On Tuesday, when I picked Isla up from nursery, she hugged my lap as she sometimes does. ‘I MISSED you, Mummy.’ ‘Really?’ I asked. She’s a Daddy’s girl, see. I am obviously still questioning every bit of affection she doles out. To me. ‘Yeah,’ she said ‘Did someone pay you to say that?’ ‘Uhm. No.’ When I’m happy, my eyes kinda crinkle up until you can’t see them. Like Isla’s. Because, y’know, I’m her mother. I did a little dance…
How many mothers with CP (some would call ourselves spaz hands) does it take to rip jelly blocks and then remove the set jelly from jelly molds? One. And today, that one is me. And this is what it looks like when your kid insists on having that jelly with cheese crackers. Notice how the jelly looks like butterflies? Yeah, me neither.…
I’ve decided I’m still a writer. I need to write more, but I’m still a writer. I have lots of notebooks. Some are even full. I also have a husband whose nicknames don’t stick, and a daughter who has too many. I have CP and a sporty wheelchair which I love, even if my post-baby hips are too big for it these days. I don’t know where I’m from. New York, by way of Dallas and the Highlands. And Glasgow.…
Hi, my name is (still) Lorna. My kid is just over six months old, and I don’t know how the hell that happened. No, I don’t need a Biology lesson. I need a drink. I haven’t written anything longer than a Facebook update in well, six months. But yet, here I am. Today, I found myself in a bookshop, wiping a booger off Isla’s face and then smearing it on my jeans. Is that some sort of parent achievement unlocked?…
