So many things, so many days gone by

Wow, more than two months since I last wrote! How did that happen. I know how – work, home, you, tidy, cook, eat, tidy, flop, sleep, up, dressed, work, home, you, tidy, cook, eat, tidy, flop, sleep, up, dressed, Busy Bees etc etc.

You are doing a ton of things that you weren't doing two months ago; your language has evolved to the point where we're almost having conversations, you are obsessed with drawing faces – sad, happy & grumpy, you are having daily tantrums, you love dancing as much as ever and have been to your first baby disco, you sing songs to me now, you tell your toys stories and talk to them, you think Talking Carl on my phone is a little friend, your colouring-in is astoundingly good, you can count to 12 perfectly and to 20 a little randomly, you know how to work us like puppets and you gave us our first serious A&E scare two weeks ago by stopping breathing and passing out. And I'm sure there's more. Oh yeah, everyone still thinks you're the cutest thing ever.

It's nearly Christmas now and you've become quite aware that Christmas is a fun thing and I am finding myself getting into the spirit of it much more as a result. We've got a tree you keep pulling the baubles off, we're got twinkly fairy lights and we've taken you to a pantomime starring none less than Mr Tumble. You were transfixed! You almost didn't move for two hours, it was brilliant. You know Christmas means presents too; I caught you on tip-toes trying to reach for some presents on the sideboard a few days ago. I thought you'd gone suspiciously quiet and there you were, reaching silently.

Now, the A&E thing. That was one of the most heart stopping moments of my life. You did the long silent scream and I was joking, going, here it comes, here comes the big loud scream... But it didn't come, you went limp and lifeless and white, still not breathing. My mind simultaneously went blank and a thousand different scenarios flashed through my mind as to why this was happening, all of them terrifying. Luckily I was with friends, someone called 999 immediately and all was ok. Apparently it's a strangely common thing kids can do. Duck me though... you dare ever do it again... I will only be 50% less terrified no matter how much the doctor said it's not harmful.

We've seen P&A&C again, which was nice. A told me after that she had a word with P for talking about the past in front of you. She correctly realised that you are going to start understanding these things soon and it mustn't be by overhearing conversations. I was glad she realised this as I have too in recent months, but it also brought forward the fact that I am going to have to start telling you stuff, sooner rather than later. It guts me; I don't care how many people tell me the younger the better, it'll be fine long as you don't hide anything, what do they know. I will never stop wishing that you had come out of my belly and that my being your mum was never in question. It would all be so much simpler then. I suppose I think people think of me as not your 'real' mum because I didn't give birth to you. I hate that my mum-ness is diminished and I go back to being a barren infertile woman. Of course I worry that you will reject me too, use adoption as an excuse to reject me when you're a teenager and doing what teenagers tend to do. I probably need to start reading a few books to prepare myself. Or just talk to mates with teenagers cos I might find that much of it has nothing to do with adoption.

At the moment we have a very strong bond and it's hard to think that one day, it might not be so. However, let's keep it cheery – we do have a strong bond and you will know what you need to know in digestible chunks from an early age so no nasty shocks. We will be behind you every step of the way, whatever you decide to do, and however hard that might be inside, we'll suck it up for your sake.

*Happy face*

Yesterday you watched me run my first half marathon

It was a big thing for me that run yesterday, because it is the culmination of something that started more than five years ago, when I first found out I would be unable to have babies without assistance. And so there we were yesterday, Pa, you and me, our little family, all there to see me do something I never in a million years thought I was capable of, with you, the kid I never thought I'd have.

Ok, I didn't "have" you, but I am your Ma in every single way that I can be, especially deep in my heart. You have become a part of me as deeply as any biological child could have, I see no difference. The only difference is when other people impose one. Like when they refer to D as your mother. I am Louse's mother, I say plainly. Yes, they say, but you know what I mean. No, I don't know. It offends me deeply when people who know me well say this thing to me, casually, like it's just words. How can they look at me and call D your mother to my face?? I have come to realise over the last five years how often people unwittingly say stupid thoughtless things like this and don't see the harm in what they say.

We bumped into P & C at the park yesterday, they had come to see me finish the race but missed me ad by pure coincidence we bumped into them later. We were with our friends and one part of me was pleased to introduce them to P & C, but as always another bit of me recoiled. You held your arms out to P and as always, I recoiled a bit at that too. I want you not to recognise them any more to be honest. But if you've been reading this blog, then you know this already. I'm sorry, it's not very generous of me, but this is a place for true feelings, in all their glory, unpleasant as some may be.

Today is also te first day that you let me put anything in your hair, bobbles & clips. You looked like a proper little girl suddenly, more grown up somehow.

A few day ago you cried when I held another baby

And when I say cried, I mean proper upside down mouth and big wailing crying!

I was a little taken aback. Is that normal or have you now attached to me that strongly?? It is lovely of course, to be wanted so much but I was also probably a bit worried in that brain-fast-forwarding-thru-different-scenarios way - have I made you too needy, will you be hard work at nursery, will you form too-stron attachments to people, etc. (see, this is why I run, to quieten down the brain chatter). I know it's fine really, I'm just being anxious.

A parent, bein anxious, worrying about their parenting abilities and how their beloved little ones will fit into society? Who'd have thought.

Photo shall follow. Hope iPhone sort this out soon...

Today you decided what you wanted to wear for the first time

You are starting to love dresses; you certainly like trying on clothes when I'm sat in your room figuring out what to dress you in. And this morning, I was being indecisive as usual when you grabbed a dress a Japanese friend just sent. I thought it was a little big, but I put it on you for a laugh and it was ok, so we went with it. It's not often I dress you in pink, but today there is no doubt that you are a girl.

I just listened to a Radio 4 show about children in care and the effects on them their early life experiences have on them. I listened with interest, but I also separated myself from the programme, telling myself that as you were well looked after (apart from the two weeks where they tried to encourage contact with D) and you came to us right when you turned one, it didn't apply to you. Partly I think that's true, but I also think that I want to forget about adoption. You feel so much ours, I hate reminding myself that you started out somewhere else. And yet I am also very proud of your heritage on D's side and I look forward to telling you about your birth family as people. But see, even just there, I tried to find a way other than "birth family" of referring to them. Anyway, on the radio show I was talking about, there was a mother & daughter who had come together when the little girl was 7, and they seemed to have a very close relationship despite the late adoption. The woman very firmly said "my daughter" several times and she said it very naturally. I thought that was lovely. I hope that none of the information that will come to you rocks our relationship. I am sure though that many things will test us, but I hope we are laying the foundations strongly and deeply enough to make our family sturdy enough to withstand whatever will be thrown at us.

Yesterday we went to the hospital where you were born

Although we were there once before for your general medical, for some reason on this visit (to get your eyes checked, turns out you're a bit short sighted) I found myself thinking about D, birth mother. As I walked through the corridoors I thought of her arriving here just over two years ago, in a state and in labour. I kept thinking I might see her, it made me feel strangely connected to the place. Recently, some woman I was talking to in a playground or something, asked me your birth weight. It looked so odd that I didn't know to the exact gramme. I checked so now I know - 2.68kg. Tiny.

So the eye exam revealed that you are indeed a little near sighted. No glasses yet but we'll go back in four months for a second assessment. You might be a bit more compliant with the doctors trying to look in your eyes by then... Maybe... They mentioned that it could be an issue related to D's behaviour when pregnant, that her actions may well have affected your development. It's the first time it's been said really. It sort of struck me, as til now it's just been a case of - hey, she's just petite. And maybe you are; time will tell.

