Thursday, 20 July 2017


Through the chest heaving sobs racking through my body I asked MrsC if the post title 'The death of childhood' was perhaps a little dramatic. ‘No’ she exclaimed, a woman bereft. 

Lotty's at her end of primary school prom. I have lots of feelings.

There was a time when we raced to the developmental milestones and rites of passage of our children, like excited puppies desperate to get to the next new thing. That’s all changed now we scream ‘nooooo’ as they draw close and arrive with soul crushing inevitability. Now they seem to mark the end of stuff rather than celebrate achievement or the start of something exciting. Poor Peanut, as proud as I was of her learning to ride a bike I also felt desperately sad as another milestone passed, I’m tempted to stop teaching her new things.

I often wonder if the feelings I have for my children are comparable to birth parents and their children. I think it’s one of those questions that those on the outside of adoption are curious about. Do adopted children feel like ‘real’ children? It's a tricky question to ask and equally trick to answer but in the quite moments of my mind. Of course,  I’m in no position to comment, others who have families of mixed origins perhaps can answer that question. Anyway, I wonder about how I feel when these milestones come.  I think some of the stuff is standard pride, enjoyment and love. I also feel a sense of privilege, to be given charge of amazing children and be a part of their journey through life. They reflect nothing of my genes or hereditary and I can take limited credit for their achievements*.

I’m drifting from my point.

Lotty is leaving primary school, all the modern guff surrounds this rite of passage but I know what’s really going on. My little girl’s days are numbered, within weeks of joining big school the little girl will be gone and the young person will awaken. Four of my children have passed through this transition and I know what’s set before me. So, once again the swelling pride is tempered by the sadness I feel. Lotty will be fine,  Lotty rocks life, I know I’m her dad, but she really rocks the hell out of it. So, she will embrace all the newness and opportunity with a sass of Olympic levels.

Lotty was a baby, just 10 weeks old when she crashed into all of our lives and totally hijacked everyones hearts. It's a long story but she is equally loved, loving and infuriating like all good children. 

Anyway, enough of all that. Once again, I find myself turning into a sentimental, overly dramatic, fool. Up yours milestones.

*I’ve come to conclude after 19 years and six children 80% nature and 20% nurture but that conversation is for a different day.

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