Digger tantrums – Part 1

 I write Part 1, because I have a sneaky suspicion this will not be the last blog post on the subject.

This is the story of my parental epiphany with regard to handling Digger’s tantrums.

The other night Digger had a massive meltdown. ‘Daddee, daddee, daddeeeeee, daddee, daddee, daddeeee, daadddddEEEE!!’ Mummy just wasn't going to cut it. He wanted Daddy and only Daddy. All the way through bath time, brushing his teeth, rubbing in his cream and putting on his PJs he was screaming for Daddy and I was wondering what the neighbours must be thinking. By the time I handed over to Daddy for milk and stories, I was exhausted and annoyed. ‘Here you go! You deal with it! I’ve had enough!! £%$@&&!’. Yes, I lost my temper. I’d been calm and patient up to the point and there had been no reward. Grrrrr.

Soon Digger calmed down in the arms of Daddy and even sooner after that he was asleep. Happy as Larry with a smile on his face. But I was still fuming. I was only able to calm down once I realised that it was jealousy – good old-fashioned jealousy – that I was feeling. That acknowledgement released the tension and annoyance inside me. That and a strong feeling that I had failed both him and me.
I hadn't been able to contain either of us.

A couple of nights later the same thing happened, but this time Dad wasn't home for the hand over, and so I had to deal with it.  All of it. So I did. I held him close. We were sitting on the floor of our bathroom throughout. Digger squirming on my lap throughout. Sometimes he faced me, sometimes he was turned away from me, sometimes he was laying across my legs, but he remained on my lap. I was holding him, but not firmly.

This time I had more resolve and more patience. I kept repeating in properly calm tone of voice (managed not to fall into the patronising calm): ‘I’m here. You are safe’. I acknowledged how (I thought) he must have been feeling: ‘Oh dear, you are sad, very sad. Do you miss Daddy?’ The question released floods of tears, and a hoard of yes’ses. ‘I’m here. Let it all out, sweet mouse. I’m here. I will stay here.’ Digger cried, and cried, and whiggled, and cried.

I didn’t say ‘I won’t leave you’. Because that sentence has the words ‘...leave you’ in it.
I didn’t say ‘Don’t worry it’s is all ok’. Because it wasn’t.

And then … suddenly … it was over. Digger smiled, hiccupped, was meek and happy again. He turned around and wrapped his small hot arms around my neck, and nestled into my neck. And so it all ended in a big cuddle. Milk and stories were administered as usual and he fell asleep peacefully.

I can only describe his outburst as a torrential rainstorm followed by the sun breaking through.
The contrast was stark. And I wonder whether it felt the same to Digger.

It is the first time I have experienced what seemed to be the natural end of a tantrum. Void of hang ups, blame, guilt, anger. Void of the use of distractions or a belittling his feelings. And most importantly, for me anyway, I wasn't scared of his outburst and wondering about how I was to handle the situation.
I stepped right in. And stayed there.

Seeing through Digger’s outburst of these big, uncontainable emotions has given me great resolve. I have since found tantrums much easier to deal with. We both know that the frightening toddler storms will end. We both know that I, mummy, can sit through them, without being dragged into them.
We have seen I can remain calm.

Whatever the trigger for Digger’s tantrums, I need to be present to show him that he is safe and that I can handle and contain his emotions. I remain in charge throughout. The emotional space I occupy in these moments is difficult to describe, but it is one of (for me) amazing, calm presence and total focus on my son, almost like meditation or you might call it mindfulness. I have a mental image of me being a capital 'C' containing his tiny 'c'. Odd, I know, but it works.

Once again, he has been my supreme teacher. I have learned that I do have the necessary reserve of patience (most days anyway), as long as I trust him and myself.

Since I wrote this a month ago, Digger tantrums have become much less frequent. I assume this is partly due to his age, but I also think we have found a way of working through them. I think he feels more contained when his feelings boil over. But toddler emotions are a moving goal post. Tantrums are bound to be back… and bound to challenge me again. I hope I will remember what I have learnt.

[Note: This blog is an edited version of a blog first published in May. It has also appeared on wearefamilyadoption.wordpress.com]

Dummies

What is it about Dummies? Why are they so divisive? 

I am genuinely puzzled.

In many playgroup and gatherings Digger is the only kid with a dummy. I get these sideway glances from other mums... Especially if Digger drops the dummy, and then quickly – before I can get to it – picks it up and sticks it in his mouth again.

It’s like smoking. Yuk.

