Advice to my Teenage Self.

I wouldn’t go as far as to call myself an adult, but I definitely know a lot more about life than I did when I was a teenager.  If time travel was a thing, and I had access to it, and it wasn’t dangerous, and going back in time didn’t mess up the future, I would have some solid advice to give my teenage self.

Molly – Stop being so mad at your parents.  You are their second child, their first daughter.  They have no idea what they’re doing.  They might seem like they do, but they don’t.  They’re trying to do their best to raise you better than their parents raised them, and it’s only natural that they fuck up from time to time.  They push you so hard because they want what’s best for you – They want you to have the things they never did.  At the same time, don’t let them make you feel guilty.  You are your own person and you DO NOT have to agree with everything they say.  You can have your own opinions, but for God’s sake, respect theirs too.

Secondly – Be kind.  The people you think are ‘uncool’ or ‘weird’ are just different.  You don’t have to be their best friend, you just need to understand that they have their own shit going on, and you being dismissive or ignorant towards them is not going to help that. Smile, say hello, ask how they are and listen to their answer – You could have more in common than you think.

Third – Be yourself.  Sometimes it’s necessary to change how you act around people (eg. I know you think swearing is natural but people are offended by it.  Reign it in from time to time) but don’t ever pretend to be something you’re not.  Don’t pretend to like a band because some boy you fancy does.  Don’t lie about your age on the internet.

Fourth – Listen in class.  Education is the most important thing you can have.  It will broaden your horizons and make you more acceptant of people.  If you have all the facts, you see both sides of an argument and will stress a lot less over feeling like you need to pick a side.

Fifth – Fuckboys are a thing.  If a particular guy only wants to be with you when you’re at a party and he’s drunk, but won’t answer your texts during the week – He’s a fuckboy.  Respect yourself.  If a guy talks to another girl and admits later it was to make you jealous – He’s a fuckboy.  If a guy makes you feel insecure, instead of helping you attain a positive image of yourself- He’s a fuckboy and only cares about himself.  If a guy pulls you out of bed and drags you down the stairs because he’s mad – Not only is he a fuckboy, but he’s also an abusive cunt.  You do not have to waste your time and energy on boys who treat you like an object.  And if your heart hurts because of a break up – I can 100% guarantee you will feel better about it in six months (providing you draw a line under the relationship)

Sixth – How you look does not define you.  How you act and what you do is what people will remember.  Sure it’s OK to be proud of your appearance, but don’t let it be the centre of your universe.  Stop counting calories.  This will lead not only to issues that you will spend the rest of your life dealing with, but also decisions which will be the biggest regrets of your life.

Seventh – For the love of God, I know you don’t have much money, but please, please, if you’re going to wear leggings, invest in a pair that you can’t see your pants through.

Eighth – Everything’s gonna be OK.

I Need You!

Well butter me up and call me a biscuit, it’s been a whole freaking year since I started old bloggy here.

Seeing as I’ve been providing you all with such hilarious and thought provoking content once a week(ish) for a full 12 months, I wanted to know – Is there anything you’d like to ask me?

So the comment section on this post (and all other posts) is anonymous. You don’t have to be a member of WordPress to comment, so please feel free to ask whatever your heart desires.  If you don’t mind letting me know your name, you can also get in touch via various social media platforms (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter).

This could be a complete flop and/or total nightmare, but I mean it when I say; Ask me anything.  Dirty, clean, embarrassing, controversial, political, ethical, stupid, intellectual… Other various adjectives – I will answer them.

Next week’s blog is up to you.

Why I Don’t Exercise.

Reasons I don’t/can’t/won’t exercise:

• I am lazy as fuck.  There are brief moments in my life where I get all Shia LeBeouf (“JUST DO IT UGHHH”) but mostly, I would really just not “do it” at all.  The more I tell myself to get outside and do something, the less I want to.

• Exercise is hard.  I’ve been to the gym a fair amount of times.  Mostly I just go on the bike or the treadmill, because I know how to work those.  Once, however, my friend dragged me to a Spin class.  It was literally the worst 40 minutes of my life.  If you’ve never been to a Spin class the premise is this – There’s an instructor at the top of the room who has wayyyy too much endorphins floating around their body.  They are pumped.  Veins are popping out everywhere.  He/she is cycling their stationary bike at an inhumane rate, instructing you at the same time.  How are they even breathing, nevermind talking?  After 20 minutes I was busted.  I mean, I couldn’t stand up to do the hilly parts.  Everything in my body was screaming “Jesus Christ Molly, just stop” but I didn’t want to lose face in front of everyone else in the class.  So I endured this torture for another 20 minutes.  I wobbled off the bike pretending to laugh like it was all great fun, but I was seriously struggling to put one foot in front of the other.  Everything hurt.  My lungs, my legs, my face and what was particularly excruciating was my vagina because the seat was made of fucking knives.

