back in the car and drove to deliver some backpacks my kids at school made for Venezuelan refugees arriving in Peru. Hours of traffic, screaming child, cooped up pets, going NUTS mummy. However, all was right by the time I was eating homemade veggie haggis and nattering away with some lovely friends who ALWAYS SHOW UP. Thank you, fabulous humans. 

We are on the countdown to coming home for Christmas. I cannot tell you the levels of anxiety this induces. Reckon I used to be a fairly laid back person, go with the flow, etc. Now. NOW. Sheesh kebab. I worry about not having the right cereal in. I worry about not doing enough PECS or play or not speaking enough (HAH!) or playing enough with friends or a million other worries. But the thought of travelling...JEEZ. That sets off a whole range of rollercoaster panic waves about moving home next year. Where will I work? Where will Emilio go to school? Will he need a special school? If that's the case, where's the best one? How will I make sure I get a job that's close to that one? Where in the country is that? How will I afford it? Will he even get citizenship? If I go to the west, will I even fit there after 20 years away? And how, HOW, in the name of chuffery am I old enough to have lived away from home for 20 FREAKIN' YEARS?!!?!?!!?

As I say...50 shades of anxiety and it's not my favourite colour. 

We are about to start the rest of the paperwork nonsense for getting us out this country. That thing where I send my nanny to the machine to get Emilio's birth certificate because I can't get it. Me. His Mama. I cannot collect it from the machine but literally EVERY SINGLE OTHER PERUVIAN HUMAN can. Awesome. That bit has been achieved. That bit that states I'm his birth mum. I mean... Stage 2: get the permiso. That permiso that will permis me, Marianne Kelly, to take Emilio out of the country. Yes, that's right. Marianne gives permission to herself. I mean, again...

Anyway, watch this space. It may well ABREEEEE (private joke with myself!)

Lions and therapies and doctors, oh my!

My little lamb is poorly. Is there anything worse than your baby being sick? I remember when Bob got sick for the first time, when we were living in Caracas. He had to go and stay at the vet. My lovely friend Liliana kept calling them for me to check what was going on and I was nearly in tears waiting... As I've said before, I love my animals and my nieces and nephews SO MUCH that I thought I would eat my own child. It's true. It just completely covers you like lava flowing from a volcano. Spewing out, all hot and messy, running everywhere, covering and smothering everything it touches. That's the best description of what this love feels like that I can think of. Also, it's a bit angry. Coz if you DARE mess with my baby, I will END YOU. 

It's funny, though, how your heart doesn't just get full and stop having space. It just keeps growing and filling up more. 

Lately, though. Lately, it's been hard. As we have established, Emilio's sleep is a nonsense. This comes with its own unique set of undesirable behaviours from both of us. But now I decided that he was going to go to Nursery at my school next year...man alive, has that opened a huge big bag of worms. I have to take him to about a GAZILLION different doctors. Luckily, one beautiful human, our paediatrician, signed off on lots of these bits I have to get signed off in order for him to enter my school, and didn't charge me. We went to see him, through a friend's recommendation, when Emilio very first came home. Dr Gustavo said that as I was doing a wonderful thing for Emilio and for Peru, he wanted to give back to me, so my appointments are free. Yes, he's a fancy doctor at a fancy hospital, for all you cynics; but for me, this is just a human being kind to another human. I love him for that. Thank you, Doctor G. 

We also have to do the eyes and the ears. I'm supposed to have done that ages ago. Everything feels huge and overwhelming and hard...not least the ears because apparently he has to get knocked out for them to be able to do that test. I just want to come home from work and play with my son. That's all. Not go to stupid therapy or stupid doctor appointments or stupid anything. I just want to be with him. I get home and he's either in a shit mood, shut down, or we have 10 minutes before 'time to go to this therapy' or 'time to take the dogs out' or 'whatever'...I just want him. 

Taking Emilio to an intro day to Nursery was a cold, hard SMACK in the face. It showed me that our tiny lives work for my Tiny Human. He has me, he has Santa Maria, he has Nido, he has our therapists and our PECS trainer, he has his home, the park, our friends, their homes...etc. Put him into a new environment and he just goes. Touching everything, seeing everything, gathering all the information available. It broke my heart to see just HOW different he is from those others. Life is always going to be hard for him. Always. The bigger our lives get, the harder it will be. 