All of that made me think about the fact that you have a history before August 14th last year and about the fact that it is no longer at the forefront of my mind on a day to day basis. But it also made me feel sad for you. Partly that someone else's actions could affect you when you asked for nothing, and partly cos one day we're going to have to tell you all about that, about D, about how she was & what she did. From my friend that is adopted I know it brings a fundamental rejection that can never really be healed. I wish I could protect you from that hurt but I can only love you as I do now, keep you on the straight & narrow, and hopefully make you secure enough that it won't totally crumble your world.

It seems to me that we are all fully registerig that we are now a family. For Pa and me, passing the year marker was significant as it meant we had been a family at least as long as you had been with P&A. But you - recently you keep looking at me, patting me and saying "mummy". And when we're all three together you'll pat Pa too and state "daddy". It's as if you're stating it, affirming it, checking it, saying out loud in recognition. I always reply - yes, Louse's mummy.

Oh dear, I seem to have something in my eye...

Three days since we tried potty training

I wonder if anyone becomes the sort of parent they imagine they will be. I have been around kids a lot before becoming a mum, I know it's not the same as having the ultimate responsibility, but I had lived a close quarters with family & friends and their kids so felt quite confident in my parenting abilities.

It has come as a surprise to me how much I can question what I'm doing, look to others to see what they're doing and generally get my knickers in a twist. I worry a lot, when you're tantruming publicly for example, that people will think I'm a rubbish mum, that you're out of control or not happy or something. I'm amazed at how much I care what others think. I'm not sure if this would have happened anyway or if it has come as a byproduct of adoption and all the responsibilities that come with that. I don't think it's 100% responsible, but I do reckon it plays a part because it feels like we have extra pressure to make sure you're ok as a person in the long run, given your family background. It makes me realise how utterly lucky we were to get you so young. Already, now you're two, I can see how much bigger a transition it would have been for you if you were that bit older.

So the last three days we have been somewhat prisoner in the house as we decided to have a go at potty training, the hard way ie nappies off and that's it, no big trips out until the potty is being used regularly. Three days in I have cracked and I think perhaps you're not quite ready. You ticked all the boxes that the book indicated, but you pee and poop freely with no conception of the potty and its function, other than a funny chair I sit you on now and then. Here's a case in point, where I thought I'd be all relaxed and organic, and then I find myself following the instructions of some woman who thinks that kids need Draconian regimes to keep them in control (she has no kids). Anyway, we'll relax a little and let you warm to it in your own time. If only because there is only so much time I care to spend on my knees picking up poops and waving them bye-bye down the loo, while you shout for juice or strawberries or something. Never thought I'd be so relieved to put a nappy back on you...

Yesterday you counted to ten, perfectly. You have also started forming slightly sophisticated sentences – you were saying something was funny and doing your fake forced laugh; very cute. You have a mirror face that you pull. You still have an annoying tendency to toss your food onto the floor (more knee time for me). You are starting to be able to drink from a glass without drowning. You love throwing water over yourself with a cup when in the bath. We wake up to a naked you in the cot, proudly waving your pyjamas and nappy around at us. You are having super long naps, 3 hours. And when I'm in the playground with you, I feel very proud that you're mine.

One year and three days since we became a family

We've got something in common, your birth mother and I – we both lost our fathers at a relatively young age. That may not seem very significant, but it was a major event in both our lives; one that sent us both a little off the edge, though it hit D in a far more destructive way.

I mention it because maybe it will help me explain to you one day why D was unable to look after you, because I will be able to, from the heart, know how such a thing could have such drastic effects. There but for the grace of god... as they say. It allows me to feel some sort of empathy with her, though I didn't fall off life in the same way, it is probably the single biggest thing to affect me in my life so far. I'm not sure I'd be same person had my dad not died prematurely ad dramatically, that is both in good and bad ways.

Sometimes I miss my dad so much it properly aches. I imagine I can be granted one more visit with him, an hour or an evening in his company. I could ask all the questions I have, make sure he loved me and have a laugh, get him to do the silly things he did to make me laugh. I will tell you all about him when the time comes, I look forward to it. I'm sorry you've been deprived him as your grandpa.

I suppose it also means that, to a certain extent, I will understand your loss of birth parents. Though I know it will cut me inside when you express interest or grief over your birth parents, I hope I will be able to put that aside in order to help you deal with your feelings. In that way, we can share an experience perhaps. Anyway, we're not there yet so I'll park worrying about that. Plenty other stuff to fret about in meantime.

Your current favourite things are Where the Wild Things Are animation, trains, music & dancing still, me coming home from work and ringing next door's doorbell.

By the way, the photo below is him, my dad; he's the one at the front. He ran. Funny that I started running too. It was taken not long after he moved to the States and not long before he died.

Yesterday you were two years old

You turned two yesterday but we had a party for you on Sunday. Lots of pals came, lots of your little pals came, there were balloons, bubbles and a big blue Cookie Monster cake that was probably like giving you all uncut speed... And you danced. Oh how you danced, visions of waiting outside nightclubs for you flashed in our minds.

You seemed aware that it was some sort of special occasion; repeatedly saying "happy cake" was one hint. When we opened your presents yesterday, which were plentiful and lovely, you spent a half hourtwlling me to "open it" as you handed me gift upon gift.

For us, it has been a very special few days. A year since first setting eyes on you, since becoming a family, since falling head over heels in love with you. On your birthday last year however, we were amongst strangers that knew you better than we did. At that party, all I wanted to do was take you away & have you all to myself. I remember being relieved when you needed a nap so I could steal you away for a while. So this year was extra special as our first as a proper family. Yesterday, Pa took you to wave Granny off on train then to meet me for lunch. It was great seeing you on a work day, a bit of mum time.

So, happy birthday darling Louse, may there be many many more happy cake days.

It is exactly one year tomorrow since we first met you

This time one year ago, we were a pair of anxious terrified wrecks, about to meet you for the first time.

I can't believe a year has gone by. But I also can't believe that you were ever not here. I'm not often allowed to say this out loud, but it makes me desperately sad that you are not biologically mine, that I did not give birth to you and therefore know you from day one. We are not perfect, Pa and me, far from it, but we adore you unconditionally and unreservedly, you are my proudest moment and my greatest achievement. One year on, I think you're settled and I think you're happy. And crucially, I don't think you remember life before us, we are Ma & Pa, we are who you rely on un every way.

We saw foster folks, P & A, last weekend, for C's 8th birthday at the ice rink. It tool me a ridiculous amount of time to get you ready, to decide what to dress you in. I wanted you to look cute and lovely, but I also know that my version of that is different to theirs. For some reason I want their approval, I want them to think what great parents we are and how brilliantly you're doing with us. I feel very anxious in their company despite them being totally down to earth people. I'm desperate not to come over as too middle class, and to be smiley & relaxed, when inside I'm annoyed that they can tell stories about when you were 3 months old and how you did this or that from when you were tiny. I want that history with you. If I'm honest, it makes me jealous if I see you run to them, I want them to see that it's us you run to now.

All of that is obviously counter to the rational thoughts that you run to them cos they're open & welcome you, that maybe you do remember them somehow but it doesn't change how you feel about us, and that I am grateful to them for having been such great fosterers to you. I know it's still painful for them, especially A. We didn't invite them to your birthday party this weekend as, much as we want you to know who they are one day, we now need to step back from all things adoption and just be us. I felt bad, but even E, your social worker, confirmed that we should try to see them on non significant dates, that birthdays were for friends & family. Unfortunately, their presence will always bring adoption to the fore and for the time being we are enjoying that it can slip into the background.

Happy year one darling, you are the loveliest Louse I could have ever hoped for.