• I hate sweating.  I’m not a germ freak and I have good personal hygiene (when I have to leave the house) but I just really hate the feeling of having sticky underarms, underboobs, ass crack and feet.  I put on anti-perspirant deodorant twice a week because I don’t often sweat, but when I forget to use it and I get too hot – It’s monsoon season in pit land.

• I think I look stupid.  There is not one person on this earth who doesn’t care about how they look.  I try to tell myself this every hour of every day, but STILL I can’t step away from the fact that when I run, I look like Phoebe from friends. This has been confirmed when, after getting caught in a rain shower and having to run to the car, Fiancé said; “You run like Phoebe.”

• Gyms are scary. There’s just too many options.  Too many settings.  A lot of people who frequent gyms have said “Just ask for help!  Everyone is really friendly.”  Well I’m sorry, I don’t want to disturb that man staring at himself lifting weights in the mirror and I don’t like talking to strangers.

• It’s fucking expensive.  I know I don’t need all the fancy Nike equipment like clothes and shoes, but I have 100% been sucked into the commercialisation of fitness.  I want the best shoes, the coolest leggings, the most comfortable bra.  It doesn’t matter if I look like old mashed potato when I wear it.  I want it.  Similarly, I would LOVE to hire a personal trainer but I cannot afford to pay someone to cause me physical pain when that money could be spent on groceries and beer.

Having said this.  Exercise does make you feel amazing afterwards and is really good for you.  All it takes is some structure and routine next thing I know I’ll be Tyson.  Someone help me remember this when I’m lying in bed with nothing to do and decide to watch another episode of Masterchef.

 

 

Things That Need to Leave.

Avocados need to leave.  Stop being pretentious, creamy, disgusting mush.  You’re not a substitute for butter, you’re not good with eggs, you feel weird in my mouth, you’re only ever over or under ripe, and you have to go.

Zoos need to leave.  Ever went to a zoo as an adult and felt happy?  Maybe it’s because I’ve been researching veganism (and they’re all pretty mental), but lately, I can’t ever imagine why I ever enjoyed a zoo.  If people think animals don’t have emotions, go to a zoo.  These are creatures in environments that they were never supposed to be in.  And for those who say – ‘They don’t know any better’ – Maybe they don’t, but why does that matter? Zoos need to leave.

Ghosts need to leave.  They need to leave reality.  Ghosts don’t exist.  They exist in movies, but in real life, ghosts are born from over active imaginations and tricks of the eye.  A ghost is not going to visit me and tell me I’m wrong about this.  Buildings are not haunted, the dead don’t leave their spirit behind, a Physic can’t tell your future and angels aren’t watching you.

Donald Trump needs to leave.  That blonde-haired, racist, homophobic, chauvinistic, idiotic, money grabbing, small minded pig of a man not only needs to leave, he needs to get the fuck out.  I’m not interested in his politics or policies, or his self-absorbed idea to “make America great again”, he is a backwards thinking piece of shit that needs to pack up his things and leave.

Money needs to leave.  Money is like the person who comes into your house and doesn’t take off their coat or sit down because they don’t wanna stay too long.  I’ve had enough of it.  I either have loads of it for a second, or none of it for a year, and either way I’m not happy.  The past year I have spent struggling to make it to the end of the month, constantly having to borrow off my fiancé (hehehe that’s the first time I’ve referred to him as fiancé) or my parents, and it makes me feel really scummy.  Yes, I could be better at spending but I really love make-up, drinking and food. Money needs to come in and sit down and leave when I tell  it to.

Decisions need to leave.  I am officially the worst person ever at making a decision.  How am I going to go about planning a wedding?  I’m so afraid of offending someone or someone disagreeing with me, that I’d rather just not try at all.  The one decision I’ve made about the wedding so far?  I’m definitely marrying Gareth.  And there will be no avocados served, no animals exploited, no ghosts, no Donald Trump and no money spent.

 

Just kidding, there is going to be so much money spent.