I have said from day 1 that it must be so difficult for parents to understand and accept their child is different. I've never had that. I chose Emilio and he chose me back. I knew he was on the Spectrum and I love him because of it. But seeing those neurotypical children and seeing Emilio...I cried for an hour when I got home. He will ALWAYS be challenged by things we find easy. It will ALWAYS be hard for him. 

But. BUT. I will ALWAYS be with him (till I'm not), trying to make it easier. Even when that means let him go and let him fail at stuff. 

This parenting thing feels like it's coming naturally and then it doesn't... If you've any answers...write to us here!! I've never felt more overwhelmed or more anxious in my life. It's a colour that doesn't suit me. But tell me how? How do I stop worrying about everything when there is clearly everything to worry about? 

It's almost a year since 'they' told me I was Emilio's mummy. The words to describe the feeling of being his are: elation, love, worthiness, priviledged, special, chosen, lucky. Lucky. The luckiest mummy in the whole solar system. 

Thank you and good night x

Oh to be a part-time working mum...

This morning, I was out walking our three dogs and trying not to let anyone die/run on the road/run away whilst making sure everyone is happy. And then in the afternoon. And then this evening. This means Bella's ball is being thrown, Bridget is running around and checking everything out, Bob just pottering along and Emilio either in his buggy chilling or running around, following the hose, playing in the games or whatever. It sounds lovely, maybe. It's sometimes beautiful but it is mainly the most stressful time ever. That bloody puppy just legs it coz she's a Beagle and my boy doesn't respond to his name/STOP/WAIT/IT IS NOT SAFE. I have uttered, on more than one occasion, 'would it be the worst thing if we lost her?', knowing FULL WELL my heart would break into a million pieces if the newest part of our family left us. I have also screamed, louder than you knew a scream could be, for my child to stop, or sprinted across a park and grabbed his arm just in time as a car has rounded the corner. The looks I get from some people, as I march around with a dog lead around my waist and 2 dogs attached to it, then another lead with Bob in my hand and either a buggy with Emilio in it or pushing it, or Emilio's hand in mine...some judgemental, some just like 'whaaaaa?' but some who are just gorgeous and ask about us. One lady the other night said, 'Eres un campeón,' just as she was passing with her one dog, and a huge smile. What a lovely thing to say and just what I needed at that moment. 

This week, I have been given the gift of time with my beautiful boy. We have been having the hardest time lately. Sleep is all over the place, from getting up at 1am for the actual day to a million times a night. We are no different from any other family with challenging sleeping patterns. We're not. But my overactive brain starts overanalysing: is it the ASD? Is it coz he's 3? Is it because he was abandoned? Is it trauma? Is it the change? Is it coz he loves our nanny and not me? Is it just because? Probably there isn't a clear answer and probably it's a combination of everything. But being home this week, being able to spend time with my child and not be stressed about getting to work, stressed about getting back from work at a good enough time to get any 'good' bits of his day, etc, etc, has worked wonders. Emilio and I have laughed and loved and smiled and giggled more in the last week than (it feels like) in AGES. Which obviously brings on a huge tonne of guilt. I'm being a crappy mum because I'm tired from being a teacher. And I'm being a crappy teacher from being a tired mum. Talk about a catch 22 (hated that book, FYI). 

We have 6 and a half weeks till end of the school year and until we are on a flight to home. I'm using this week as a reset. Reset my patience, reset my tolerance, reset my mind: I love my son and I love my job and I'll get better at juggling this stuff, I'm sure. So be kind. I'll be kind to others and please, please be kind to me. 

This is just so, so hard...so...to those mums who go out there to a job, whichever job that might be, and leave their child/children at home; I salute you. I'm in awe. I stand by you, empathise with you and feel all the guilt you do. To my mum, who raised 5 and then some, whilst working and then some; clearly, you're my inspiration and reason for my 'try me, I can do it!' attitude towards life. To those mums who have the joy of being able to stay home for a while, for forever or whatever in between; all of the above. For those that wish they could get back to work; I support you and send you courage and determination. Make it happen. What is abundantly clear to me is that there is ZERO right ways to Mum. Or Parent. All of us being as uniquely unique as we are mean that we all need different things from life: I vote kindness and support for all of us doing our best. 

