Your little sister Minnie has learned to walk.
It has taken her a little while, she has been a very speedy crawler (unlike you) so she didn't see much point in it till now.
And it has been quite emotional for me (Mummy).
When you reached your milestones we were of course very proud, parading all your new tricks to the world and declaring you (slightly tongue in cheek) as very advanced. But we barely even thought about the prospect of you ever NOT hitting any of them, you just did them automatically and there was never any need for intervention. Indeed, the challenge with you is figuring out how best to encourage you so you fulfil your potential, as you are so bright and eager to learn.
But with Minnie, none of these milestones were ever guaranteed. I remember sitting in the hospital with Daddy a few days after Minnie was born. It was the evening and we sat opposite the beautiful prospect of Big Ben in the Riverside Lounge. It was quiet and empty as it was late, and Granny and Grangrad were kindly looking after you while Daddy had some time at the hospital.
We sat, and we had the most heartwarming discussion. One of THOSE discussions, you know. We declared how lucky we were to have each other, as a solid foundation as rough times had hit us with a thud. How lucky we were to have you, our spark of joy in the darkness. And how lucky we were to have our friends and family who rallied round so valiantly.
And we talked about the brutal realities. About how we would manage Minnie no matter what, however broken she was. But also being honest with each other, agreeing that what scared us most was not losing her, but for her to be left alive as a mere shell of a person. Unable to move, feed, feel happiness, independence or to properly live. But that, even if that happened, we would manage.
So with every milestone, I remember that conversation. I see her smiling with elation that she is taking her first steps, I hear every babbling word and grab onto it with glee, I love that you play together so joyfully now she is bigger, stronger and becoming her own person.
And despite all the clinics, transfusions, blood tests and hearing challenges, they are simply nothing compared to where we might have been, had fate not cut us some slack last year.
We are so lucky … and every milestone really is a miracle. I adore you both.
It has taken her a little while, she has been a very speedy crawler (unlike you) so she didn't see much point in it till now.
And it has been quite emotional for me (Mummy).
When you reached your milestones we were of course very proud, parading all your new tricks to the world and declaring you (slightly tongue in cheek) as very advanced. But we barely even thought about the prospect of you ever NOT hitting any of them, you just did them automatically and there was never any need for intervention. Indeed, the challenge with you is figuring out how best to encourage you so you fulfil your potential, as you are so bright and eager to learn.
But with Minnie, none of these milestones were ever guaranteed. I remember sitting in the hospital with Daddy a few days after Minnie was born. It was the evening and we sat opposite the beautiful prospect of Big Ben in the Riverside Lounge. It was quiet and empty as it was late, and Granny and Grangrad were kindly looking after you while Daddy had some time at the hospital.
We sat, and we had the most heartwarming discussion. One of THOSE discussions, you know. We declared how lucky we were to have each other, as a solid foundation as rough times had hit us with a thud. How lucky we were to have you, our spark of joy in the darkness. And how lucky we were to have our friends and family who rallied round so valiantly.
And we talked about the brutal realities. About how we would manage Minnie no matter what, however broken she was. But also being honest with each other, agreeing that what scared us most was not losing her, but for her to be left alive as a mere shell of a person. Unable to move, feed, feel happiness, independence or to properly live. But that, even if that happened, we would manage.
So with every milestone, I remember that conversation. I see her smiling with elation that she is taking her first steps, I hear every babbling word and grab onto it with glee, I love that you play together so joyfully now she is bigger, stronger and becoming her own person.
And despite all the clinics, transfusions, blood tests and hearing challenges, they are simply nothing compared to where we might have been, had fate not cut us some slack last year.
We are so lucky … and every milestone really is a miracle. I adore you both.
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