 

 

I’m Not a Feminist But…

In the wake of International Women’s Day which was on the 8th of March, I do realise I’m a little late to the party, but on the back of last week’s blog I wanted to enlighten you all about how I feel being a woman in 2016.

So if you read last week’s post you’ll know I had an altercation with a bit of a scumbag who abused his position of work to contact me with inappropriate messages. I recently read a post from a FB friend who went through a load of legal shit because some asshole thought it would be funny to show her his penis.  I’m not going to go on about how all men are pigs (because they’re not) however, my old Sociology teacher will be happy to know that I’ve embraced my inner feminist for this post. There are some differences between men and women that I am no longer OK with.

I don’t think it’s OK to make sexist jokes.  I do need to explain this one, because I’m not calling for an outright ban on jokes that poke fun at women.  I have openly laughed at all the ‘Kitchen Sink’ and ‘Why do women have boobs?’ jokes, but this depends on who delivers them and how.  I know my Boyfriend well enough to know he’s not being serious if he makes a sexist joke.  Mum will know I’ll laugh if she makes a joke about inequality.  However, if I met you for the first time five minutes ago and you ask me; “Why do women make better soldiers?” I will have to restrain myself from punching you in the face, because I know the punch-line is; “Because they can bleed for a week and not die.” 

This brings me onto my next point.  (WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT) I don’t think it’s OK that men will never feel period pain. I’ve talked about this with my Boyfriend and he’s replied with something along the lines of, “Well you’ve never got hit in the balls.” But I just don’t see how these things can be compared.  I don’t know if every woman goes through what I do each month (because it’s a weird taboo subject to discuss), but for the first few days leading up to the actual show, I’m incredibly irrational.  I feel fat, ugly, angry, excited, suicidal, horny, magical, sick, bloated, happy, thrilled, depressed.  I feel emotions that don’t have labels.  Then when my actual period arrives, I feel like my uterus has been sawed apart, stitched back together with barbed wire, by an unlicensed doctor in an alleyway with a rusty needle. And I’m uncontrollably leaking blood. And I have to be embarrassed in tescos buying ‘lady products’. And my back hurts.  And I have to get up in the middle of the night.  And it smells weird.  And for some reason, I’m not supposed to talk about it. For 5 days.  All this so we can squeeze a person’s head out of our vage?  And yeah, it is fucking gross but this is once a fucking month for 30 odd years, so honestly, I think I would rather be kicked in the balls.

I don’t think it’s OK that women are expected to smell good all the time.  I’ve never been one for perfume, and the only reason I wear deodorant is so that I don’t sweat.  I’m not dissing nice smelling things, but when did smell get sexist?  Why is there a man’s fragrance and a women’s fragrance?  Surely if you think it smells nice, you should wear it. So what if it’s blue? This applies to men too.  You like the smell of strawberries?  Who doesn’t! No one is going to call you out for smelling like a fucking dream.  And if they do, that’s OK too because that’s their opinion and they’re entitled to have it.  You’re entitled to disagree.  That’s how life works.

Lastly, because this is becoming a bit too ranty for my liking, I don’t think it’s OK that women’s eyebrows are so important.  I love doing and wearing make-up, but what is with this recent obsession with eyebrows?  Why have I become so obsessed with them? Why do I look at other girls and feel JEALOUS of the hair above their eyes?  That hair is there to stop sweat from dripping off your forehead and clouding your vision! And yet I feel like Picasso if I manage to do them well.  Why do I have to have works of art when men can just have natural sweat-defenders?

Being a woman is pretty uncool.

Advice from St Valentine

As we all know, the most important day of the entire year is coming up.  Valentines’ Day! This is the day that our partner is absolutely obliged to spend the most amount of money on us, the day that our minds are finally read and our dreams come true.

If you are single, this blog is not for you.  You shouldn’t even be clicking something with the word ‘Valentine’ in the title.  You should be at home alone with your cats, were you belong forever because no one likes you.