I know parent that are hell bent on breaking the dummy habit, or those who only in whispering tones can admit that their kids also use them – sometimes.

Yes, they are made of plastic. And Dad hate that Digger is wearing a piece of plastic in many, if not most, of the thousands of images we have taken of him.

Yes, there are germs involved. There are with all children. A lot.

And yes, admittedly, over time I have become a little less obsessed with sterile pacifiers, although they all get the regular spin in the dishwasher with the bottles on a hygienic setting.

And yes, it schhluurss Digger’s speech – if he speaks with it in his mouth.

And yes, he definitely drools more with it.

But I think dummies are good news. On the whole. It is a short stint in life. I don’t know any 5 year olds who use them. Except occasionally at night? To help them fall asleep and wards off monsters. I do know one person in his twenties who still suck his thumb. Charismatic, charming, high achiever. But that is very unusual, right?

Realms and realms have been written on pacifiers and dummies. Pros and cons. I can’t find much scientific evidence for them being as bad as their reputation, and if so only in extremis. I get the sense it is something else, people have against them. Some personal.

Personally, I was very happy that Digger came with this particular habit. He settles easily. He can be calmed down quite easily and very quickly from most episodes with tears with a dummy and his bunny.

Digger used it A LOT in the beginning of the placement – it would bob in and out of his little mouth, like Maggie and her oversized pacifier in the Simpsons. Characteristic, funny and cute.

First time I acknowledged I had finally arrived at parenthood, was when I tried to start the car with a dummy. Now they are everywhere. In my bag, my pockets, on tables, chairs, bed, car, bath…

Many adoptive children were never breastfeed. My son wasn’t. He went from hospital straight to his fostermum, Rosa. He never lived with his birth mother. So his was bottlefed. He quickly grew to a chubby baby in the arms of Rosa and remains a healthy child.

Babies are born with an ability to suck – it is, and was, how they are going to survive. Breastfeeding does bring about the ultimate physical closeness, and many studies have shown that breast fed babies spend longer feeding than bottle fed children. Well, I can never breastfed Digger. I wish I could have. Is Digger's dummy an allowance from me because I haven’t? Do I think that breastfeeding and dummy sucking goes on the same account of ‘sucking in childhood'? No, of course not. But I don’t mind it one bit, when we snuggle and cuddle too.

Sucking is calming. Clearly. Period. Digger sometimes seems to disappear into this dummy world of calm. This is his place of safety.

For these uprooted children dummies should be a good thing, no?

Dan Hughes endorses them, I was very relieved to learn.

Where I come from, there is a dummy tree in the park. There, children come with their parents when they are ready to give up. It’s a big day. Many children remember it well. The family celebrate this coming of age and there is often a significant present – chosen by the child.

I approve of Digger’s use. I don’t really encourage it, beyond grabbling for one, if he cries that cry that can be comforted by double whammy of dummy and bunny. And making sure there is an extra by his cot at night. He doesn’t really wake up a night asking for it. Now he often finds it himself again, and is learning how to fall back to sleep again. I know, because I can hear him when he rootles for it and when he finds it.

So when the time comes, I will help him stop this habit. In fact now that Digger’s language is coming on apace, he often likes to take it out to make himself heard. He too can hear how much better everything he says sounds without it. He is already using it less than he did when he first came to us. But it will be a while yet before he is ready to give it up, I think.

But I am confident he will give up his dummies. When the time comes. For now there are FAR worse things he could be doing.

Ahaparenting has posted this handy link on dropping the dummy. And Handinhandparenting has this nice little article.

I'd love to hear your view on the matter.

Creating Tradition - Easter

Hop, hop, hoping along. Basket in hand. And then I spot two eggs on the window sill. I run towards them. My siblings and cousins haven’t noticed them. They are older, so their baskets are already full to the brim with eggs. Mainly the liqueur-filled ones that look better than they taste. This time I get to them first. And I am happy. I gaze at them lying at the bottom of my basket. I must have been around 4.

That year my savvy cocktail drinking gran had devised two routes of Easter egg hunts through her rambling house. One for us kids, and one for her sons-in-law, that included my dad. 

According to the family tradition, she had hidden masses of eggs. Everyone got a basket with their name on it and would set off. In gran's house you could find eggs all year round. Chances were highest during hide-and-seek. But at Easter the eggs were fresh, new and tasty.

Years later, I made an Easter Egg hunt for my dad. I was in my early 20s, and he in his 50s. Just for fun... He found most of the eggs within minutes in a total frenzy. The memories of past hunts at my gran’s came flooding back. That sensation of being elbowed out of the way by grown men – dads! – for them to get to the eggs first. Hence the two routes. Clever gran.