Three weeks since I last wrote

I have been intending to write almost every night since last time, but things keep getting in the way, like tiredness or telly or cleaning or having to work on the photos from someone's wedding. Time is so tight these days, what with looking after you Gremlin, working and training for my half marathon, it's hard to find spare time. Shame, as there is so much to write about really, both in terms of me and how I'm doing on my parenting lark and you & your developments, which are many.

Your current favourite things are playing with water, walking, Peppa Pig, the Where the Wild Things Are DVD which sort of scares you and fascinates you at the same time – you actually went behind the couch to watch it this morning, so cute. You like trying on clothes, you like being naked, you like kissing T next door, you like throwing your dummy out the cot as you know it means we'll come up to retrieve it, and you also quite like throwing food / spoons / bowls on the floor... yep, still an issue.

You are getting quite cheeky and ever more vocal. You repeat things and are starting to make sentences, making requests and stating preferences which is great. Still, there are the tantrums... Yesterday trying to get you back into the buggy as the heavens opened was a challenge, I ended up laughing so ridiculous was it. I have had to have a firm hand a few times, it's hard, as the book suggests, to show nothing at all.

I spent a lot of yesterday thinking that I must be a crap parent because I cannot at all times stay completely calm and in control of situations. As I write that I can see how silly it is to expect someone to be that in control, but something happens when one becomes a parent, something shifts in one's view of oneself and you lose confidence. Nearly all the parents I know, the mums especially, are filled with self doubt and regularly think they are crap parents. And I think, oh you're fine, the kid is fine. But when it comes to me... it's a strong emotion and gives way to guilt that you're not providing the best ever, most balanced and supportive environment to be a truly well adjusted grown up. I am desperate not to pass on my baggage to you, only to pass on the good bits, but then I see little glimpses into the future and I wonder if you have the same wild card as D, birth mother. So many questions...

You are however, extremely mummy centric at the moment. Pa gets hugs and stuff, but if you don't see me in the morning you cry, and I can calm you down with a cuddle when you are upset and go beyond consolation. Luckily Pa does not take it too personally. It seems the mother-child bond is indeed strong as Pa spends just as much time with you, if not more as he has three uninterrupted days with you each week. I suppose I like it if I'm honest, reassures me that I'm not messing up totally. It's not that I think we are messing up, it's just that we are so aware of shaping and forming you, that it's hard to remain sure all the time that you're doing ok. The current tantrums make me worry, but I don't suppose it's any different to any other toddler.

Anyway, you are brilliant and I love being your Ma. It's your birthday soon and we've organised a little party. We'll get your little mates and some music & balloons, your first disco.

Today I received your new birth certificate

Where do I start with this posting. Of course, we've been on our first proper abroad holiday since I last wrote, we just came back last night.

Overall, it was a brilliant holiday. There were some challenging moments, but you coped really well with the whole thing, especially considering how many new people you met, the new language you heard constantly, the new food you ate (more sugar than you'd ever had for starters), the different places you went and the amount of travelling you did. You did throw up just as our train arrived into Paris however, on the outward journey, which was a nice starter.

You seemed to take it all in your stride, nothing seemed to phase you, not even the fact that your schedule went out the window or that the Atlantic waves knocked you off your feet and tumbled you around a little. But, for the last two days you have been scratching us and biting us rather hard and way too often. We're not sure why you're doing it, sometimes it seems like overenthusiasm and sometimes it's definitely frustration, but either way I'm finding it hard to deal with because it bloody hurts, physically and emotionally. I can't help feeling there's a little nastiness in it or some reaction to something we're doing wrong. I've checked the toddler book and no clear answers, just the old "show nothing, divert attention, say it hurts" stuff. It's at the point where I'm scared to get too near you as my face already has a big scratch across it as well as a few bruises, and other scratches here and there. I don't want to not be affectionate to you at all times, but when you do that I recoil partly cos it hurts and partly cos I want you to know how upsetting it is. But you laugh. And then swipe again.

I had to go to work today and after two and a bit weeks full time together I think you found that hard. I'm finding it hard to leave you, I do resent that I only was able to take three months leave to be with you, I do feel cheated. But such were our circumstances, you have to know it was not choice. I was not choosing career over you. And if circumstances were different now, I would stop working and be with you full time. Of course, work can be an easier ride, but it interrupts the flow and I think you suffer from it a bit. But maybe I'm projecting, maybe it's me that suffers really. I did after all come from a split family myself and miss out on having both parents around much. Maybe I just answered my own question. In any event, it doesn't matter as that's the way it is just now and at least you are with Pa when I'm at work. Though that might change as he is missing working a lot now.

Christ, parenting is riddled with guilt and confusion! And don't your own issues come up and bite you hard. How appropriate.

Back to holiday – family all adored you and as with everyone else that's met you so far, all accepted you as a new family member unquestioningly. You are the niece, cousin, granddaughter to an army of people. I loved being with them and finally being there as a mum. It felt like things came to a conclusion finally. I went to visit my dad with you, but his grave is in a horrid cemetery and I find it hard to feel emotional there. I also took you to a far nice and more spiritual place where my grandmother and grandfather are, as well as what would have been my big sister. We stayed there a long while, you played with stones on a grave, I introduced you to them. I think they approved. I cried.

Your language has evolved in leaps and bounds too. You are asking for things in a one word way, you are putting words together and you are speaking a little French. Oui, succes complet.

A day til we take you on our first proper holiday

We're off to France tomorrow, our first proper holiday together, the three of us. And to get us in holiday mode, the weather has been very hot indeed.

We'll be spending some time just us, but also introducing you to some family who have been very patiently waiting, but are itching to meet you. There will be aunts and uncles, and little cousins galore. I can't wait for them to meet you, I have waited soooo long to go as a mum. France is such a big part of my childhood, it's a significant step for me to finally be going with my own child. I think it will be a little bit emotional as we plan to visit some relatives that are getting on now as well as doing the rounds of cemeteries. Not as gloomy as it sounds. Or maybe it will be.

But the great thing is that I am so massively proud to be going with you as my daughter because I know 100% that they will all adore you, and they will all, some already do, consider you family, unconditionally. I am sure they will be charmed by you, with your spectacular eyelashes and your cheekiness.

Right, must get on and finish packing. You lucky thing, sleeping soundly next door, blissfully unflustered. You'll just wake up and be taken on holiday. Wish someone would bundle me up and make all my decisions for me!

A day since we got the letter confirming that we are your mum & dad

Just when you think there are no more steps, you get a letter confirming the court ruling to confirm that the adoption process is done and dusted...

Since last writing, nothing major to report other than some very very testing moments for me. It's bizarre how there are days when I'm totally on it, nothing ruffles me, I can take what you throw at me and all is calm. Then there's the days where I am in a sweat from start to finish and you are like a storm in a teacup. There have been two such days in the last week when I muttered not very mummy friendly things under my breath and had not very mummy friendly thoughts so hard was my patience tried. But also, I think I get in a flap some days more than others; behaviour that is normally manageable & containable, on those days becomes a day when I could really call Super Nanny and have her come over. I think that you are teething a bit more, molars perhaps, growing (do growing pains exist?), and at full throttle "terrible 2" behaviour. I know you are testing me. I've read the manual, it says it's because you love me. *laughs to self*

I think that you are testing me more than Pa. Is that normal or is that because I am the working Ma? Either way, you are most definitely seeing what you can and can't get away with so I have braced myself and am standing firm. This is where working part time sort of gets in the way; after three days with you over the weekend, I'm in the zone, but then there are two work days and I fall out the loop again. You are clever though, you know the days that are work days from the beginning. My leaving is no longer traumatic which is brilliant.