Emilio and I have a different story to most other Mum and Son plot lines, but it seems that we share the same hatred of having to be apart. We have been having a full on brutal time for the last 6 weeks or so (I have lost count...) and I have genuinely felt desperate. Sleep so out of control to the point that I what'sapped my neurologist to ask him what on earth I could do. Rising times for the day between 1am and 3am. Then going to work and teaching the Tinies there like I actually knew what I was doing. Home to a tired and grumpy boy who hated me. I know that all parents reading this will know this same scenario. They just will. But going through it? Soul destroyingly heartbreaking. And exhaustion really messes with your mind. Crying in the car, the shower, whilst getting dressed, on a pee break at work...this chick was losing it and might still be. Who knows? 

No one said it would be easy and all that. My goodness, is he worth it! But my goodness, is this the loneliest I've ever, ever been whilst being happier than I've ever been, too. The Village is out there, but really, it's just Us. Russell Brand recently said something along the lines of that becoming a parent makes you the strongest you've ever been whilst making you the most vulnerable you've ever been. 

That. x

Current Best Bits: 
Saying 'thank you' or 'gracias' unprompted when he's given something.
Remembering to say 'hi' or 'bye' when prompted and sometimes unprompted.
Watching him problem solve. His mind blows me away. 
This is a Big One. Watching him run over to other children in the park and (initially) steal their ball...then actually play WITH them. Actually WITH OTHER CHILDREN. And laughing his head off the whole time. Yes, I cried my eyes out in the park and yes, the other Mamas were gorgeous to me when I told them he was autistic and this was a huge deal. And yes, I'm crying again as I write this. 
Singing to him in the car on the way to Nido. Got him out the carseat and he put his arms round my neck and squeezed so I just kept singing. Just stood singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' till he decided we were done. 

Our story and why it matters

The last wee while has been tough. Tough, tough, tough. I will happily admit I'm really struggling and unhappily admit I don't know how to fix it. What I won't do is apologise. 

Now is the time where people criticise constantly, find fault, ridicule, judge, etc. Perhaps it was always that way, but it seems so 'in yo face' now. Because the Internet. People wonder why I am so 'in yo face' about Emilio and I and how we came to be; they wonder why everything is posted, everything is analysed, everything is right out there for the world to see. Well, I have long stopped giving a shit what anyone thinks about me. What a waste of time and more than 30 years of my life. But I will tell you why I share so much, why I put so much out there of our lives. Because of The Story. 

Whether you like it or not, the world is connected by story, people are connected through story. Our lives are one Big. Fat. Story. And my job, I believe wholeheartedly, is to tell ours. Do you know how much judgement I put up with daily? Probably, because you're dealing with it, too. The times when my incredible boy throws a motherblinding Meltdown in public and I (sometimes) calmly stand above him asking him politely and futilely, to stand up and  tell him that crying is finished. Crying is not finished. Neither is screaming bloody murder. Or throwing oneself on the ground. Yes, I'm either the epitome of calm or else I snap and go absolutely scripto back at him. Either way, I'm judged. That man in the dog park yesterday? I saw you tut at me. The father of 4 I stopped to let cross the road in front of me (unheard of in Lima!)? I saw you look on with empathy. The rest of you who have no idea about us, who constantly judge us by looking at his brown skin and my white skin ?That I speak English to this clearly Peruvian boy? That I 'allow' that type of behaviour? You. You are why I have to tell our story and tell it loud. The lack of connection and the lack of community our world is moving toward makes for a lonely, lonely existence. A judgmental one. An unhappy one. I want to change that. And I think by being honest and open and telling our beautiful but completely imperfect story might be my way of doing that. 

This blog started as a way for me to process what I was going through. Then it became a way to document our story. I also began to hope it inspired more people to adopt. Stories are ageless, timeless, and worth a million, trillion judgemental looks. I'm going to keep shouting about our lives together - the good, the bad, the ugly and the utterly, heartburstingly wonderful. My story used to be sad. It was downright heartbreaking, actually. In the spirit of mental health awareness and full disclosure, there was a time I thought my story would end a lot earlier. I'm thankful it didn't. And now Emilio has changed my story to give me the happy ending I've always, always dreamed of. I'm going to keep telling ours so that one day, I hope, he can read about it. Because just in case. Because maybe my words out loud won't be enough. 

