Nine.

(Princess Mog all dressed up for the Royal Wedding)

Nine years ago, a little baby was born. Shortly after her birth, she started having seizures.

Today, Mog decided to celebrate her birthday by having another big run of seizures.

The rest of us celebrated in a slightly nicer manner, with scones and cream and strawberries and raspberries fresh from the garden, chocolate brownies and cakes and lots of singing and chatting.

Mog slept off the Midazolam - rather too well.

But tomorrow when she wakes up, she'll have a large stack of new clothes to choose from, a stash of new music to listen to (and if anyone here was the sender of the "Glee" CD, please identify yourselves; contrary to the label in the bag, I know she didn't order it herself!), some beautiful fluffy pink lights to look at, and an assortment of cheques and gift vouchers to enjoy spending.

Meanwhile I'm thinking back. I wasn't at that original Birth Day, but I remember her First Birthday; a teeny tiny Tumbleform chair and some bells and mirrors, chocolate cake smiles, and wine for the grownups. A second birthday, in our new house; Vtech toys in her standing frame, and sunny smiles with hair finally long enough for bunches. A third birthday, a new baby sister, and lots of splashing around in the paddling pool.

I don't remember her fourth birthday. Did we go to her other parents, rather than them coming to us? I have a picture of her birthday cake and candles and cuddles, but was that another time?

Birthday number five, and an invitation to the whole nursery class to join us at home, jump in her ball pool, check out her sensory lights, play with her new fountain in the garden. Bouncing classmates and guitar playing teacher, and all good fun.

Her sixth Birthday had vanished too, until I checked back through the blog - proof that keeping this record is useful to me if to no one else. A big, multiple day event, with Birthday breakfasts and days out, making a Rainbow promise and going to the circus.

A change of venue for her seventh Birthday; a week in Tenby with the Harriet Davis Trust. The Little Princess had just had surgery that time too.

And last year, big plans made small when Mog's ability to sit up shrank (thankfully temporarily, although it was a very long temporary), and a day in France exchanged for the great kite flying adventure.

So now Mog is nine, and definitely not little any more. And the combination of new medication and a new wheelchair have taken away most of last years' miseries. New needs have inevitably arisen to replace them, but she continues to make her feelings known, to surprise those around her at times with her opinions on life, and to add that little extra bit of interest whenever she possibly can.

At nine, Mog is a Brownie, and very proud to be one.
Mog goes to school, and has managed to increase her attendance rate from 40% to 60%. I think this past month's absence may be doing something to lower that again though.
Mog goes to Godzone at church, and comes home with drawings she has done herself, and craft projects she's had a little more help with. She is usually keen to go, and enjoys joining in the worship.
Mog is using a switch and a talking book in order to communicate her needs and wishes, and enjoys having something to tell us all. She's finally decided it is in her own interests to demonstrate her yes/no responses on request, and as a result, she can talk to people who have only met her once.
Mog has wild brown hair which has still never met a pair of scissors, and she still enjoys having it primped and played with. She has a huge wardrobe, and manages to look good in just about everything in it.
Since having her bar chimes for Christmas, Mog is increasingly using her right arm again to make them jingle (or, preferably, to push them over and make them crash. On second thoughts, perhaps she really hates hearing them jingle).
Mog is, once again, throwing new health issues at us, ensuring that she stayed the primary focus at her Birthday Tea, even if for all the wrong reasons.
Mog is a part of the local community, never short of people who will come over and say hello, surrounded by friends and family who enjoy having her around.
Mog is loved.
Tia