These memories surfaced again yesterday, as I got up early to hide eggs for Digger and Dad, on Easter Sunday morning. The day before we had seriously hard-boiled a number of eggs, and then smothered them in expressionistic decoration. I placed them around the sitting room, together with a few chocolate eggs. And the eggs from Rosa and her mum: a huge one, and a cardboard one filled with tiny underpants (Eddie has slooowly begun his potty training). Football undies.

Digger is 2 ½ so hunting around for hidden objects is the kind of game that really appeals to him. As soon as he cottoned on to the chocolate inside some of them he munched away, and soon all the hard-boiled eggs were back in their hiding places.  We all had too much chocolate for one morning. But we all had fun, and it felt like Easter.

Last Easter Pierre’s mum, Nana, had made a lovely hunt, of plastic eggs with coins inside – her addition to our tradition. (When we next go we have to bring back some of those eggs. I haven’t seen them here…)

It struck me how happy I feel when we, our little family, create new traditions. 

Traditions that follow the seasons and punctuate the year. I love sharing all this with Digger and Pierre. It give me a very deep sense of satisfaction and peace. We incorporate the best of our childhood, and leave other things behind. That mixture of tradition and innovation that is any family’s perrogative.

Easter is such a lovely time of year too. Nature waking up again. So much to explore outside. 

Such a gift of life and light.

I look forward to next year already.

Toddler Tooth Brushing – La Cucaracha style

What has this got to do with adoption?

Simple, I try to minimise tears and force in everything I do.

We all know adopted children start for a position of grave and fundamental loss. They don’t need more punishment, rejection and hurt, if we can possibly avoid it.

So I try very hard to do everything a gentle and respectful way.

Tooth brushing is an area that could so easily have turned into daily arguments. And I can’t just go ‘oh well, it doesn’t matter.’ Here I do have to follow through (most nights anyway).

I know only of two ways of brush a toddler’s teeth: with tears and brute force or without. The latter being preferable, but achievable only if only a smithereen of pressure is applied and the toddler sets the tempo. It has taken us 18 months to get there, and the journey wasn't a straight line, but we now have a format that seems to work for us. And yes it involves singing.

La Cucara-cha, La Cucara-cha …

That’s the song we brush our teeth to. Every night.

The tooth brushing comes at a very specific point of the night-time routine. Certain things can be cut out from the routine, like the bath itself if we are running late, but the general arch of the routine has to stay in the same order for the night-time magic to work. Tooth brushing has its place in this order. It comes between the bath itself and creaming up. Just after being held as a baby for little while, all cocooned and wrapped up tightly in a warm towel. Then we slowly move to the sink, a toothbrush is chosen amongst several and a dollop of paste administered, by either of us.

All the while we sing La Cucaracha, and perhaps doing a little dance or wiggle to it too.

I don't like arguing over the issue, so I always let Digger know that I have all the time in the world, but that I will finish off. I tried letting him do it completely on his own, thinking in time he would get better, and that it didn’t matter too much – everything not to upset the little man! Especially in the beginning. But I soon noticed his milky white teeth were getting a little yellow. Yuk. So, now I insist at least that once a day, after the bath.

Digger usually starts off himself, and now even brushes rhythmically to La Cucaracha. He is definitely getting better at brushing. In the morning, we let him do it himself, when we all do it together. It can take 10 mins for him to be ready for me to finish it, or 1min. Overtime this window has gotten shorter. He knows I mean business.

We check and say ‘hallo tooth’ to each and every one of them. Or the shorter version ‘Hallo, teeth’. ‘Say aaaa’ or some other open sound to check the back teeth is necessary. I hold the brush like a I would a pencil, so as not to ram it in his little mouth. The ‘tiger’ grin, that is clenched and bared teeth, is also becoming a true ritual. Roaring goes well with it too. It gets all the front teeth in one go, and loads of foam going too. Digger does appreciated that I can produce quite a lot more foam than he can. You see, he loves tooth paste. I remember loving the stuff myself…I think he could eat a whole tube of it if we let him. But I know a child, who’s teeth rotted, as he eat his way through vast quantities of it. We keep the tooth paste as a treat, twice a day. Only ever served on a brush, and accompanied by brushing.

Tooth brushing toddler tempo is another area where slowing down and turning up the rhythm and multisensory approach is definitely the quicker way. Especially if performed over time.
Then it really gets quicker.