Keep telling stories, keep sharing ours. And make NO bloody apologies about it. 

xxxx 

Mental Breakdowns in the Kitchen (A Morrissey perspective)

It's a Very Strange Thing to try and get used to, this '2 people' thing. The people you used to be, before Tiny Human. That people loved to party, to go out and about and see everyone and do all the things. That people loved to exercise and was either at Vanna or Cross-Fit or running or walking the dogs, all the while listening to the podcasts and reading the books and cooking the things. At night time. That people had Time and she had Energy. 

This new people has neither the Time nor the Energy. This people is creating new PECS cards. She's finding out how in the name of chuff she can get the Tiny Human's ears and eyes tested without causing a Meltdown. She's trying to find the right therapists (coz she found the last one to be crap). She's trying to figure out where she can possibly send her Tiny Human to Nido. Where they will live next? Which things are the priority? Which things are developing on a typical path and which are not? Which are WAAAAAY not? Which are the things we need to focus on first? And when, WHEN will sleep become a thing that is reliable and consistent? Is DHA really THAT big of a deal? Coz trying to get him to swallow Cod Liver Oil is, shockingly, a battle not worth waging, most of the time. 

A. Very. Strange. Thing. 

There's just so many decisions to make, so much of the time. Someone wrote to me the other day to express their understanding. I cannot tell you just how much I appreciate these types of messages. Yes, I'm super vocal about Single Mumming and about Mumming the Spectrum...and no, I will not shut up. It's so many things. But what it is to me is the Only Way I Know. Much like those hell-hole, battery raised chickens, I do not know any different. Completely unlike them, I am so blissfully happy. Yeah, it's hard; of course it is. I never know what I'm doing and I never know if I'll sleep for 1 or 7 hours or if I'll get a hug when I come home or a super huge tantrum. The one constant is that there is only ever me to deal with whatever it is. Our Santa Maria Poppins takes care of my boy and makes sure no harm comes to him and probably even loves him between 7am and 3.30pm. But that's it. NOTHING else is shared. All of the everything is mine. Am I doing the right thing by him? Is this the right therapy? Have I left it too late to do therapy? Is another dog ridiculous? Is another dog his saving grace? There is only guilt. And questions. And responsibility. And more guilt. And LOVE. All, all, all the LOVE. 

What would it be like to have someone to share this? Maybe easier. Maybe. 

But then I'd have to share him. And I just don't want to. 

We have had a few hard nights recently. Who am I kidding? It's been atrocious since we came home from the holiday. The sleeping has been absolutely shockingly bad and me going back to work is making my beautiful boy hate me during the week. I only realised this recently. At the weekend, he sleeps better (this weekend was an exception). At the weekend, we both wake up (stupidly early) happy, cuddly, ready for our day. We chill out together, we play, we walk the dogs, we might go see some of our Village. We are Us. From Friday at 2.30pm until Monday at 7am. And then it all goes to utter shit. Mondays are hideous - today he started SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER pretty much from the minute I walked through the door. And I'd love to say I keep it together, that all this stuff I'm reading and all these things I know about autism make me this cool, calm, collected Mama Bear who just strokes his head and soothes his woes. Does it fuck. I absolutely LOST IT today. Screamed back in his face. I'd had a horrible day - I'm literally puking from exhaustion. Is that my son's fault? Nope. Does my rational brain kick in during that moment? Nope. So I went nuclear. Then went in the kitchen and cried my stupid eyes out. 

Who fixed that? Masha and that stupid big Bear. Dinner. Bath. Stories, cuddles and loads of 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you to Forever and Forever'. Is that going to make this Guilt stop eating me up from the inside out? Unlikely. But I gather that this is fairly normal in the parenting world. 

Bottom line. This child surprises me daily. Adds new words daily. Cuddles me with increasing intensity daily. And rejects me with the same intensity. Not daily. Being a single parent and having a full time job which is split between two jobs and not really having a clue what you're doing in either part, is HARD, no doubt. But. This village of mine. This Global Village who send their support, or show it physically, or drop chocolate bars off at my door, or love my boy and love me right in our face or from the other side of the world? That village? Man, you make me feel like we can do anything. Thank you, Village. Tomorrow is another day. 

