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Category:
Foster mum

11 posts in this category

A Day With Rosa

This blog follows on from 'A Tribute to a Foster Mum'. Last week's blog described only a fraction of what she means to us. In this post I will continue my tribute, and include her family. A pivotal point is the trust my husband and I place in her, that key piece of the puzzle that is Max's life.

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Tribute to a Foster Mum

My husband and I were scared witless the first time we met our son’s foster mum. She didn’t make eye contact with either of us and her body language was closed - hostile, even. Both arms wrapped tightly across her soft bosom.

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The Smell of Digger

The first time I met Digger, I thought his smell was strange, and truth be told, unpleasant, vaguely off-putting. It made me very worried. How could I bond with him if I didn’t like the way he smelt? Was it a fundamental dislike I had sensed? Was adopting him going to unravel because of it?

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12 Blogs under the Christmas tree #8

It's the first Christmas we have officially been a family of 4. Last year we had a court date in December that we had hoped would finalise the adoption, but a tiny overlooked detail meant that the judge deferred the decision until January. It wasn't what we had hoped for, but he was still with us and as far as we were concerned he was one of us. It just wasn't official yet.

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The Twelve Blogs of Christmas #1: Twinkle in the Sky

20121201_130647Christmas can often be a time for reflection on what went before."Auntie, your baby is a twinkle in the sky.” had said my beautiful, little freckly niece soon after my summer wedding. I will never forget those words. The winter that followed was tough. It was freezing, the country covered in snow. I sat at my office desk, consumed in my own darkness of winter blues and post wedding blues, but mainly coming to terms with my doctor’s news that having children of my own would not be a good idea. I had no idea a twinkle in the sky was about to enter this world, my son, and in the hospital just around the corner from my work.There are no words to truly describe those days of introductions. Those moments that are like gold dust to me now. The moment when I first saw this smiley, beautiful, brown eyed boy. When I stroked his soft black hair. How he didn't mind getting in the car with two complete strangers to go to the park for hours at a time as we all got to know one another. How it felt to hold his small, warm hand in mine and the moment when he held out his other one to my husband and we walked those first steps together, hand in hand, as a family. Or how his cheekiness started to emerge when he bent down and tickled my feet, saying "ickle, ickle!".But there is one moment I will never forget. We were coming to the end of our bedtime routine.Having finished our story, usually Perter Rabbit, my son in my arms, him gulping back the last of his bottle while holding his essential fleece blanket. As I starred into his chocolate eyes I began to run my fingers along his brows, gently over his eyelid, his little nose, stroking his soft chubby cheeks. His eyes didn't leave mine. Then he lifted his own hand and ran his small fingers along my brows, touching my eyelids, nose and face.The tear drops which trickled down were filled with boundless love for this child, for my son, and they were also tears of my grief and darkness leaving me.My niece was right! My baby was a twinkle in the sky, the brightest and twinkliest one; and with the hands of many, it landed in our laps, into our hearts and is our world.Merry Christmas everyone!

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Fostering issues

I found the prep' course that adopters go through to be quite comprehensive and of great value, it's hard to imagine that in the past adopters were offered none of this information to prepare them for what in some cases are huge challenges, but for everybody is something new and unknown.

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I’m your baby, mummy

Recently, our son’s foster mum was visiting with her son. A much-loved, plum and delicious boy of six months. We all hunched over the little miracle, admiring his being. I thought it a lovely moment and added: ‘When you were this little you lived with Rosa, my friend.’ My 3 year-old looked me in the eye and corrected me:

‘I am your baby, mummy. I was with you.’

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Ask the 8 year old

She was just 8 at the time and she was being asked if she wanted to stay in the home she had known for - at that point - over 2 yrs with people who cared for her and offered her the only real security she had ever really known - at the expense of staying with her brothers. Or to continue to wait for... well, the totally unknown.

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We'll take that

We were recently invited to a party by our sons Foster Mother of almost three years, for her husbands birthday. It was a surprise party with family and friends and a good opportunity for the boys to see - who they call - 'Nanny and Grandad' outside the twice yearly contact that is arranged through social services.

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