21 February 2014, by We Are Family
I’m a Dad. Actually a “Dadda”, which I prefer and wish to hold on to because a large part of me doesn’t want the progression from “Dadda” to “Daddy” to “Dad” to “the Old Man” to “see him – that mumbling, shuffly old geezer in the corner”. And Dadda-Dancing somehow conjures more sweet rather than cringe-making images than Dad-Dancing. At least to me; self-delusion is an excellent quality to possess.
14 February 2014, by We Are Family
All the adoptive parents I have ever met have been resourceful people. They have actively chosen and pursued parenthood through raising someone else’s children. An act that demands lifelong courage, perseverance and empathy.
31 January 2014, by We Are Family
I’m going to be the prefect parent. In fact, we’re the dream team we can do this…
17 January 2014, by We Are Family
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.
31 December 2013, by We Are Family
The end of the old year is near. Time to look back. For me at another extraordinary year. In no small part due to We Are Family, the post adoption support group, that came to life in the summer of 2013.
13 December 2013, by We Are Family
With the advance of 40, with time ticking over, settling the issue of becoming a parent (or not) gained importance.
What did we want? How far were we prepared to go? We were keen for parenthood and adopting was something my husband and I had separately considered. In the end, adopting felt the most right (although we had to follow the tried and tested path before allowing ourselves this conclusion).
29 November 2013, by We Are Family
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.
18 November 2013, by We Are Family
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.