On Saturday 13th April 2013 I will be celebrating Undiagnosed Children’s Awareness Day, probably at home, perhaps with an acquired bit of Easter chocolate, but undoubtedly with a huge sense of pride. I guess I don’t talk that much about Dominic (and of course Elliot and Lilia as we know they have a milder form)
I feel a bit squidgy inside, gooey almost. It’s not from the glut of Easter eggs that I have eaten (that has been hampered by the fact that there seemed to be an Easter egg shortage in Hertfordshire this year) but because of fluff, and newborn-ness and big eyes and wobbly, unsure legs. Shall we
Yes, you read the title of this post correctly. I have spent most of the day staring at an egg. It’s not just any egg though, it’s an egg with personality. To be fair the personality probably comes more from the chick inside it than from the egg itself as the shell is the only eggy bit left.
The warrior parent. A much used label for a parent with a special needs child who fights the system until they are bruised and bloodied and then still gets up, spits out a loose tooth and goes in for a second round. Some parents wear this label as a badge of pride, and I completely
…There was more truth in that silence than any blog post or facebook update could ever have come close to. There was no way of parcelling it up, of telling the story, there was just a nothingness. No problem for me to solve, no battle for me to fight. And still I stayed silent.