La Cucara-cha, La Cucara-cha ….

I’d love to hear other people ideas on this subject.

Here’s a link to the Gispy King version for the extra keen, or those, like me, who do not necessarily remember titles of songs, but more the melody: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VILr1xH3io

7 Slippery Slopes

 A few not-so-motherly thoughts that has recently played on my mind. As painful and uncomfortable as it might be, I have decided to share these moments with you, my silent reader.

1.     Perhaps I could let down all guards when it come to child pee, along the lines of ‘Its only wee, it will wash off.’ I still feel different about snot and pooh, you might be relieved to know, though I am no longer as screamish as I might have been – I am proudly efficient. This may be the only thought on my list that is borne of true motherly love. It’s down hill from here.

2.     Should I let my kid play with toys at table while we eat? Diggers scooping out mashed potato and small pieces of veg? The same digger that may have been to the playground sand pit this morning? Yeah, why not. I don't know many 10 year olds who still play with toy cars while they eat. Come to think of it, …

3.     … I am letting let a lot of things slip because ‘I don’t know many 8/10/16 year olds who …’
This is fast becoming my mantra. This comes under ‘Choose your battles’. Which leads to me to …

4.     … Maybe I should abandon discipline. Certainly in the traditional, punitive, sense of the word. For what is discipline but behaviour out of place. Much like weeds: in another context, the behaviour might fine. Mostly. (Clearly this does not include harm or abuse!)

5.     Now, how about instating a daily cocktail hour – at 5pm?! It is stylish, relaxing and welcome. It's only the daily part of it that is dodgy. As an old Pavlovian dog…

6.     … OK, I admit it: The odd fag is bliss, because once you are a mum they are as deliciously naughty as those behind the school shed. Those your parents didn’t know about. Only now it is all about a break, a quiet moment in the garden, listening to the birds or aeroplanes.  Wait a minute… did they know about them? And do they? 

7.     Now to the more embarrassing admission, not least in the context of adoption: Is there any way that it would be OK for me to take up smoking dope? (This comes from a woman whose husband think I’d better off with a Valium before going to a party.) I am thinking from the perspective of that young Olympic snowboarder who successfully argued against it being a performance enhancing drug (although of course it must be, in a relaxing mindful kind of way).

Needless to say, I have given in to some of this anarchy. And am weighing up the pros and cons the rest. The latter ones. The drugs. Give me pause and food for more thought.

I toy with the idea of roll ups, spiced and perfumed with funny tobacco, grown in a pot on the windowsill in a summerhouse near the ocean where I grew up. There is a soundtrack to it. Laughter and skinny dipping. Similarly I think of the alcohol sensation of the sweet liquid hitting my lips, spelling relaxation, a chill pill, which always makes me a better parent.  A state that can be reached more easily and quickly with these light weight drugs, right? Perhaps mixed with escapism.

So many kids in our adoptive care come from background overshadowed by drugs and alcohol. And it was the prerogative of the parents to choose drugs over their children, whether or not it was a conscientious choice. I have a father who prefers to drink than to see his children. With all this in mind these slippery thoughts are no longer as playful as they started out. It is not funny. It’s just unbearably sad.

A day with Rosa

In my last blog, I wrote about a very special person in our lives: Digger’s fostermum, Rosa. The post described only a fraction of what she means to us. In this blog I will continue my tribute, and include her family. A pivotal point is the trust my husband and I place in her, that strong piece of a puzzle that is Digger’s life.

While Digger lived with Rosa, he spent a lot of time with her close-knit family. Especially her mother and father, where he would often spend the night. But he also stayed with her sister and her family. They were all her back-up carers, and Digger loved spending time with them.

We have kept in regular contact with Rosa and her family. And so it was a natural progression to ask Rosa and her mum to do an evening’s worth of babysitting last month. Very thoughtfully she pinged through a selfie of a cuddle on our sofa which Pierre and I got while we were out for dinner. They looked so in tune and so happy. They share something. And our hearts burst at the sight of it. It felt very good and right to leave them to themselves too. To have their own thing…

‘You have no idea how much it means for us to still be able to see Digger.’

Well, that feeling is mutual.

Just last week, 18 months after Digger left Rosa to come live with us, we upped the game, and let him he spent a whole day with her and her family.

Digger had a wail of a day. Jam packed with people he had know when he was an infant. Blasts from the past.

