When your sister was 5 months old I fainted one day and did a pregnancy test on a whim never thinking for one minute it would be positive. It was, a great big positive. I rang your father hysterical. I wasn’t ready for another baby, you had other ideas.
It took until my 3rd trimester to accept you were coming. I’d told my obstetrician I didn’t want to feel a thing this birth, it was too soon after your sister. He promised me I wouldn’t and kept his word – when you flew into this world I didn’t feel a thing. When I saw you it was love at first sight – you were the most beautiful baby, like a porcelain doll. Daddy wanted to call you Mae but I won and it became your middle name.
At 6 weeks old we found out you had hip dysplasia, the doctor put you in a Pavlik harness and you stayed in it for 12 weeks. I was distraught, you took it in your stride. I was worried you wouldn’t ever walk properly, the doctor told me that for some reason the kids he had seen after being treated for HD turned out to be great runners. I’ve never forgotten those words.
You were a difficult baby. Didn’t like sleeping or eating – you didn’t touch solids at all. We took you to more doctors than I could count. Until one said does she eat anything? We said yes – donuts. So he told us to feed you that. We did, for months straight. You still love those.
At 4.5 we started you at school. People were hesitant but not me. You were 18 months younger than some kids but thrived. In your first year you won a Mercy Star Award: it was for being an awesome all-rounder. Your teacher saw what I did, you were special. By now you had a baby brother and idolised him, 2 years on and we added your sister. You were now officially the middle child.
Sometimes I think you struggle being in the middle and I get that, I was the middle child too. You’re not the oldest nor the youngest, you’re just the middle. But the middle is so important – without you there’s no foundation.
Tomorrow you turn 8. Every thing you do you excel at. Dancing. Gymnastics. Acrobatics. Running. Swimming. Reading, writing and maths. You’re ridiculously smart and gorgeous. A tomboy – your worst nightmare is frilly dresses and makeup. And you can sing. You keep telling me you want to go on Australia’s Got Talent. I think you’d kill it.
The other day you came to me and said you’d read my blog when I left it open on my PC. You’d read a post on kids in large families and laughed and said you didn’t know I could write like that and that you were proud of me.
Read this: without you there is no blog. You are my inspiration to get up every day and what makes me smile. That little pregnancy test that scared me was the best thing that ever happened to me.
Happy birthday, I love you
Love Mum x