Dogs, Chaos, A Series of Unfinished Conversations

Indeed we do have a new family member. That new family member is currently trying to rip up my grass carpet whilst Bee hisses from the corner and Bob tries to, um, get to know her a little better... Oh dear. Bridget Jones is a beautiful, seven month old Beagle who is completely unhousetrained and completely gorgeous. Emilio LOVES her and we are hopefully going to get her trained as a therapy dog. What could possibly go wrong? Some may say crazy, I say the more the merrier. She has escaped from my apartment no less than 5 times in the last 2 days: the fun of chasing after her, having left the door open so the whole merry lot come tanking out into the park of the condo, well, how would you like your Mondays to go? Really, though? Yesterday, we had the Village over for brunch and mimosas...I don't actually know how many kids were here but it was absolute chaos and I loved it. Gradually, I think that Santa Maria Poppins is learning that I NEED a little chaos to survive and so is leaving my books where they are and not incessantly tidying Every. Little. Thing. My house is like my head; messy, disorganised and bursting full of love. Love in my head? Yes. I think that's right. 

Since the magic of Florida, we have had More Big Stuff going on. Emilio has started Speech Therapy and also started working with another angel who has mercifully danced into our lives at exactly the right moment. He is flying through our PECS training and has added new words to his repetoire. Currently, his favourite thing to wander around saying is, 'Peppa! George!" in an exact Mummy Pig voice. I am NOT jealous of a TV show character, I am NOT. It's not all about the actual words, of course it's not; it's about helping this bright little cookie learn to communicate with the big, bad world. But hearing his gorgeous voice saying 'banana' or 'pencil' or 'huevo' is just the most beautiful music. It's the most difficult thing, trying hard not to hope that he'll speak because whatever happens and however he is going to be is just perfect to me. But hope, I do. That he'll one day say 'I love you, Mama'. Or even 'I want to watch Peppa'. I'd take that. 

We also began the what-I-thought-would-be-hell Toilet Training. Again, how this child surprises me. Armed with the potty, the books, the Elmo DVD, the Elmo book, the PECS symbol and the millions of bleach...we began. Day 2 and he was doing it. Absolutely incredible. Incredible. We are still struggling to get the how-he-can-express-that-he-needs-to-go sitch, but he full on is doing it. The last few days, he's been a bit poorly (cue many cuddles and snuggles and, of course, Peppa) so there were a few accidents yesterday. These words I did utter: Emilio. For the love of god. You just have to pee in the potty. That is all. That is LITERALLY your only responsibility in life. I will do EVERY. OTHER. SINGLE. THING. FOR. YOU. Just pee in the potty! 

It made us both giggle our heads off. I wonder if he actually understood how ridiculous I was being. 

So yes, we are now a family of 6. I said no more furries until I have a farm. Well. I promise I will NOT get a goat until I have a farm. Or at least a big house with a big garden. No goats. Or pigs. 

Other Stuff I've Learned: 

1. You will never finish another conversation ever again. "Oh heeeeey! How was your...EMILIO?! STOP EATING THAT BIRTHDAY CAKE! IT'S NOT YOURS!" 

2. Or cup of coffee. 

3. There is no such thing as too much coffee. 

4. Sometimes you have to accept that 3.30am is when the day begins. Hard. But acceptance is key. 

5. Friends who are also parents will be so equally as desperate to talk to other adults as you are, that you will constantly interrupt each other, not really listening but absolutely hearing each other, in manner of Meredith and Christina, when you do actually see each other. 

6. You will NEVER do All Of The Things. Don't stop trying, but definitely know you won't. 

7. Going to the bank to pay Some Of The Things without either the Tiny Human or the Furry Family absolutely feels like a 2 week vacay. You should def have a piña colada on the way there. 

8. Running after the fastest Toddler ever to have existed is both terrifying and hilarious. Where did he go NOW? 

9. Bedtime stories remain the most perfect place to exist. 

10. Saturday nights on the sofa, with the furries, the greatest love of your life fast asleep in dreamland, a great book and a glass of red is everything. Absolutely everything. 

11. 9pm is too late to go to bed.  

