Independance Days

Currently in my (not enormous) kitchen I have five modes of child transport.

FIVE

In fact of you count the old one hidden in a cupboard you could make that six.

There is so little floor space that making a brew or reaching the bin involves a crystal maze-esque feat of physical agility. Still I can't bring myself to care that much because the latest two additions which have pushed us from buggy park status to full on Mothercare showroom have brought with them so much joy that fretting about floor space seems ungrateful.

I've talked before about Mojo's impending adventures with independence and over the glorious long sunny(ish) days of summer many of those dreams have come to fruition.

First came the Bugzi.

Watch me go...

My husband equated it to watching Mojo take her first steps. It was the first time she has ever been able to hold her head up and purposefully cross a space under her own steam. The Bugzi is a charity-provided electronic chair operated by switches (forward/left/right) it is truly remarkable.

Once she had worked out that she was in control, the first thing she did was head over to a table of things she wasn't allowed to touch! Its a weird parental juxtaposition to be so wholeheartedly cheering mischievous behaviour. Meanwhile back at home our house isn't really equipped to allow her to use it BUT once it gets in the school corridors....well, that mischief will certainly abound.

 Then, only a week later a very exciting delivery arrived at our door.

It was the streamers that pushed me over the edge. Often with adaptive equipment it's ugly, big, inelegant and functional. Aesthetics are obviously not a major concern when designing for NHS equipment. Mojo's new trike, however, is nothing short of beautiful. It is brightly coloured (in her choice of pink) it features a picture of a kitten. It has a little bell. The silver and pink streamers, some with 3D stars on, are attached to the bike by multi coloured butterfly badges. A bag at the back, which holds all the tools and straps, proudly displays her name on a registration plate. It's just, just perfect. It makes my heart sing that she can go out to do something she loves on her very own bike which is just as beautiful, if not MORE beautiful, than the bikes she has admired for so long. All of this AND she is essentially doing an hour of intensive physio without even realising it.

The last of our vehicular discoveries is, thankfully, not housed in my kitchen. This one was discovered by the beach in Mawgan Porth a beautiful Cornish beach resort which has been the destination of our family holiday every year since my mum retired and took us all to Cornwall to celebrate, we loved it so much that we all go back each year to spend time together. Its my happy place. Getting Mojo onto the beach has always been a faff and the older (heavier) she gets the more difficult it is becoming. It's not just her we need to get onto the beach it's also something for her to sit in that can hold her upright (folding beach chairs are useless) so we find ourselves with an enormous amount of kit for even a short beach play. Imagine then our joy, when sitting outside the surf shop was a beach wheelchair available to borrow for an optional small donation. My ingenious husband realised that the heavy floor sitter we usually wrestle to the beach fitted perfectly on the wheelchair and before I knew it, we had what can only be described as a beach throne and Mojo drifted across the beach waving at the crowds and laughing until she got hiccups. SO brilliant.

The importance of achieving more independence for Mojo cannot be overstated. Ever since we were able to look past the life-limited label and allow ourselves to embrace at least the idea of a longer future, our aim has been to ensure that Mojo is equipped to get the most out of life. Not for our sake but for herself, to dream big, to aim high, to ignore 'expectations' and roll her own path. Every inch closer to the goal of independence in whatever form it will eventually take, is a cause for celebration.

So now as we find ourselves days away from the start of Reception we know that she is completely ready for whatever that will bring!

Yes I Can

Today is the 2nd August. The 5th anniversary of the day our lives were forever changed by Mojo's diagnosis.

I started to write a post that was a letter to myself five years ago. What would I want her to know?

I couldn't find the right words, I was going in circles. Part of me wanted to say 'everything will be okay' but that isn't true and certainly wasn't true then. I wanted to tell her all the things her baby is going to achieve but I was worried she wouldn't appreciate them without the strive to get there. I was worried she would only see the implications of what she can't do. I found myself wanting to protect 4 year old Mojo from 5 years ago me's judgement. Let's be honest I over-thought it. Massively.

So I abandoned it and instead offer this Olympic themed story for this year's Diagnosis Day.

When the Olympics were in London 4 years ago Mojo was only tiny and we took her out to see the

London 2012

torch parade and had her photo taken with a Paralympic torch in Sainsburys (as you do). I found the Paralympics fantastically inspiring. The Channel 4 coverage led with the slogan 'Meet the Superhumans' and even though we were only just beginning to learn what Mojo was capable of it stuck with me, she was a little superhuman in training.

