I thought I was prepared. I had had the Gina Ford potty training bible by my bed and religiously read and re-read. I even got Barley to look at the pages in the hope some of her words of wisdom would infiltrate Barleys subconscious.
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I’m going to be the prefect parent. In fact, we’re the dream team we can do this…
I feel like I could write forever about the beginning of our adoption journey but somehow to do justice to our son, I feel I should focus purely on his entrance to our lives.
My Dad’s death last month, following an intense, but relatively short battle with cancer, has been the most visceral, powerful experience of my life, bar none – and I include childbirth in that. Watching someone I loved so much take their last breath when, for a few precious minutes, it was just me, and him, alone, was a privilege both terrible and beautiful.
I will never forget holding our son in my arms for the first time. He was 10 months. A chubby-cheeked, healthy boy, with a curious look. My brown-eyed boy. With silky soft olive skin. A little tired, and unsure about the situation. But he was calm looked straight at us, and as I held him he almost instantly lent onto my chest. And just lay there. Only self-control prevented my heart from bursting.