I’m gonna start off with some advice for men because obviously they need it most –

1. If it doesn’t cost money, do not give it to her.  If you haven’t spent your hard earned money on something, it’s not worth our time.
2. If it’s not pink, red, or have hearts on it, your girlfriend will not like it.
3. All females like chocolate, so no matter how many times they tell you they’re on a diet, you must buy it for them.  Women love feeling terrible about themselves and going to the gym.
4. If you really love your other half, you will get the biggest, most expensive card in the shop.  Ensure you get this from Hallmark or Urban Outfitters – Tesco cards will not do.  
5. Get a ridiculously large teddy – Every female out there loves big, elaborate, mortifying gifts.  Please do not make the mistake of giving it to us in the privacy of our own home.  You must give it to us in the most public setting you can fathom.  Middle of the shopping centre?  Perfect.
6. Send flowers to work.  We all love when we get the phone call from the front office saying that there’s a gift for us.  The only thing we love more than getting the call is carrying the flowers back to our desk.
7. Buy us a holiday.  Expect to pay for everything on said holiday because YOU bought it for US, and that’s included in the present.
8. Take us shopping.  Tell us to get whatever we want.  Do not dare make a face when you see the bill at Karl Lagerfeld.
9. Make a bath filled with rose petals.  Every girl on the planet loves the smell of roses and has time for a bath in the middle of the day.
10. If all else fails – Propose with the most expensive ring you cannot afford.  Bitches love weddings.

Advice for girls –

1.  If you make it through the day, you must make him a sandwich the very next day.  If he doesn’t follow the above steps – End it. Thems the rules for happiness.

 

 

P.S – JK.

 

 

 

 

How Much Would You Sacrifice for Happiness?

This post was intended to be a review of Breaking Bad (SPOILERS), which I finally finished watching a few weeks ago.  However, when discussing it with people (in particular my Dad) I found myself not asking what they thought of the plot, but, what would they do if they found themselves in a similar situation.

If you’re not aware of the show, it’s basically a high school chemistry teacher who gets terminal lung cancer and can’t afford to pay his medical bills.  The planets align and he realises that he can fund his treatment and provide for his family by cooking crystal meth.  Over the five seasons we see him go from a docile, polite, bland man into a full blown drug-lord known as Heisenberg, who, by the end of his ‘career’ has made over $80,000,000.

My question is, what would you do?

You’re extremely talented at a highly illegal activity, and have the opportunity to change your life forever.  You’ll never have another bill to stress over.  You’re kept in check by the fact that you can’t make huge purchases (taxman) and you can’t tell your family where you got the money.  My Dad said he would do it by the way.  He felt he could manage the situation better, because he would tell my Mum from the start.  Although my Mum would probably be chuffed to be raking in half a million a month.

I wasn’t altogether surprised with my Dad’s answer.  I’ve grown up hearing “No, we can’t afford that.”  I didn’t realise till I moved away from home how terrible it feels to be poor, and they spent their lives that way.  My Dad works up to 20 hours a day, and I can see why he’d make the sacrifice.

A similar thought occurred just a few nights ago when Boyfriend and I watched Coraline.   This is a children’s movie so it’s a little less complicated.

Coraline is an only child, about ten.  Her parents work very hard and don’t have a lot of time for her.  She finds a concealed door in her new house which leads her to her ‘other mother and father’. They’re perfect in every way. They give Coraline everything she could want, and offer her the opportunity to stay there forever… If she sews buttons into her eyes.

 

I watched this movie with Sonny a while ago and asked her what she would do.  She said she’d stay with her real Mum and Dad, because they already love her.  I guess she’s smarter than me, I would have told the ‘other mother’ to pass over the needle and thread at a chance to be happy.

The option in both cases is to better your life with major consequences.  The guarantee that your quality of life will improve if you sacrifice something.

The past month has been particularly difficult for me, what with money worries and an increasingly crippling social anxieties.  I’m not too ashamed to say I’m materialistic, and thought that I would have chosen the quick fix.  However, after writing this I realise I probably wouldn’t be so quick to say ‘yes’ to instant happiness.  Instant, but not forever.

How far would you go to be happy?

Baked Vanilla Cheesecake.

If someone asked me what my signature dish was, it would be this. Baked Vanilla Cheesecake. This recipe makes a massive cheesecake, perfect for this time of year if you have a big family or, (like Boyfriend and I) are greedy pigs. Be patient with this cheesecake, it’s quick to put together but it does require a lot of chillin’.

This is not healthy in any shape or form, but if like me, you like deserts that are sweet, sticky, dense and creamy, then this is the one for you. If you think deserts can be healthy… You should leave now. I made this recipe up, but will do my best to be specific with measurements.