When the advert for the Rio Paralympics was launched recently with the soundtrack 'Yes I Can' it felt amazingly appropriate for the next stage of her development. I just love it. I love the music, I love the strength of the imagery. For Mojo, and other children like her who are just starting to explore the world for themselves I love the message this gives them about limitations and achievements. (Link to see 'Yes I Can' trailer). We met our little superhuman four years ago and in a world where she was told she couldn't before she had even taken her first breath she resolutely and loudly proved 'Yes I can'.

At the end of the school term Mojo took part in Olympics week. Each child was given a bespoke Olympic challenge to complete as part of the event. When the sponsorship form arrived home in her bag I was a bit taken aback. I will 'roll for 5 meters on my own' it said. This time last year that would have been an impossible dream. Only a few months ago she hated lying on her stomach and was unable to roll from back to front independently. The effort, determination and bloody mindedness that has brought her to being able to attempt a challenge like that is completely beyond me. My amazing superhuman. My girl. It might seem like a very mundane achievement but it is truly a remarkable feat of endurance.

On sports day we watched as she wholeheartedly competed in team games with her schoolmates. The concentration as she knocked down skittles, carried buckets and threw balls was breathtakingly beautiful. Those few hours watching the children competing, achieving and enjoying every moment were amongst the most life-affirming I've had. Children I've only ever seen in their wheelchairs making spectacular, emotive, efforts to take part in their walking frames. The atmosphere of support, encouragement and unadulterated pride was palpable. My very favourite photo of that day is of Mojo taking part in a skittle relay, her teacher is pushing her chair and she is reaching out for a skittle to knock down. She is in focus and the background is slightly blurred but what you can pick out are the arms in the air and the open mouthed encouragement coming from each of the spectators, some friends, most strangers, all shouting her name, all willing her on. Lump in throat time.

It might not be the real Paralympics but it might as well have been for the joy I felt.

On the last day of term I collected Mojo and she was holding a certificate, a special recognition award for her consistent achievement in communication and physical development this year.

'That's lovely sweetheart' I said

'We only give out a few of these you know' the headteacher said.

I think she thought I was being dismissive, when in truth I was trying to hold it together. I did so until the drive home when I sobbed with such happiness and pride and love for my remarkable daughter.

5 years ago today they said she can't, she won't.

'Yes I can'

August 2011

August 2016

The Hunger Game

One very normal Tuesday evening.

Two adults and two children sat round a table and had dinner. They all ate, they all laughed, they all talked about their day.

Not exactly ground-breaking family activity, right? But it was for us.

There is something emotive about food. Nourishing your family. The association between food and love.

Before Mojo had her g-tube fitted 18 months ago, feeding her dominated my every waking thought. It consumed me (if you'll excuse the pun). The hours I spent syringe feeding milk, 5mls at a time, to try and reach the magic 600ml volume prescribed by her endocrinologist. It was torture for us both. At that time she was eating some solid food too, only tiny amounts and it required full supervision, with very specific environmental criteria. On the days when I got half of a baby portion into her I celebrated a victory.

You would think then that the decision to have her feeding tube fitted would be a no-brainer. Why would we not want to make life easier for us both. The answer was, like everything, a bit more complex. It felt like admitting defeat, like I was letting her down. It felt like a step towards a more dependant lifestyle. I felt guilty for having a permanent hole put into my baby girl's perfect tummy. It felt like another step away from a 'normal' life (as though spending 6 hours a day trying to feed her was normal!). I told myself it would be there for fluid balance emergencies only and it would not change how hard we worked to help her enjoy food. I told myself that one day she might be able to have it removed.

So we went ahead.

The first time I fed her while she slept I'm pretty sure I heard the Hallelujah Chorus. To say that it changed our lives is an understatement. Overnight we went from battling to get 500ml into her, to being able to give her 750ml and a fixed volume of nutritionally complete liquid food. The sense of relief was tangible for months and even now I never tire of being able to 'top her up' when she is poorly. For the first time in her life she put on weight consistently and her sodium level, a problem since birth, fell into the normal range taking her officially out of immediate danger from it.

This isn't to say that the feeding tube came without its challenges. Vomitting was the biggest of these. Oh god the vomiting. It was epic. At times it felt like trying to fill up a bucket with holes in. We were having to put 1800ml into her (over 24 hours!) just to retain 800ml. That's a litre of sick a day, Nice eh!