Rosa returned after supper with a very happy and super stimulated boy. Loaded with a heap of small and big presents, and arms full of hand-me down toys. It was clear that they had had a very special time. There had been dozens of hugs for Digger, and playmates. Bags of attention, smiles, giggles, tickles, tossing up the air, rugby, football and much much more. Rosa told stories of how happy everyone had been to see Digger. She kept it a surprise to her nieces and nephews, and it paid off. They were moved to tears. Happy tears. Each one of them recognised him. At first sighting. From the back.

By the sounds of it, Digger had been his most charming, fun-loving, cuddly, caring self that day.

Rosa said the only time Digger wobbled was when she strapped him in the car seat of her car, got in the driver seat and turned the key. She looked in the rear mirror and saw a frightened little face. She quickly addressed it, turned around and talked to him about the day ahead, and how they were going to come back tonight. She put on some music and soon they were singing along. Later on, when she told him it was time to go home, he smiled brightly and was ready.

That night he went to sleep in his cot with a big smile on his face.

The boy who got out of his cot the next morning, however, was very whining and clingy. The sling came in very handy over the next few days. He spent the greater part of the day clued to my body. You could not have put a piece of paper between me and Digger. And the day after, a Saturday, he did the same to my husband, when he wasn't stuck to me. It was exhausting for us grown ups. So I wonder how it must have felt to him.

I was nervous that I had overstretched him. But now a few days later, all is back to normal. And he has learnt a new word: Home. We use it all the time. He signs it, when he says it. Making a pointed arch with both hands, by letting the finger tips of one hand touch the other. He beams when he says it: ‘Home!’

When we return from our daily business we now play ‘Where does Digger live? Where does mummy, daddy and Digger live?’ And he shouts ‘There! There!’ Points. And then scoots straight up to the front door. He knows where he lives. And that this is where we come back to, whenever we have been out.

Nevertheless we needed to anchor him back into our family after his day with Rosa. He was only ten months when he left her, but those memories of being up rooted are evidently strong.

Typically, I am still a little worried I did the wrong thing, but have decided to use the opportunity to strengthen our bond, and his sense of family and home. I prefer to use the episode constructively. And to let him head off with Rosa again at some future date. 

The future will hold similar situations, I am sure, where he will be upset and confused, and we need to reassure him of the stability of our family. Some will involve Rosa, some his birth family, and some may be prompted in other, unpredictable ways, I suspect.

I feel so strongly that we as his parent must make a concerted effort to integrate his past into his present and his future. There is no doubt I pushed it. More than I knew I did. We got away with it. In fact, the result of Digger’s day out with Rosa and her family has been that our family ties are stronger.

Tribute to a Foster Mum

My husband and I were scared witless the first time we met Digger’s foster mum. Rosa didn’t make eye contact with either of us and her body language was closed, hostile even. Both arms wrapped tightly across her soft bosom.

When she eventually did look at us she memorably said: ‘I am not going to hand over Digger to some cold, heartless middle-class couple.’ Well, that put us in our place.

Her apparent hostility came from a place of love. She, more than any one in the room, had Digger's interest at heart. We saw that. And we knew how important getting her approval would be.

My husband broke the ice several times with bad jokes that could release some nervous laughter. Eventually she let down and approved us with the words: ‘I have a good feeling about this. It will be ok.’

When we met the next time – to set out the introduction itinerary – we were happy to see her again. Eager to hear more news and details of the little man, who was to become our son. And she readily shared all sorts of Digger vignettes with us.

Introductions began smoothly. Despite the fact that we were very nervous, having worked ourselves up over the entire morning. We parked the car outside her house, got out and heard a familiar voice above us ‘Halloooouuu. Digger, that’s your mummy and daddy. Say Haaallloooouuu…’ we looked up and there he was. Our gorgeous son. On Rosa’s hip. Looking puzzled. But curious.

We entered her small, immaculate flat under a stream of meaningless, welcoming words, and she then handed Digger straight to me.

I think my heart stopped for a little while… He rested his head on my chest. Softly. Gingerly. Rosa was surprised.

‘He never does that. Really. He has never done that before with someone he doesn’t know.’

My husband and I were reassured. So Digger wasn’t overfamiliar with everyone. It must have been the fine work she had done of reading the Tomy book every day, umpteen times a day, since it was given to her ten days earlier, after Matching Panel.

She had also put up A4 print outs of the two of us all over the flat. By Digger's cot, in the living room and in the kitchen. Very thoughtfully she had even put many on the kitchen cabinets. Digger crawling height.

We stayed a little longer than the allocated hour. Then drove home in a daze new emotions. We hardly slept that night.