Last weekend we had a drink with some new neighbours and when talking about you, they were asking about pregnancy, did we play you music in the womb. I immediately said – no, nothing like that, she just loves music. I could see Pa was teetering wanting to tell them that you are adopted, but I jumped in to stop him. We agreed we would no longer tell people on the whole and I don't think there is any need for D&S to know; not because I don't like them, I do, but because there comes a point where it cannot be a badge of honour or a story we can tell, it has to be your thing when you're ready. I'm happily leaving it behind anyway, til I have to talk to you about it. Don't know why Pa was all eager beaver to tell them. He wanted to share I suppose. But there has to be a limit, we cannot follow "this is Nova" with "she's adopted" all the time.

Despite your three hour nap you have dropped off promptly, you little love. I feel so satisfied when we've had a good day and I have provided comfort, food and entertainment for you.

Two weeks two days since officially becoming your mum

It may be two weeks and two days since I officially became your Ma, but it's a work in progress...

I mean by that I'm still very much learning the intricacies of being a parent and co-ordinating that with being me, the immature, lazy, selfish, imperfect thing that I can be. Of course, parenting requires one to 'park' oneself, you hear people talk about it and you see people doing it – friends and family. Come the moment to do that yourself, it's surprising to see in what ways you exceed your own expectations and in what ways you fail miserably. I had yet another food related hurdle yesterday and don't think I handled it particularly well. The toddler handbook tells me that your tantrums and outbursts are merely because you love us so much and are so dependent on us, it is precisely us you need to assert your independence from, hence tantrums. So, I should be flattered that you care enough. I shall chant that mantra next time a challenging moment presents itself... you love me, you love me, you love me so much you're throwing everything on the floor and bucking like a wild horse...

Anyway, it's fine, I am learning to deal with these things as much as you are learning how to deal with your own emotions. We'll meet in the middle.

The last couple of weeks, since the court ruling, have been good because somehow we feel more settled with you, now we know there will be no more questions and no more intrusions; essentially that no-one can take you away. Did I mention your Life Story Book that E, your social worker, gave us for you? It's great. It covers everything from birth family, to birth itself, to foster family, to us, with blank pages for the future. It's nice that the book so far is only the beginning of the story, of the book itself, that there is space for continuation. You are after all, not even two yet. Quite a story you have already, that you're blissfully unaware of.

When I got home from work today, you were so unbelievably over excited to see me, it almost made me want to weep. It was the most amazing welcome home I have ever had, though most of your welcomes are pretty good. You chanted – mummy, mummy, mummy – and you clutched me and buried your head in my shoulder and laughed and pushed your face against mine. Wow. I should go out more often.

I am officially your mum

There's no going back now Louse, you're stuck with us. And we won the jackpot with you! I never ever dared to even dream that we would end up with a child as brilliant as you are. Even Judge Jolly at the pronouncement hearing this week said you were more lovely than in the photos. Obviously he doesn't say that to everyone...

The day itself was like all of these 'just a formality' days that we have had, where you realise that it is actually a very big deal and it's not an appointment that you can take or leave if you don't feel like it, it's actually super important and yet another assessment of some sort. But anyway, it happened, we went, Judge Jolly pronounced and we took some photos. Then we all went for coffee and for the rest of the day I don't think what just took place really sank in. I think for me it wasn't until yesterday when Granny left, Pa worked, and you & I just hung out that I felt total ownership of you in the deepest possible way.

E, your social worker, gave us your Life Story book, which she has done beautifully. It's like a little bible of all the information you will need, with maps and photos and lovely simple explanations. And crucially, it doesn't end, it is only half completed, we can now add to it, continue the story. It made me a little teary reading it, but I am very proud to be your Ma. I hope that you are proud of me too, once you've stopped dribbling and eating sand, my little official Louse.

Three days until I am officially your mum

So, it's three days until it's all official and we don't have to answer to anyone anymore. As I write that it doesn't seem like such a big deal, but I know on Tuesday I will either erupt into big gulping tears or show nothing and be the vision of serenity... which way will it go...?? Knowing me: show nothing. But I hope I do let go if the mood sweeps me, it is after all a very very big deal of a day. We are already your Ma & Pa, you're already our little shouty bean, but we'll all have the same name, you'll have a new middle name that we came up with, which you may or may not thank us for, and that will be that. I think. The notion of adoption can bugger off til you start probing. I think.

We've settled into our little routine with me working part time, Pa spending those days with you and it's like it was always thus. We haven't quite got a handle on 100% strict timings on everything, but you seem fine with that, as long as certain things happen during the day you are pretty flexible. I have noticed that our, certainly mine but I think Pa's also, confidence has grown hugely so we make parenting decisions without falling into a bucket of self-doubt and questioning. Love, after all, matters, and that we have in abundance. I do find myself now and then wanting to speed up time to see now what you will be like as a five year old, a ten year old, a teenager, a young girl and I even wonder about your wedding. Pa would cry hopelessly. I also wish that I could stand still for a while and let you catch up so that the age gap between us wasn't quite so big. I wish you could have had younger parents. But anyway, I'll stay youthful thanks to you and always remember that I met Jack White and surely that makes me cool :)

You do things now that I never thought I would experience – looking for me when we're at playdates or playgroups, burying your head in my shoulder when coyness suddenly washes over you, or just seeking comfort in my presence. I can make you feel better. I can make you stop crying. Just by being there. Amazing.

Your grasp of language is incredible and I have started introducing French. You understand everything I say to you and I hope it's not long before you start making proper conversation back. I imagine that will also bring an avalanche or argument and attitude, but it will also relieve your current frustrations when you can't ask for something. There is only so much more ah-ah-ah-ing and waving of the arm that I can take...

Goodnight Louse, you're already gone, soon as I lay you down zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Eight months and three days since becoming a mum

In the last week, you have become somewhat obsessed by belly buttons (is that two words or one??). You push your tummy out the way to check your own out and you make me lift my clothing in order to see mine, and to poke your finger at it. You also checked out Pa's and had a good rifle around that. I don't know why this is particularly fascinating, but it's certainly got your attention. And it got me to thinking about explaining what functions belly buttons have, why they're there in the first place. I started to say to you – mummy's belly button was made when she was a baby in her mummy's tummy and yours was made when... and I kind of drifted...

A part of me knows that one day, sooner rather than later, I will have to start divulging information about your coming into being, which may or may not shatter your little world. And that same part of me is strangely keen to make the first move sooner rather than later, however I stopped myself because actually it wouldn't mean much to you just yet and I want to enjoy the time before the questions start. I think on my part the urge to start telling you is because I know it's coming anyway and it's like that urge to throw yourself off a balcony if you are looking out over one at a fair height. Actually I don't want to have to tell you what I will have to tell you, I wish it weren't so, but it is and so I must squash that urge and let things be until you ask the questions that will lead to it. This process must be steered by you, at your own pace.

And as I've said before, we probably now have 1-2 years to enjoy being a family without any backstory, to build our bonds, or rather, continue to build our bonds for they are already pretty sturdy I think. In the same way that I am no longer mentioning adoption to people we meet when introducing you, I must resist the urge to spew any information before it is required or wanted.

May 18th.

That's the date. The date that we officially become a family, the date your name changes and the date we are no longer answerable to anyone anymore. We will go to court, we will stand before a judge, she/he will make their declaration and probably stamp something, we will take photos, we will all smile and I will probably weep big gulping sobs but pretend not to be and nearly choke trying to contain them.

