We Are Family


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Potty Blues

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 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.

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Perfect Parents

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.

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Going from 2 to 3

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.

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Early Days with 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.

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The Ride of our Life

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).

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My Dad and Grace - a story of bereavement and adoption

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.

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