Travel

Did we go to see our family? Yes, we did. Yes. We. Did. Emilio, being allowed to actually get out of his bed when he woke at 3.30am on the day of travel, was particularly delighted with himself. The everything went all according to plan. We had priority check in, we had priority security on account of being a parent with a child (THANK YOU, PERU. NOTE TO ALL OTHER COUNTRIES IN THE WORLD: THEY HAVE REDUCED LINES BECAUSE THEY ARE LITTLE!!), straight through into the Lounge where I encountered for the first time, a children's section. Actually shamazing. Onto the plane where we had been upgraded to the first row...all was going swimmingly...until it wasn't. The neurologist said to just give him Melatonin to calm him and make him sleep. What the neurologist doesn't get is that my son LOATHES AND ABHORS the sleep and fights it with every breath in his body, every fibre of his being. So, instead of inducing calm...the sleepiness made him rage. I was introduced to the blood curdling scream at however many metres above sea level. As was the rest of the plane. Such was the level of torture, that the stewardess asked if anything could be done. I did not punch her because I do not believe in violence, nevertheless, to say it was a stressful time would be an inaccuracy. To say that I nearly threw both of us out the plane would be slightly exaggerating. I'll leave you to your thoughts...

However. People keep getting more wonderful. Sat beside us was a gentleman from Illinois. Almost close to landing, and only after Emilio had climbed on him and played with his beard, did he share that 12 years ago he was on a flight back from China with his baby girl daughter...along with 39 other infants who had just been adopted. He also had many friends with children with autism. He couldn't have been kinder and I couldn't be more grateful. Thank you, kind sir, should you ever read this, for showing such compassion when I was losing my mind and showing no patience whatsoever. Thank you. 

Landing in Orlando...my, oh my. They were INCREDIBLE. "Hello, Miss Kelly, we are waiting to accompany you with your son and make sure this next part is as stress free as we can make it." Yes, I whimpered. Anyone travelling with a person with additional needs, you go ahead and contact the airlines AND the airports. I am so glad I did - what a service and with such wonderful humour and humility. Again, thank you. 

And then. We had made it. We had actually got out of one country with its ridiculous rules and stuff into a country I have the utmost disrespect for due to its president (lower case intended), yet adore. I love Florida. LOVE. IT. It's hot and gorgeous and people are friendly and the roads are wide and no one is trying to literally ram your car and kill your child crossing the road. Yes, you have problems - guns and school shootings and gay club shootings. There is NO point trying to go there. But you are also the home of MIckey and Harry Potter World. Where people buy your $400 grocery bill and don't even want a thanks. Where the car in front pays your toll, just coz. Get over guns, stay as human as you are, and I'm yours. 

With all this, I am certain that my child picked up on family vibes. Certain of it. Meeting my gorgeous nephew and his gorgeous girlfriend after our long day and their long day and a SCREAMING MELTDOWN minutes before in the restaurant...what did he do? He puts both hands up and waves (backwards - the most amazing thing ever) and says 'hi! hi!'. Not once has he done this before. Yes the 'hi' and yes the waving but not both at the same time with both hands. This set the tone of our holiday. He just changed. I can't explain it and I can't even say what I mean...he just changed. More vocal, more interactive, completely accepting of all of our journeys, new people, new experiences. He lit up. He came even more alive. I am convinced that my son knew that the people we were with are my most important people. Convinced. And now he has a family. A grandma and a papa, aunts and uncles and cousins - the most amazing cousins anyone could ask for. Leading up to this trip, I was nervous. He is so different, my neurodiverse little piece of heaven, so I was nervous that he wouldn't be one of them...he's exactly one of them. Just one of our massive big gang, bringing something special to our already special mix. A & E, C & A, D & L, O & L: this little boy is the luckiest cousin in the world. And he has still got more to meet! 

It wasn't easy to get us there. In fact, it seemed impossible...but when faced with impossibility, I generally shout something offensive and go at it head on. There were new elements of parenting that were thrown up in our faces and new things I had to learn. As ever, my temper is my worst trait and it's taking everything I have to calm it. Despite years of not giving a flying filangie what anyone thinks, or perhaps building my persona to give off that impression, I really can't cope with the screaming in public. It sets my nerves on edge and makes me react angrily...I'm working on it. Working on it on a plane, when you've 5 hours and 45 minutes to go is new levels of hell. 

But totally, utterly worth it.