You will need;

For the base;

200g packet of Digestives

200g packet of Hobnobs

Half a block of butter

Half a jar of peanut butter

Sharing bar of galaxy chocolate (optional)

A pinch of salt

For the filling;

1 tub of full fat cream cheese

1 tub of full fat mascarpone cheese

1 can of condensed milk

80mls of double cream

Vanilla extract or vanilla seeds (don’t use Vanilla flavouring)

Tablespoon of corn flour

6 Eggs

Zest of half a lemon

Method for the base;

To start, turn your oven on to 150 C. Put on a pan of water and bring to the boil. Meanwhile, put the base ingredients (apart from the biscuits) into a bowl to melt over the pan of water. Don’t be tempted to use a microwave for this, it will not work.

Whilst they’re in the bowl warming up and being friends, crush your biscuits and add your pinch of salt. Get the biscuits as fine as you can, but don’t worry if you have lumps (these can make the base taste better).

Add in all the melted ingredients and mix together. It should look like wet sand. If you think it looks to dry, add more melted butter and apologise to your cholesterol.

Put this mixture into a nonstick springform cake tin and bake for around 30minutes and then lick the spoon and bowl.

Method for the filling;

This isn’t too difficult. Start by adding your condensed milk, two types of cheese and double cream. I recommend whisking this together for a while so it becomes a bit more loose.

Add your eggs, zest of lemon, vanilla and sieve in the cornflour.

Whisk this together for a good 5-7minutes until it’s all the same colour/no lumps etc.

Take the base out of the oven. It might still look crumbly but don’t worry, the baking will make it stronger.

This is important; wrap the bottom 3/4 of the cake tin in 3 or 4 layers of tin foil and put it on top of a tray of about 5cm of water. This is a Bain Marie and will steam and help circulate the hot air around your cheesecake.

Put this back in the oven THEN pour the filling in. This is a lot easier because you won’t be wobbling all over the place trying to make it to the oven.

Bake for a grand total of 1hour and 40 minutes. But! Don’t take it out of the oven yet. Just open the door and let it sit there for another hour. This it to prevent the top cracking.

Take it out and make sure it has cooled down completely before putting it in the fridge.

You’ll have to leave it in the fridge for at least 12 hours (sorry) but 24 hours is ideal.

Feel free to add your own bits and bobs on top, maybe some fresh berries or a coulis. Something bitter to counteract the sweetness is good.

If you try it, let me know how it goes and what you think!

Owning a Dog: Pros and Cons

When I asked my parents should I get a dog for Christmas, their response went something like; “No Molly, dear God, no.”  This isn’t because they didn’t like dogs, (in fact, my Grandad bred them when my mum was growing up) they responded like this because if there’s anyone that knows my flaws, it’s my parents.  Me?  Be responsible for something’s life?  Oh the horror.

They said I wouldn’t be able to look after it, it’d be too hard to train, and it would be unfair on the dog.  I agreed with them at the time, but continued to research breeds anyway because I’ve never listened to a word my parents say.

I bought Barney off a man in the car park of a hotel on Boxing Day.  This, I do not recommend.  Despite being the sweetest thing I’d ever seen, Barney was not a healthy puppy.  My heart broke slightly when I had to choose between him and his brother, and to this day I regret not taking both of them.  Within five minutes of having Barney in the car, he took a poo, and I knew then that I loved him, because I wasn’t even mad.

Barney was a Christmas gift for Boyfriend, who always loved dogs.  He had no idea what I’d done and I was nervous when I heard him coming home the day after Christmas.  I put Barney in a box and put a sheet of festive wrapping paper over him.  True to form, when Boyfriend came into the living room, Barney had jumped out of the box and peed on the rug.

The first, and probably the strongest Pro to owning a dog is that they are ALWAYS happy to see you.  When you’ve had the most terrible day at work, nothing is better than being greeted by your dog when you first come through the door.  It’s as if you’ve died and have been raised again. I’m convinced he thinks the last time he sees you go out the door was the last time he’ll see you ever. If your very presence can make a dogs tail wag at lightning speed, you’re doing something right.

Con.  Dogs don’t really like dog food.  Every morning when I come home from work I go to the kitchen to make breakfast.  Every morning Barney stands beside me waiting, hoping against all hope that I drop some food on the floor.  If either Boyfriend or I are eating in the living room, Barney becomes entranced, with one eye on your plate and the other hypnotised by the chewing motion of your jaw.  It’s as though he hasn’t eaten in days, despite having a full bowl of his own food in the kitchen.  Last Christmas, I made a ham.  Once the ham was finished, we had no where to put the stock and the vegetables left in the pot, so we poured it outside.  Obviously this attracted the dog, so we put up a fence.  To this day, Barney still tries to get over the fence to eat what’s left of last year’s Christmas ham.