Eight months today since becoming a mum

Wow, eight months today since we became a family. And how better to mark that than with a family holiday. We just returned from a week in Devon, in a shack on the beach at a place I hope you will become very familiar with. It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful in every single way.

Day one on arrival, instant de-stressing for Pa and me, and you were delighted at the massive playground we had arrived at. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, the water was pretty still and the view from our shack was a perfect composition of shingle, sea and sky. Worth noting that this also happened to be the week that European airports ground to a halt due to a volcanic eruption in Iceland and the subsequent ash cloud traveling in the skies. So not only was the sky bluer than blue, but there were no vapour trails and no distant hum of airplanes flying by. Amazing.

Our first few days was just you, Pa and me, which was lovely. I think you reveled in the fact that we were all together and there seemed to be nothing to do but play, eat and sleep. Think the sea air knocked you out cos you were having epic naps and deep deep nighttime sleeps. Even when your little pal F arrived after the weekend with his mum, his crying didn't disturb you.

Interesting developments this week on your part: new words – sea, sky, beach, boat, bird and ice-cream; learning to play with, rather than alongside, F; and realising that if we thought you had fallen, you would get attention and sympathy... I actually caught you just lying on the ground, looking to see who'd noticed, then fake cry. Hysterical.

I think it has been very good for us to go away on this holiday, very bonding. We had a small bump to reality when V, our social worker, called mid week to check how our finances are for her final report; honest answer: *ucked! Quite a shocking moment to be reminded that we are STILL in the process of adopting you and that, theoretically anyway, you could still be taken away by the powers that be. At this stage, and on this holiday, that jolted me. I thought, I wonder what would happen if I answered really truthfully, what would they do, take you away having spent the last two years telling us you don't have to be rich to adopt?? Anyway, I fluffed and answered and reassured that all was ok, which it is I suppose, albeit by skin of teeth. Not much longer now til last hurdle, court hearing this week that we do not attend and then the final one that we do go to should be in about six weeks. I think that will bring a level of relief I can only imagine at the moment, I suspect I will breathe freely as though I had held my breath for several minutes.

So holiday – fantastic to spend all day outdoors with you, toddling around, rearranging stones, kicking a ball, climbing in and out the shack, going up and down the shingle, paddling, and eating ice-creams. And most of all, fantastic to have all that time with you, with no work or dull chores to get in the way. You definitely thrived on it, I definitely did. I think you would claw someone's face off if they tried to remove you from us now. You have become yet more attached and have demonstrated this in ways that move me really – when wandering around pub garden while we lunched, you chatted to strangers as usual, but this time took me with you, made me carry you and rested your head on my shoulder coyly (not like you at all!) as they chatted to you. Funny bean that you are.

Finally, you now say hello. Well, you actually say – huwo, like Elmer Fudd. And I knicknamed you and F, Walter and Irma cos you were acting like a little old couple.

7.5 months since becoming a mum and discovering how much worrying you can really do

Louse,

It's 3.30am and I've been awake for half an hour listening to your horrible cough; I think it's a croup type cough. I've patted your back and given you more Ibuprofen which will hopefully send you back to sleep, not that you're fully awake, but hacking like that it's hard for you not to be disturbed.

Argh! I want it to stop, I cannot tell you how distressing it is listening to you and not knowing what to do. The only help I can find online is sitting in a steamy bathroom, which now that I think about it I'm sure I remember Auntie S saying she had to do with one of her brood. Before bed you had a coughing fit that ended up with you being sick, you retched so much. But bless you, you're still cheery and ready to play. Meanwhile, my nerves are jangled...

A lifetime since trying to become a mum and 7.5 months since becoming one

Excuse my silence, I was away on a work trip to Denmark last week. Our first overnight separation from eachother. More than overnight in fact, three nights and four days; it was long.

I left early in the morning and woke you up to say goodbye. I had been telling you for a few days that I would be away, that Grandma was going to come and stay, but I don't think you understood. I wanted to say bye, not just not be there in the morning then be absent for several days, but you were all asleep and confused poor soul so I didn't linger, just said bye quickly. You cried on my shoulder. Pa rang me an hour or so later to say you were ok.

From what Pa says, the first day and night were fine. It's not the first time I have left in the morning and not returned til after your bedtime. But during the second and subsequent days, it all went a bit awry. You seemed confused and upset. Apparently you were sort of ok during the day, but a little unsettled and not eating much. Then at night, hard to settle and waking frequently; something you rarely do normally.

It was hard knowing all this while I was away and retrospectively, four days was possibly a bit long to start with. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it. In the long term, I don't suppose it will scar you in any way. You ran Pa and Grandma ragged, they both looked drained when I Skyped them! Lightweights. And you were unusually silent, just looking at the computer me. I managed to coax you into a little playing with random mad sounding singing or word play, but mainly you just looked a bit sad to be honest.

I have to admit, I had a great time in Denmark. It's a lovely country and we went to different cities, met interesting people, had a laugh. I didn't get plastered and make the most of being away in that way; it just didn't happen and we couldn't be bothered actively looking for nights out. It meant that we were clear headed for work and able to enjoy a day of sight seeing on the last day. I don't feel guilty about going or about having a good time. But I did miss you terribly. Every time I saw a little girl, I would get a massive pang and want to show them photos of you, talk about you, tell them stories about what you like and don't like. So come the last day and the journey home, I was super excited and most anxious to just be home. Pa kept you awake, you hadn't really gone to sleep anyway, and you truly lit up when you saw me. You gabbled like you were telling me four days worth of stories, it was very cute. Your pointy arm was waving around like a... twirling pointy thing. And I managed to get you to bed and sleep pretty quickly. I enjoyed the cuddle and loved your chattering. It's nice to feel wanted.

You're now back to falling asleep pretty quickly though a horrid cough is waking you sporadically. It knots my stomach listening to that cough by the way, you just hack and hack, sometimes retching with the effort. But you seem to have recovered fast and you can see that normal service has been resumed.

We're off on our first proper holiday this Friday, to Devon, to a wooden chalet on the beach. Can't wait.

Five years and some since trying to become a mum and just over 7 months since succeeding

Let me tell you a bit about yourself. You're currently just over 19 months old. You are walking confidently, if a little wobbly at times perhaps because you're always running. You are chattering confidently too; I get a lot of what you're saying, but not sure anyone else does. You do however have a good number of very clear words; I made a list recently and since then we can probably add another 20 or so including tea, toast, pear, book, chicken (pronounced chick-chick-chick-chicken) and water. You recognise tons of animals and their corresponding noises. You can sit by yourself quite happily reading and chatting, for a good half hour before demanding attention. You like sitting in chairs. You like climbing. You have had a cough for about 5 weeks, but have not been moany about it, though I am going to take you to doctor tomorrow just to check it out. You sleep soundly. You wake happy. You are down to one nap a day on the whole. You love songs, music and singing, everything from kiddy stuff to Radiohead and classical via Led Zeppelin, Blondie, Bowie and more. Really truly you love it all, it all gets you rocking and dancing. You have a little lisp. You have nearly all your teeth, just a few big molars to come through. You can point to your tummy, head, eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, feet and toes, and you like to point to the eyes of your soft toys. You are very adaptable; if we vary your routine, you don't lose the plot, so we can go out with you of an evening and you fall asleep in the buggy – we come home and transfer you to bed, no traumas, you go pretty much straight back to sleep. People who don't *know* say that you look totally like me. And those who do know say the same. You love eating fruit especially tangerines + oranges, pears, plums and grapes. You are now mastering the art of eating by yourself; I do have to turn away from the mess, but it's getting better, depending on your mood. You like drinking from your tumbler that has the crazy straw attached. You eat almost anything and have eaten pickled herring, raw onion (which gave you v stinky breath), olives, saurkraut and, god help me, haggis. You don't seem bothered by sweet stuff. You are very vocal about your wants, currently this involves ah-ah-ahing and a waving left arm. I follow the arm to see where it's going and can usually work out what you want. I am trying to encourage you to use your words instead of the ah-ah-ah and the arm. You have killer eyelashes that people want to measure and your eyes are the first thing they notice. I suspect that you and I will clash in later years as we both have strong personalities, but I hope I can tame myself and do the right thing. Last but not least, I think you are the most gorgeous, funny and clever little thing that I have ever met, and I've met a few.