So distracted was I with cleaning up sick and tending to repeated site infections, I barely noticed that within a few weeks Mojo had stopped eating completely. It made her sick so she just stopped. We were so desperate to get the vomit under control that we temporarily allowed her to refuse solids thinking it might allow her stomach time to adjust. In doing so we allowed her to realise that eating was something she didn't HAVE to do anymore.

It took a whole year, a range of investigations and various medications for the vomiting to stabilise.

Never say no to Ice Cream

Since then getting Mojo to take up recreational eating has been an uphill struggle and one we have taken very gently. We have consistently offered her snacks, meals and drinks and she has on the whole (with the exception of ice cream) refused all of them. We pay for 'taster' school meals so that she sits at the table with her friends and goes through the motions of sharing a meal. I've counted nine occasions over this school year that her home/school book says that she has tried her food.

Most of those nine have been in the past couple of weeks. Something has changed and suddenly Mojo is interested in food again. Not just eating the occasional mouthful absent mindedly, but actively eating multiple mouthfuls.  More significantly she has asked for food. She has communicated with noises, actions and using her communication book, that she wants food and then she has eaten what I have offered her.

Almost two years has passed since she was last eating regularly and in that time her physical development has come on hugely. This means that performing the action of moving a spoon from bowl to mouth can be done independently and while for every three spoons only about half a spoon reaches her mouth it is SO worth it to watch her successfully self feed. Independence; the holy grail.

For me, the most emotionally significant was that ordinary Tuesday evening when, after school we sat down as a family and had dinner together. It wasn't a pretence, it wasn't for effect to make us feel like we were eating together, it was real. A real family dinner.

It couldn't be replicated on Wednesday (or Thursday, or Friday) but it didn't matter because we now know that it's possible. For Mojo and for us as a team, the hunger is back and we are going to work very hard to satisfy it.

Sugar Coated Dramas

Two things I hoped would never happen, happened this week. Firstly, I had my first ride in an ambulance and secondly I started a medical notes folder for my youngest daughter.

The ambulance ride I always expected would happen one day. What I never considered was that it wouldn't be Mojo I was cradling, but instead, my conventional, easy, healthy baby. My baby who medically speaking, until Monday, only had her red book and her up to date immunisations to remark upon. I said as much to every single medic we met that day. 'This is my non-complex one' I must have said it at least 20 times. Nurses did double takes, 'I know you don't I? This isn't your usual child?'

This particular hospital adventure began when I went to try and wake Chloe up after a long nap and found she was unconscious. One vomit inducing 999 call later and the paramedics arrived, my mouth was answering their questions, my hands were comforting Chloe's tiny sweaty form but my head was in full screaming meltdown. This. Isn't. Happening.

The experience of trying to wake a child who isn't waking up is not one I ever wish to repeat, the initial eye roll when I thought she was just deeply asleep, tipping into the realisation that she wasn't conscious. It's a nightmare I've contemplated many times, but never with this daughter. It was like there had been some kind of heavenly admin error. As ridiculous as that sounds that is how it felt.

With the cause easily (& thankfully) established as severe hypoglycaemia we headed to the hospital.

While sitting in the A&E waiting room (where the producers of 24hrs in A&E must think I'm so desperate to get on telly that I keep turning up with various offspring to see if they are interesting enough!) I received a call from Mojo's school to say that she was unwell and would benefit from being collected early from school. I should point out too that currently my husband is in Australia working for a month.

Okay.... just hold the line for a moment while my head explodes. Mercifully, my ever-fabulous mum in cooperation with Mojo's wonderful school, was on hand to sweep up the chaos, collecting, feeding and nursing Mojo while I dealt with our newfound medical drama.

Usually if I leave Mojo for any period of time I leave a detailed feeding/meds timetable and multitudes of notes, flow diagrams of what-to-do-if scenarios, you get the idea. Being unexpectedly away from her and while she was unwell was disconcerting. I was drafting emails to my mum with fluid balance calculations and medicine schedules while trying to chase Chloe around with a plastic cup to get a urine sample. Note to self on this, one job at a time, nobody wins when you turn your back to try and pick up the wifi signal and miss the wee (which goes instead, all over the pile of toys provided by the lovely play specialist at the hospital, 'oh dear mummy')

I've always been wary of taking Chloe's development for granted. I've consciously celebrated each of her milestones the way we always have done with Mojo. Chloe's come far more frequently and reliably but they are no less treasured, in fact I think I value them more because I am constantly in awe of little human brains and the monumental amount of awesome things they do in these developing years. We have come to know so many children for whom that conventional development route is a daily battle that I've come to see 'normal' as pretty remarkable in itself.

