Ten!

Photo from Brownies; thank you.

Today Miss Mog turns ten. I'm not sure how that happened - I'm sure it was just last week you were starting Brownies, and only last month I was settling you into the ancient Moses basket which had previously housed myself and my mother. And now here you are in double figures, infant no more and only just a child, officially a tweeny and all too soon no doubt a teenager.

It's easy to forget. You go to the same school you've been at since you were two, and where you'll stay until you are nineteen. You've been in the same classroom for the past four years, albeit with different staff and classmates. Your friends are our friends, of all ages, and not tied to the school year.

Physically, you are changing, growing, developing, and giving hints of the beautiful young woman I hope you will be. The changes aren't all good; like many children with Cerebral Palsy puberty seems to be bringing with it the double plague of changed seizures and scoliosis. But your dimples are back, your skin is glowing, and you are beautiful. Maybe this year will be the year we finally cut your hair for the first time, who knows?

You seem to be becoming more interested in taking control for yourself. Since we have switched you from drip-fed formula to boluses of real food, you have become in touch with your appetite, and can tell your helpers when you are hungry and when you are full. You appear to be more in tune with other bodily functions, too.

I am so sorry it has taken all of us this long to realise your morning miseries were caused by hunger. But I'm so pleased that a quick bowl of fruity porridge can make everything better so quickly now.

You're making decisions too about surgeries and interventions in your life. It's great that you have an opinion and can share it with your doctors. I'm sorry again that we aren't going to be able to follow all your wishes all the time in these matters, but I hope we can all, yourself included, come up with an acceptable compromise which helps without being an unacceptable risk medically.

You were very clear that clothing would be acceptable this year as always, and I'm pleased you like the outfits friends and family chose. No hairbands this year, but don't worry, you have money and gift cards and we will hit the shops one day after school breaks up for summer.

It's been a good few years, but finally you are moving away from Norah Jones. I'm sure you'll always like her voice, but it is nice to be able to play different music too. I like listening to the Tchaikovsky you fall asleep to, and I'm sure eventually I will get better at remembering to turn it off before the fireworks and guns wake you up!

Your health has been interesting this year. No hospital stays which is brilliant, but after a very rocky birthday last year, I think it's fair to say you have kept us pretty busy. I hope our new bus comes soon, and that I can be a bit more relaxed about driving once I know I can see you. I'd also love it if you could make this year the year when you don't forget to breathe. At all.

You are so tall now! How can you be wearing school dresses designed for 14 year olds? Don't grow too much this year please; you have good and well-dressed friends who pass clothes on to you and I'd hate you to overtake them!

You've started having regular overnight visits at our local respite centre. It is lovely to see your smile when we pack your suitcase, and hear you shouting as I drive you there. I'm very impressed too with the staff who have do quickly picked up your communication and your quirks, and I'd like to thank you for being do helpful and showing them how you say yes and no and use your book.

Miss Mog, you were the Sprog who was supposed to be a bit of an unchanging blob; growing bigger but remaining unhappy, screaming, spewing and seizing constantly. I'm so pleased the predictions were wrong. I suppose, technically, they were right; your challenges are not inconsiderable, and you throw fresh ones at us on a far too regular basis. But none of those predictions could ever tell us how you'd get the giggles when other people were in trouble, how you'd have such a penchant for stylish clothes and snazzy hairbands, how much you'd love music and cuddles and rollercoaster rides and coffee and chocolate cake.

We've got a busy year ahead of us. Three camping trips in the summer, hopefully some time at playscheme and definitely some nights at respite. Our Big Trip to Florida in October. Leaving Brownies and starting Guides. Cousins returning from Tanzania, and others in Scotland you've not met yet. Vague plans for further holidays, friends to catch up with, inevitably some medical stuff to squeeze in somewhere, a wheelchair to tweak, more equipment to try, and no doubt some hospice stays too.

I'm looking forwards to every bit of it, because I get to do it all with you, my wonderful, precious, special, funny, clever, persistent, amazing, beautiful, wise and patient ten year old LittleBig Girl.

Tia