This is you the very first day we met you. I was so overwhelmed I don't think I managed to hold you much, but kept just staring at you in disbelief that such a brilliant and lovely little thing was to be my daughter. It was the culmination of a very long journey. Then suddenly there you were in the flesh and people were saying "there's mummy" and I would look round before of course realising they meant me.

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and seven months 4 days since becoming one

Hit another milestone yesterday as we all went to visit Foster Family. Not the first time we've seen them in the last 7 months, but the first time that we have all returned to their house since the day we collected you. It is a day etched deeply into all our souls.

Pa Cooke came away feeling very ignored by you, but this time I did not. I didn't hesitate one iota to check on you, cuddle you if there were tears and generally be there in your line of vision at regular intervals. The day was manic, too much for me at some points – 5 adults, 4 kids and one very very loud TV on constantly with Wii games and their noises – but A made a delicious lunch and was welcoming as always. You were brilliant; you showed no signs of recognising the house, but charged around as though you did. Now I know you well and have had the benefit of being your mum for 7 months, I know that you behaved exactly as you do wherever we go – you are sociable and happily go to people when you feel like it, so I didn't panic if you turned to P or A and held out your arms. It's what you do. But crucially, as reported after the Christmas visit, you turn to me much much more.

I feel that we now have maybe a couple of years before the questions start, a window of time when we can strengthen our ties yet further and forget about the whole adoption thing for a bit. I swear most of the time I feel 100% that you are my flesh and blood, such is the love and the attachment; sometimes it comes as little surprises to me when I 'remember' you're adopted. We bumped into someone I know through work on Friday, someone I have not seen in a while, but not a long enough while. We said hi, she looked surprised, I could see her doing the maths in her head... but I said nothing, offered no explanation other than yes, I too have a child. This is Louse, she's 19 months. Wow, she looks exactly like you.

:)

Stayed home today, which was lovely. You are king here, you rule your domain. You swagger around like you own the place. Had Gay Uncles over for lunch and you were charm personified. When you are free to roam and can get a regular cuddle, you are an absolute delight. They asked when they might look after you for the afternoon. Praise indeed.

This photo makes me smile as I suspect I will spend a lot of time chasing you as you make a break for the border.

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and seven months exactly since becoming one

You took your first almighty tumble today, down stairs. I swear my heart stopped for a second as I watched you slowly somersault backwards down the bottom steps in next door's house. Luckily you had no momentum as you'd just been sitting at the top of the steps and tipped backwards, and luckily your bones are soft. You were in a somewhat crumpled pile when I scooped you up then came a long silent inhale... eventually followed by the wail. I cried instantly and just hugged you, desperately looking for any signs of damage while thinking shit shit shit, how will I know if there's damage, how could I have let that happen, took my eye of the ball for a split second, classic mistake.

Luckily you are ok, I on the other hand have been left a little traumatised to the point where a cognac at 10am didn't feel like the wrong thing.

However as I sit here writing you just had a little crying session, which is unusual now once you're tucked up, and it cut through me like a knife. Instant thoughts of brain swelling, internal damage, pain, bleeding, etc. (Note to self, don't watch hospital dramas and learn rare weird medical cases). But you're ok, the dummy had fallen out and you weren't even really awake.

Dear god no-one told me I would be this anxious being a mum... Or did they.

This photo is one of my favourite ways of seeing you, on my knee, engrossed in something. In this instance, some Sesame Street songs on You Tube.

Five years plus since trying to become a mum and six months three weeks since becoming one

Today I found myself muttering for you to 'shut up and please stop whining'.

Nice, don't you think?

For the record, if you ever read this and not knowing what our relationship might be at the point of reading, since we became a family I have not had a single split second of doubt that it was not the right and the best thing (ever) to do, to adopt you. These writings are not testament to any regret on my part, what with all my anger and not handling things brilliantly sometimes, bur rather proof that I am a deeply flawed person indeed. The moment those words formed themselves today, I thought to myself – YOU shut up, what are you thinking! There you are little Louse, discovering your independence and unable to properly state your wishes and needs, swooping from one emotion to another because you know no better. And there am I, ditto, but I do know better. That's me, your mum, the person you are dependent on to help navigate the world of emotions... poor lamb...

Luckily those moments are few; most of the time I am hyper aware of my role and that what I do, how I react, what you learn from me, forms you in the most crucial way. It's a role I take very seriously, even though I feel underqualified, and I do my best, I really do. I have these moments, but I catch myself very quickly and have words. If I could put myself on the naughty step I would. But at the moment that would result in neglect as you'd probably seize the opportunity to career down some steps or get the iron out or something.

Today you said 'five six' and 'hi spider', and you discovered the joy of sand. And you don't know it, but there was the first court hearing this week concerning you. We are now in the final stages of the full and irreversible adoption. *smiles*

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and six months two weeks since becoming one

These are the words currently in your vocabulary, in no particular order and I've probably missed a few out. You parrot many words and understand even more, but these are the ones you actually speak.

shoes (shoosh), hat, cat, apple, mummy, daddy, nanny,trees, flower (fleur), coucou, abcd, un deux, dog, cow, sheep, book, cheerios, milk, juice, spider, quack quack, woof woof, bubbles, ball, baubles, toes, cheek, sleep, sssshhhhh, fish, teddy, purple, feet, bye bye, hiya, (ba)nana, baby, cheese, cheers, ooo-ooo (monkey), ssssssss (snake), bah bah sheep sheep, please, uh-oh, more, and encore.

You are currently next door in the bath being brillianty entertained by the lovely Auntie R. who has come to visit. You like eating all fruits especially grapes, mandarins and bananas, you love the bath and have no fear about getting your whole head wet, you love running around, you don't like being constrained, you love music – all sorts of music from kiddy to classical – and dance to it all, and you are extremely sociable when we're out and about and at the same time you can happily sit in your room reading books when I need to have a shower.

It's great when someone visits and says how brilliant you are and how happy you seem. It reassures me that we're not getting it completely wrong. Sometimes I need an external opinion to recalibrate me. And it has to be said you have been massively entertaining today.

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and six months one week fives day since becoming one

Sometimes I get very very vexed and angered by your actions, because sometimes it's as though you hate me and want to hurt me.

And sometimes you are so incredibly gorgeous that I put my face right against yours and stare right at you, feeling your cheek & smelling your breath, thinking bloody hell, you're mine you are, and I think how I would like to put you between two slices of bread and make a little sandwich of you.

Yum.

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and six months one week one day since becoming one

Hello Louse

Just wanted to say that all has been much calmer on the western front today. I think a lot of the issue with all the tantrum shouty stuff, is simply me learning how to deal with it and not freaking out. I spoke to my sisters and to a friend today, all of whom tell similar tales of non-eating/screaming/arching/resisting etc. Tiredness of course plays a role, when tired, one is not so resistant and it's easy to take it all very personally. When less tired, one has the presence of mind to be a bit more rational about it all. Having said that, I am knackered today, but have managed to stay calm today and there have been no horrible moments. I think I accept that you will not eat as much as I would like you to for a bit, however you will no doubt eat enough to not starve.