Chloe's health, however, is not something I've ever really considered. Once we had been to her first 12 week scan and the clear division of her brain was evident, that was that, she was going to be a healthy baby. Why on earth I would think that she would be protected from harm by virtue of having a complex sister I honestly don't know. There is no quota of health per family, no maximum amount of drama per household.

So where are we now? We are left with two likely options for what caused her to go into hypoglycaemic meltdown. Firstly, that it is a problem to do with processing fats in the body. 'It's extremely rare' said the doctor, how I laughed. Secondly and more likely, is that it was just the perfect storm of circumstances, missing breakfast, coming down with a cold, teething, all coming together to cause a crash in her blood sugar. We wait 8 weeks for blood results.

Chloe meanwhile thinks all her Christmasses have come at once as suddenly I'm allowing cake at all hours of the day and night until I can be sure that she isn't going to slip into a coma on me. When the tests come back clear I'm sure it won't be a problem re-introducing rice cakes where for 8 weeks there were Jammy Dodgers, right...?

Wedding words of wisdom

Should you ever find yourself researching raising children with disabilities, one of the first things you are likely to come across is an article by Emily Perl Kingsley called Welcome to Holland. It's very well known, widely reproduced and generally accepted as an appropriate analogy for the unexpectedly tangential lives parents with complex children lead.

The article addresses expectations. The ongoing contrasts between the should-have-been and the reality. The never-ending succession of things which have the potential to trigger comparisons and therefore, grief.

These comparisons are more easily drawn when dealing with something where expectations are already running high. Things like Christmas, summer holidays or, as was the case for us this weekend, a family wedding.

I am very close to my siblings, they are incredibly important to me (remember Sibling Revelry). So watching my brother wed the love of his life (and I have lucked out in the sister in law stakes too) was a big, exciting, deal.  My brother has a very special relationship with Mojo they have a kind of unspoken bond that has been evident since she was very little. As if that wasn't enough Mojo and her little sister were to be flower girls, pretty dresses, pretty hair, sparkly shoes the whole lot.

It would be very easy to self-indulgently feel sad about the differences between Mojo's experience of being a flower girl and those of an average 4 year old girl. Dress shopping involved me wrestling dresses onto her while she tried to eat them or hide behind the netting in the skirts. There was no 'give-us-a-twirl' and she had no opinions to share (other than perhaps, which offered the best opportunities for chewing). I flirted with feeling sorry for her (and myself) that day, until she started belly laughing at me trying to get the dress over her non-cooperative elbow. I was making the mistake of presuming that the only way something can be enjoyed is in the traditional, conventional way.

And so it was for Mojo's whole wedding experience. She travelled to the wedding wrapped head to toe in towels as I was terrified she would be sick on her dress. The beautiful braids which were very carefully put in her hair by the hairdresser lasted approximately ten minutes before she ripped out the bobbles and clips and restored her characteristic bed head look. How she laughed.

We adjusted her dress to fit her Upsee (an amazing harness made by Firefly which allows non-mobile

children to 'walk'). This meant she could experience walking down the aisle alongside her cousin, rather than in her wheelchair. I'd given this a lot of thought and we'd measured up and dress rehearsed well in advance. We didn't however, rehearse in the tights she was wearing on the day. So when we came to strap her feet into the foot pads in the church her tiny feet slid clean away from her shoes leaving her floating fairy-like a couple of inches from the floor. When it was clear that the shoes were not for staying put, we dispensed entirely with the footpads. Initially my conventional sensibilities felt a pang that she wasn't going to be able to 'walk' like we had wanted her to. Seeing her float delightedly down the aisle like a particularly giddy fairy holding tight to her cousin's hand left those thoughts in the dust.

As ever, Mojo ended up doing things in her own unique way with a huge smile on her face.

I got my proud mum moment and my proud sister moment and there were happy tears all round.

It wasn't just in the Kodak moments that I found peace with the parallel experiences of a non-conventional flower girl it was in the little things, the unplanned, expectation-free moments. Seeing the bride leaving the top table half way through dinner to check in on Mojo who was tucked away enjoying some ipad down time, really moved me.