Introductions went in a flurry of activity. For me, the keyword for the whole exhausting, bewildering week was trust. We all felt it, and it helped transition enormously. Not least for Digger.

Rosa’s love for Digger was plain to see. And it warmed us to her even more. She knew him. She was so warm, gave him great cuddles, made him giggle, knew all his likes and dislikes, and could comfort him effortlessly. I loved what I saw, but admittedly, I also felt very insecure in her presence. I was only a mother on paper. Not yet in my heart.

Rosa gave me lots of good advice, and showed me all the ropes. She taught me a few things that I still do, and that remind me of that special week. The most impressive lesson she gave me – almost in passing – was to let this little 10-month-old creature ask for help himself. It happened, one time when he was trying to raise himself up, but was struggling and audibly frustrated. I would have rushed to help him. But she just held out her hand, close to him, but not in the way:

“Oh boy, Digs, you are fighting to get up, aren’t you. Oh deary me, that does look frustrating. If you need a hand, just says so. See, my hand is right here. To help you if you like. Just take it if you need it.’

He tried a bit more on his own, and then took her hand. His little legs just weren’t quite strong enough yet. But it taught me a big lesson. Wait.

During that whole week of introductions, Digger wasn’t really all that interested in me, but he looooooooooved his new dad.

The rapport between Digger and Pierre, my husband, was instant and heartfelt. I couldn’t have been more pleased. Perhaps it happened so fast because Rosa was single. Put simply there was room for a man, a daddy figure. But not for a mummy. Digger already had a mum. I felt a strong urge to hold him and get on with my new role, but was also relieved to be able to step back a bit. I could observe him from a safe distance. In effect hide behind my husband. I reckoned there would be plenty of time for me to be mummy (indeed only a couple of weeks later, I was definitely the main person, and daddy was left out in the cold for a while). Also, I really didn’t want to tread on Rosa’s toes.

Rosa was great, and – looking back – unbelievably supportive of us both. If Digger fell, she would encourage him to go to us for comfort, but never ever refuse him consolation. He did get confused about who to go to. But then she would elegantly scoop him up, kiss and cuddle him, and then hand him to either of us. Reassuring him as she did so. ‘It’s ok. I’m right here.’ Big smiles and maybe a pad on his back, while on our arms.

Gradually, during the week, we had been bringing Digger’s stuff home to our house. I felt like I was stealing it all away from her. I felt guilty and weird about it. Rosa was professional and very helpful, although it cannot have been easy for her. One day when she brought him to stay with us for the day, he had thankfully fallen asleep on the way, and so she was visibly relieved to be able to hand him over, and drive off. The stresses of the week were beginning to show on her too.

Then the final day came. Digger was coming home with us. For good. The atmosphere in Rosa’s flat was so thick, that you could cut the air with a knife. Rosa asked for a final hug with Digger, in the privacy of her living room. The rest of us gathered in the hallway.

I will never forget the sound of the cry she let out, when she held him in her arms for the last time as her foster son. The boy she had loved as her own, since he was only a couple of days old. It was quiet but piercing.

The social worker present and I both cried. But Pierre stood firm. This was all in Digger’s best interest, he said. So it was Pierre, daddy, who carried Digger out of the flat. A puzzled and visibly sad Digger.

Then our new life began.

We didn't see Rosa for a few weeks. When we did, she cried. She didn’t want to. But it felt real and appropriate. Digger was happy to see her, but confused about the new baby. This was the first of many visits. And of many more to come. The foster mum and her family is part of our future.

I feel very privileged to have met her. And very lucky that we all get on so that we have been able to continue to see her. And that we live close enough to do so. We meet around Digger’s birthday, Christmas and in between.

The opportunity to integrate the early part of Digger’s life into his life with us is a gift. And one I think that will help Digger’s sense of self. A little part of me wish we could do the same with his birth mother, but I know why that is impossible. Still that doesn't stop me thinking in a better world it might have been.

Digger is relaxed with Rosa in a way I have not seen him with any one else. She knows him. I wonder whether it is that he reacts to, or whether he still recognises her as a safe haven. I think the latter. But does it matter?

Rosa is an extraordinary person. Savvy, generous and empathetic. She has that extra room in her heart. That extra capacity for putting yourself in someone else's shoes. It is a special gift to be able to foster. One I am not sure I've got. But she has in buckets. There is no doubt that she taught Digger was love is. And we benefit from it every day. My respect and admiration for her knows no boundaries.