You discovered a chocolate biscuit today and came back for more and more like a crack addict.

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and six months one week since becoming one

Dear Louse

You just had a little meltdown. And by little meltdown I mean major screaming yourself hoarse bucking and scratching non stop screaming hysterical tantrum.

I feel like a tornado just went through the house. And me.

As I've mentioned, you've been having little tantrums already for a few weeks and for the last few days you've had a bit of a cold and temperature making you more fractious than usual. But this evening... crikey. You were eating, then you started swishing the pasta tomatoey stuff around, then I took it away and brought fish fingers thinking they'd be less frustrating to eat than slippery pasta, then you didn't seem to agree and kicked off.

I can honestly say I didn't have a ducking clue what to do. I've been reading the toddler manual this week, the tantrum chapter, to arm myself. But suddenly my mind went blank and I could only think of the bit that said 'hug your toddler to reassure them'. I did. I hugged. Even though I was thinking – are you serious, hug that?? But you were too far gone anyway so it seemed to be more a case of holding you so you didn't smash your face open on the floor or something by throwing yourself around. Distraction did nothing. Putting you down aggravated further. So I thought, bath. Yes, bath. Nice relaxing soak. Which sort of worked til I decided this was a good time to attack the matted cluster of dreadlocks at the back of your head... Cue more screaming. At least with good reason this time cos frankly that must have hurt. I thought, well, you're crying anyway so may as well use this opportunity to deal with the hair and have it all out in one go. Wise? Don't know.

Your hair is looking lustrous now though :)

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and six months four days since becoming one

Dear Louse

You were a right old bag of tantrums and grumpiness yesterday. You must have woken up on the wrong side of the cot as it started early. You eased up in the afternoon when we let you loose around the Natural History Museum, but then kicked off again after Pa let the buggy fall backwards when trying to mount the train home, waking you un petit peu abruptly from a nice nap that we all needed. Such was some of the screaming we wondered if you were in sudden pain, even cousin K, who is a doctor, checked you over to make sure there was nothing actually wrong. But we all concluded that you are now officially testing us.

I do hope we pass. Will you mark us out of ten? How will we know how we have done? Will we have to stay behind to see you after school?...

It also has to be noted that you have become very clingy to me in particular, sometimes making Pa feel a bit left out.

And it should also be noted that this evening at dinner you were experimenting with Petit Filous and broccoli + pasta. I think you may be acting out some of the recipes/performances from The Futurists' Cookbook.

Five years and more since trying to become a mum and a few days over six months since becoming one

You did something new today – took a swipe at a little friend's face as he sat on my knee while I read him a book.

When you saw he was on my knee and you were not, you came waddling over and demanding to come up too. You then promptly took your potshot at his face. Very very animalistic. And very very not nice. You and F get along so well, I was quite taken aback. In some ways perhaps I should be proud or pleased as it indicates a new level of possessiveness towards me, but I kind of didn't like it and felt embarrassed. Luckily F's ma is a good old friend, and luckily you & F are little enough to have the memories of goldfish when it comes to emotions, things go fleetingly, so it was all over quite fast and you were (sort of) laughing again.

In the last two weeks there have been the starts of what I understand is Terrible Twos behaviour. A wee bit ahead of schedule. Hang on, did I write this already in my last posting... I think I did. Anyway, there's definitely something afoot and I must read the toddler book for some coping methods. More for me than for you!

My cousin K is here from France and she is very impressed by you, by your independence, by your quickness, and by pretty much everything. She's the first of that side of the family to meet you and it means a lot to me that she's here. I felt quite emotional presenting you to her, the long awaited child, and held back a tear or two. (Why....?? Why held back I mean, why not let go). And what's brilliant is that she's totally amazed at how much our kid you are, physically as much as everything else. She says we deserve a pat on the back for turning you out so good. But I don't think I deserve a pat on the back yet, not quite; I can't help thinking a lot of it is just you and who you are. She's impressed by how easy you are – sleeping well, eating well, eating yourself, playing well, being sociable. But I don't think those things are created by us, perhaps encouraged yes and developed, but I think they're just in you.

Quite a lot of challenges coming up as I will be taking a work trip away for 4 days, we're having our first family holiday in Devon, and ... argh... there was something else but I just totally lost my train of thought. That happens a lot...

One thing you cannot inherit from me is my duck feet. A blessing.

An eternity since trying to become a mum and forever since becoming one

Lordy, today for the first time, I properly questioned my parenting ability. When you are challenging, you are extremely challenging. There's a look in your eye that seems very very intentional, like you know exactly what you're doing with your tantruming. Is this the terrible twos a little ahead of schedule?? Both of us agree it's quite scary and it's like you really hate us in that moment. But like all kiddies, the moment passes quickly for you soon as whatever caused the fracas has been remedied, whilst Pa and I are left quivering. Pa just gets exasperated whilst I have that sudden rise of the red mist that I've mentioned before. It is something I am aware of and desperately trying to address within myself, but I very actively have to stop myself from flipping. I have started giving you 5 second time outs and I think they are as much for my benefit as yours. You think it's a counting game...

Parenting seems to loudly point out to me that I have a childish side simmering not far below the surface; there's something in this about my own repressed behaviours that are triggered and vexed when your behaviour is untethered. I can't formulate the thought more than that for the time being.

All that said, I am able to control myself and very quickly catch myself whilst giving myself a split second analysis of the situation so even though the anger is definitely set off, I only very fleetingly show it and am learning to calm myself. But I must be careful about withdrawing in order to calm myself. I've read about withdrawn parenting and it's not a good thing. But is it still considered withdrawing if you just take a short pause in order to compose yourself? Answers on a postcard in less than 12 words.

We think you've got molars coming in which may account for some of your short fused-ness recently. I hope they were worth it...!

An eternity since trying to become a mum and really nearly six months since becoming one

I am a tad tired today after 5 straight days with you from the first awakening to the last peep. As I write this you are in your room next door asleep. Not. You are chattering away and singing to yourself. Which brings me to my next point: I have the ducking Sesame Street ABC song embedded in my head, I have Bah Bah Black Sheep also welded into my brain, I have little scratches all over my hands and face from you swiping at me, my hands are red raw from being wet then dry, I am kicked in the stomach on a daily basis when changing your nappy, I have a bloodshot eye from a headbutt, my waistline has expanded from eating your leftovers as well as just eating more and less well for energy/time reasons respectively, I am wearing 'comfy' 'practical' clothing very often indeed (recent stains include poo, sick and blood, see 8th Feb posting), my body feels really properly knackered and working my way back to running even just 5k is a major effort. And I didn't even have a pregnancy...

Not that any of it matters, it's just worth noting quite how physical becoming a parent is.

I've nothing else to say; not even sure why I offloaded that little lot. I wish I could attach a recording of you right now to this blog as the soundtrack – you're singing a mixture of ABC, Bah Bah Sheep Sheep and Twinkle Twinkle, laughing to yourself, and chucking things out your cot.

An eternity since trying to become a mum and very nearly six months since becoming one

Whatever sort of parent you think you will be, be prepared for some surprises.