Love is...

For a day so filled with unusual activity, new people, loud noises and minimal down-time Mojo naturally had her moments and so subsequently did I!. I can't pretend it's always easy to ignore the comparisons but it's only me who struggles, Mojo is completely unconcerned. That is what I need to remind myself of when things feel a bit 'Holland'.

At the wedding reception each guest had a card on which to write their words of wisdom for the newlyweds. I was distracted trying to keep Mojo entertained and happy and fed. I'd just spilt an entire bottle of feed on my cream shoes. Unsurprisingly I had a total mind blank. I didn't have a single word of wisdom to offer. It was only when I had time to reflect on the day and indeed reflect on the five years since I married my own Mr Right that my 'words of wisdom' arrived. And so...


Dearest G & D,

Be happy, be truly happy. There are no rules about how life should be enjoyed. No formula for contentment, your happy doesn't have to look like everyone else's it just has to make YOU happy.

Be prepared for happiness and joy to come heavily disguised, sometimes convincingly disguised as disaster or heartbreak. Be prepared to look and to find joy in unexpected places. There is beauty in learning to value each individual moment of joy, all the love and all the laughter. Embrace the grey, the difficult days and the challenges, the tears. These things don't spoil the happily ever after they enrich it, they build you and they reinforce your love.

You have done the difficult part, you have found each other, you looked further than most would ever dream to, you overcame an ocean of obstacles. Your story will be unique and beautiful. If you always look to each other first in all the happiness and in all the sadness there you will find your reason, your purpose, your anchor in the storm.

Be happy, be strong, be together. We love you both.
L, B, M & C
xxxxxx

Hospital Hangover

My head hurts.

You know when you get to an age that hangovers last for three days and you are forced to adjust your boozing behaviours accordingly. A hospital hangover feels very much the same. Dehydration, exhaustion, nausea, dizziness and difficulty stringing a sentence together. There is also the added sense of injustice that all of this isn't because you had an awesome night out but instead is a result of a tortuous, sleepless, stressful 48 hours.

Despite the fact that we live in a constant state of vigilance when it comes to Mojo's health it is all too easy to lapse into complacency. Particularly as we head away from winter and with a reasonable stretch of good days under our belt. So it was something of a shock to feel the resignation which accompanies the realisation that a midnight A&E trip is on the cards. I was sitting on the floor by Mojo's bed watching her writhe in pain, completely helpless to do anything more to help. If there is anything worse in the world than being unable to help your children when they are suffering then I hope to God I am spared it. It feels like torture and even in my most pragmatic frame of mind, behind the fear and the worry is a seething anger that she has go through this again.

When she gets like this I find myself mirroring her as if by doing so she will feel less alone, less scared. When she loses her breath, I hold mine, when she arches in pain, I do the same. I breathe deeply with my hand on her chest as though I can get the air from my lungs into hers by touch alone. I stroke and soothe her even when she is beyond soothing.

It's the way she looks at me when she is really poorly that devastates me. Mojo has always had an air of maturity about her, an acceptance of her challenges and limitations and the unweilding strength of character to do her utmost to battle them. The look in her eyes when she knows she isn't winning the battle is just truly heartbreaking. It's a look I've seen far too much of.

Her feelings are so transparent that I think we are both aware that the 'fun adventure' to the hospital pretense is more for my sake than hers. Everything feels worse in the middle of the night.

After four hours in A&E tests and observation we arrived on the ward just as the sun was rising, which was, in equal measures, pretty depressing and completely beautiful. I wanted to feel sorry for myself and I was close to tears with tiredness but it's exceptionally difficult to feel bad watching the sun rise. I thought of the day I chose the name for this blog and rolled my eyes at my own sanctimony biting me on the ass.

While, thankfully, the actual experience of the hospital was mercifully brief and uneventful this time around, the hospital hangover has been spectacular. Maybe it's because I wasn't expecting it, maybe it's because these days there isn't any opportunity to recoup because 'mummy is knackered darling' doesn't really wash with an energetic toddler in the prime of her boundary pushing years. Either way I've been staggered by how difficult I have found it to shake this one.

While I've been trudging through treacle to get through the day Mojo has bounced back with her usual style. It never fails to amaze me how, once the worst is over, she is back to herself within a day or two.

Needless to say all of this week's drama has been entirely my own fault.

