A letter to me…

Hey you. Yes you. I can see you, standing by the sink crying over the dishes. I see you. I have to tell you something, and it’s really, really important.

It’s not your fault.

No, really, it isn’t.

I know there’s a list as long as you can make it; falling and breaking your ankle at 11 weeks, that really awful, awful line manager at work who made you cry almost daily. The fact you miscarried two times beforehand was not A Sign and being over 30 wasn’t it either… None of it matters. Genetics is just genetics. Something didn’t fuse properly this time round, and so here you are. With your beautiful boy.

Right now, you’re at the start of your journey. Remember how you took 12 week old Small to the GP to say something wasn’t right, he was a bit floppy, wasn’t making eye contact, and remember how she said he probably had Aspergers and sent you to cry in the toilets with a couple of useless leaflets? She was crap wasn’t she? Don’t ever go to see her again. The next GP was better. Well done for getting a second opinion. Said it was neurological, said it matter of factly and let you ask questions. Then you went home, numb to the core, clutching your little boy and wondering what you’d done to deserve this. Somehow you and OH got through that day, that night and the next few days.

You are about to embark on the most incredible journey, probably the hardest of your life but – and here’s the spoiler, so look away now if you don’t want to know – you’re going to be alright. I’ll be honest, there are times when you will want to give up, when you will wish you could leave, that Small had never been born, but this will pass. What’s more, your marriage will survive, and Big… she’s going to be brilliant. She will love Small, be his biggest fan and champion him all the way. Don’t forget her though – in the midst of everything she will need you too.

And, whilst all this is going on, remember to make time for you. Parenting is hard, really hard, you know this already. But life with Small will be tough. You will look at other children his age, and little pieces of you will break. You will look at other families with two children and you will cry. So do, really do, make time to smell the coffee, drink the wine, look at the view. This will seem hugely indulgent, but oh so necessary. And the ironing? Sometimes, just don’t do it.

You – yes you, Ms control freak, Ms I can manage, I’m coping just fine – will need to let many many people into your house to help you. But they will, and they will do it willingly because Small is going to grow into the funniest, happiest little boy (who will find chocolate particularly motivational). I promise that you will work out ways to build a new life that the 4 of you can live together. And. There will be so much laughter in your house that you never ever thought possible.

Love, me.

This was inspired by a wonderful blog post which you can find here:


5 thoughts on “A letter to me…

  1. I am in tears reading your wonderful post about Small. And I feel truly honoured that my post could have inspired this! It’s not your fault. Please read this often. I promise to do the same. From one control freak to another, this is bl**dy hard isn’t it. But I know from reading your post that Small has the most amazing start behind him, because you are behind him. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to put a link to this on my blog’s FB page and Twitter. I’m so glad to have connected with you and wish you, Small and your whole family lots of luck, with a huge dose of virtual hugs on the side!

  2. Pingback: A letter to me | SWAN UK

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