I am stricter in some ways that I did not expect and I am more lenient in other ways that I certainly did not expect. I have found unexpected patience and I have found unbelievable tiredness to shorten my fuse considerably. I am worried, frightened and anxious of things I didn't anticipate, and at the same time as making life fantastic, I am also thinking about death more often and more painfully than usual – I miss people that have gone and I shudder for the losses that will inevitably come. Alexander Macqueen, who will be long gone and maybe forgotten by the time you read this, died unexpectedly yesterday. I, probably like many others, immediately assumed some sort of misadventure with recreational drugs, but how wrong I was. It turns out he killed himself out of grief for the recent loss of his mother. There you have a man, at the pinnacle of his career, surrounded by people who adore him, successful and wealthy, who lost his mum and couldn't find a reason to live any more. And I can empathise with him very deeply, I can absolutely imagine the pain he felt, the sadness, I even project onto him that he must have suddenly felt very alone and rudderless without the woman who brought him into the world. I have lost a parent, and you have lost two in a way, but in the end I did not want to kill myself. I hope you find ways of dealing with the losses you will have.

So, this death hit me as I am between two pillars being both a daughter and a mother. I already worry about the death of own mum and what it will do to me, and I worry because being a slightly older mum to you, although now it's become very common to become a parent in one's 40s, you will probably not have me in your life as long as you would a younger mum, presuming all things go according to plan.

That's me all over – I worry about food being chucked around and making a mess, and I worry about death. Nothing in between really.

To entertain ourselves, we made you a hat like a Hershey's Kiss.

Five years and counting since trying to become a mum and very nearly six months since becoming one

We had a very active weekend with friends and their kids. We also had a very challenging time with bodily fluids from you. Poop, sick and blood all in the space of about two hours: two baths, two sets of pyjamas, one sodden buggy, one fraught mum and one understanding friend followed by a wee whisky.

I have also had some challenging moments in my own head. Nothing I care to recount right now, but I took myself aside and had a stern word with myself. I would have put me on the naughty step, but we haven't allocated one yet. I have decided that when I am an *rse and behave selfish and childishly, I apologise to you verbally in the hope that that somehow redresses the balance and makes it sort of ok. I try to explain that I am having a moment, but normal service has resumed and mummy loves you and is sorry.

I do try to monitor your behaviour in the light of my own during these moments, to see if you clock my changes in behaviour. I think you probably do, but are little enough to not be flustered by them. 99% of the time I think I'm doing well, but when these little moods hit... I realise I can no longer indulge myself in them like what one can when one is single / not a mum. In this instance, I took myself off quietly to have a shower and get over myself.

This week you have mostly banged your face on the floor and sneezed.

Five years since trying to become a mum and nearly six months since becoming one

I had a really clever thought about being a mother today, about what it is to be one. But it's slipped my mind.

That probably says more than my smartarse musing would have!

We had a social worker visit today, not an official one, just a catchup with E, your social worker. She's very lovely and it was good to see her, but also strange as it's been two whole months now without any such visits. We slightly go into overdrive about how brilliant it all is, how settled you are, how you're doing this that and the other, and how clever you are and attached to us you now are. All of which is true, but that feeling of pleasing the social workers never leaves one. Once you're irrevocably 'ours', not long now, I'm not sure what dealing we will have with the social work system or if we're cut loose. I think it's there if you need it, but the assessment period is truly over. Til the next child, if there is to be one. Luckily I didn't have blood on my top this morning, like I do now from earlier when you smashed your face on the floor whilst careering around the living room. Ah, wooden floors.

I have a massive urge to get very pissed. I'm not a big drinker, definitely a binge drinker. That doesn't look so good written down does it... But I mean that I like the feeling of being a bit pissed much more than the taste of wine for the sake of it. Oh I just remembered my clever thought – it was about how parenting is like Groundhog Day, but a really good one where you don't mind doing the same things every day. But that leads into the wanting to get pissed thing, because lovely though it is, I do love that release and abandon of a couple of drinks from the daily sensible role.

On that note, Pa Cooke is having himself a little party for one in his office/den whilst I make dinner, blog, fold laundry and plan tomorrow's activities.

Five years since trying to become a mum and nearly six months since becoming one

I am your mum. I really am. I'm the one you turn to for reassurance, I'm the one you seek out in a crowded room and I'm the one that can comfort you when you're tired.

I think it's astounding how normal it feels and I catch myself sometimes, have to remind myself that it's not a game. Having wanted it for so long and imagined so many children, it's quite mind boggling at times to find myself right in the middle of it in a very very real way.

I love kids, but not any and all by any means! But I find you fascinating and I'm amazed to be your mum. You are very quick to learn and very clever, though most parents probably think that I suppose. But you are. You understand so much already. We babysat T on Saturday who is now 1, the age you were when we came together. I was a bit taken aback by how much a baby he still is, quite passive and static. I found it very hard not to compare you and to think that he was a bit... slow... He's not, but you were babbling and marauding around at 1 like you had places to be, people to see. Still now, you swagger like an old sailor sometimes, sucking one handed on your nighttime milk as though it were a comforting rum, whilst farting on my leg then tossing the empty bottle away for it serves you no more purpose. Hysterical. You make me laugh a lot.

We're now experimenting with you feeding yourself.

Five years since trying to become a mum and nearly six months since becoming one

Sometimes I want so much to provide everything for you that I could spontaneously lactate...

But instead I find that I am in such a constant state of anxiety about time that I could spontaneously combust. I need to change my life so that I don't feel as though I am rushing all the time. I need to learn to forget about dust and sticky floors, in favour of a few extra minutes with you. Otherwise it's very easy to spend a whole day with you without actually interacting much. Sometimes I catch myself all day long saying – in a minute, just a minute, I'll be right there, hold on, Mama will be right with you, and so on.

It's no good, I don't want to be like that. I want to have more time with you, properly with you. Not sure if that requires total change of life or if it just requires small adjustments in my quotidian habits. Some things I cannot change, like how long the bloody journey home is. That particular stress starts in the morning, cos if it takes me longer than expected to get in, then I can't leave when I normally do and I miss your evening routine. Can you tell I didn't pause for breath even typing that. It feels like a massive achievement when I have a day with time on my side, those are precious days indeed.

Even now as I do this, Pa Cooke is tinkering with dinner and I can sense his anticipation of me coming down so we can eat. He thinks I'm still putting you to bed, but you dropped off instantly after your day of climbing on and into things.

Ah, the call to arms has come while I upload the image. Well, the call to dinner, so I must go mid thought.

PS You snore.

Nearly five years since trying to become a mum and five and a half months since becoming one

I snapped at someone recently for referring to Birth Mother, which I find hard enough to say, as your mother. It's not that I have anything against her, at all, but she has not been your mother in any sense of the word other than biological. And the conditions of that happening are less than ideal. I'm Louse's mother, I said quite sharply, not inviting further discussion and intending to make them realise what they said upset. I felt bad afterwards, but I also forgive myself given how hard we had to work to get here. People say insensitive things without thinking, no malice intended, but thoughtless nonetheless.

And yesterday, we all went to Oldest Best Friend's Burns lunch; a big affair, lots of people I know and sort of know. I tried out not mentioning the adoption, although I know some of them were doing the maths and thinking, wait a minute, she wasn't pregnant... but it doesn't matter, it's time to be a family without the label. It was nice to reply to someone I hadn't seen in three years, yes, we have had a baby. No further explanation. When she asked if we would have another (why are people so obsessed with this?) I said well, Louse came along a little unexpectedly after a long time so yes we'd like another, but we'll see.

I kind of felt like they could all see through me, but I'm sure they couldn't. It is after all quite normal for people to get pregnant and have babies in the space of a couple of years. I forget that sometimes.

I used you as an excuse to swerve the haggis neeps and tatties, never liked that stuff. I'll eat in a minute I said thinly, meanwhile scoffing the children's food sneakily, pretending to feed it to a disinterested you. Ironically, you were enjoying the haggis.