'Things are pretty rosy at the minute' I wrote merely a week ago.

Oh really, overhear the germs....right'o.


Will. I. Never. Learn!!

There follows some shameless self-promotion...
I am completely thrilled to have been shortlisted for the MAD Blog Award for Best Preschool Blog 2016. If you enjoy reading about Mojo's adventures and would like to vote for The Sun Will Come Up I would be very very chuffed if you took 5 seconds to follow this lovely link and voted Click here for voting form THANK YOU

Morning haze and zoo days

When Mojo wakes up in the morning she cries, little sobs to start with gaining strength the longer it takes us to reach her. It's quite heartbreaking sometimes. I commented to my husband that I hate how it takes her so long to wake up properly in the morning. He laughed.  'She wakes up EXACTLY like you' he said. 'You might have the adult social filters to not sob openly but I feel it radiating from you when you stir first thing. If you could sob until you wake up fully you would!' He's so right. It has weirdly made me better able to deal with Mojo's morning meltdowns, once I realised it wasn't necessarily some sinister complex thing but instead just an inherited resistance to getting the day started I knew how to deal with it (it's okay to put espresso in a feeding tube, right??)

Morning sobbing aside things are pretty rosy at the minute. This weekend was Special Children's Day at London Zoo. We first discovered Special Children's Day when a group trip was offered to us through the Enhanced Children's Centre we are supported by. That was four years ago and we have been every year since. It just seems to fall at the perfect time of year when the weather is turning warmer so Mojo's long suffering respiratory system is finally getting a bit of well earned rest from winter bugs and we're ready to play out.

It is a great day out at the Zoo with additional support and entertainment in place for children with additional needs. Some of the entertainment is more of a hit than others. The giant costumed animals at the entrance for example, are best avoided in our case as they induce Mojo's full scale scared face!

Mojo's little sister is mobile and engaged in the concept of a Zoo day for the first time this year and it was a joy to watch them sharing the experience with enthusiastic oooh ooohs and rooooaaarrs. The pair of them mimicking the giraffes sticking their tongues out to eat was too adorable.

Giraffe impression!

The thing about doing something annually is that I really notice the developments that Mojo has made since the previous visit. This time it was simple things like the choosing of which animal facepaint she wanted. Last year she needed guidance and heavy suggestion and this year she was totally clear that she wanted to be a zebra because she was wearing a stripey tshirt, like a zebra!

The additional facilities provided to help families like us do make the day much more enjoyable even despite the rare occasions when my mind was blown by the staggering ignorance of adults ducking under a barrier during a display to stand full in front of a child in a wheelchair!! Also disasterously the boiling hot weather lead to a total ice-cream sell out across the park, with the exception of Rum & Raisin (turns out it needs to be hotter than the surface of the sun before anyone is tempted to eat Rum & Raisin, who knew!)

These minor frustrations quickly faded from my mind when we took our seats for the Singing Hands performance. Arguably the absolute highlight of Mojo's entire year the Singing Hands team bring a totally joyous, engaging, inclusive, entertaining and educational show to a packed marquee twice a day during Special Children's Weekend. If you have never experienced Singing Hands stop what you are doing this instant and look them up on YouTube. Using Makaton which is Mojo's favoured communication method the ladies from Singing Hands bring a huge range of children's favourites to life with singing, signing and visual props as well as Makaton symbols

2014

2015

2016

The sheer delight that watching them live, having watched the DVDs on repeat all year, brings to Mojo, is unsurpassed. I might have cried the first time I watched her watching them. Always happy to chat to their adoring fans the team all have an amazing memory for faces and an ability to make every child feel special when they come to say hello. I love them, can you tell?

I love our Zoo trips, I love that they are an annual fixture that we have consistently been able to attend. I love that feeling of confidence that comes with knowing that so many other parents you pass are in that (Peppa Pig style) secret club of people who 'get it'. There's no explaining to do and barely a sideways glance when you're tube feeding at the picnic table.

I also (mostly) love that it's such an excitingly exhausting day that they both sleep through the night!!

We're already looking forward to next year!

Monkey Impressions

There follows some shameless self-promotion...
I am completely thrilled to have been shortlisted for the MAD Blog Award for Best Preschool Blog 2016. If you enjoy reading about Mojo's adventures and would like to vote for The Sun Will Come Up I would be very very chuffed if you took 5 seconds to follow this lovely link and voted Click here for voting form THANK YOU