Pro. Dogs are great conversation starters and ice-breakers.  People are just friendlier when you have a dog.  Dogs are funny, they do funny things.  When I take Barney to the park, everyone wants to chat because he’s there.  Once, after we first got Barney, Boyfriend and I were having a fight, and it was getting pretty serious. Barney trots in and squats to take a poo, proceeding to do this weird squat-walk across the living room.  What had happened was; he had eaten some string. He’d pooed most of it out but the rest was yet to be liberated, so he was just walking around with a dangling bit of poo on the end of a string coming out of his rear.  Boyfriend and I were hysterical, the row forgotten.

Con.  Cleaning up after your dog.  I’m not just talking about string-poo, but pee, vomit, rocks he brings into the house, half eaten toilet roll holders, half eaten books, half eaten Xbox controllers, half eaten clothes (including dressing gowns, shoes, socks, pans and bras) not to mention the amount of hair he sheds.  We have a black rug, and with a white fluffy dog…  Well we need a new rug now.

Pro. Dogs enjoy the simple things.  Barney needs food, walks, water and love.  That’s it. How I wish I could be made so happy so easily.

I had more cons drafted to write about but now that I come to it, they’re not cons at all.  Of course there are little things that annoy me but there is nothing I would change about Barney.  He might be bold and extremely irritating sometimes, but that’s all part of his little personality.  I never thought I’d say this, but I am now a ‘dog person’ thanks to my little scruffy ball of joy.  If you’re considering getting a dog for Christmas, please make sure you can look after it properly. Do your research, prepare your house, but most of all, make sure you can love it as much as we love Barney.

Sonny’s Story.

This is my first post as a 24 year old!

So last week my little sister came to stay with me for a ‘sleepover’ the day before my birthday.  This consisted of food, movies, shopping for scary decorations and more food. As I don’t get to see her as often as I used to, I’m always so surprised at how much she’s grown up.  When I left home a year ago, she couldn’t read.  Now she’s ordering food off menus.  Her spelling isn’t great yet (she spelled excited as ‘iksited’), but I can read the most of it.  Sonny’s whole story so far isn’t exceptional, but it is a little different.

I was 15 when I found out my Mum was pregnant with Sonny.  She told us by taking us out to dinner (I had Carbonara) and whipping out a tiny white baby-grow.  My younger brother (who was around 10) burst into tears; I’ll always love him for that.

Flash forward six months.  I had been caught skipping school, and was suspended for a few days.  My Mum was due a baby scan, so I was pretty happy that I didn’t have to sit under her or Dad’s glare all day.  They came home around 2pm, I remember this because I had expected them back earlier.  My mind was running away with pictures of them stopping in town to see if there was a children’s home that could take my nuisance self in.  The other strange thing was that they arrived home, but sat in the car for about twenty minutes.  I pictured them discussing me moving schools or just telling me to pack my bags and leave.

I knew something was wrong as soon as my Dad came in.  He was crying.  Mum followed blowing her nose.  I nearly threw up I felt so ashamed.  I asked what was wrong and my Mum came over, hugged me, and I started to cry too.  Although I had no idea what this was about, I knew instinctively that it wasn’t about me, and that something bigger had happened.  Never one to sugar-coat things my Mum said “There’s something wrong with the baby.  Basically the doctor said it’s deformed.  It won’t be able to walk, because there’s a problem with the growth of its leg.”

So, as a family, we worried.  Mum went for more regular scans because the pregnancy was abnormal, but after the 9 months passed and Mum was induced into hospital as standard.  I remember texting my Dad every 30 seconds (who is notoriously bad at texting back) to find out what was going on.   At around 2.30pm in English with Mrs White, Dad finally texted back saying Mum and baby were hale and hearty.  Sonny had been born missing her right Tibia, but other than that, everything, including her feet, was perfect.

When I met Sonny, she was a bit of a letdown.  Froggy and pink, she slept for hours.  We first brought her home mid-May, and my memories get a bit condensed.  At two months she had to be fitted with leg braces because her hips were out of line, but this didn’t take away from how her eyes lit up when she smiled, how she cooed when she was asleep, or how bad her nappies stank.  Honestly, I’m ashamed to say it, but when we were told the baby would have a ‘short leg’, we didn’t realise that short leg or not, Sonny had a personality which had nothing to do with her abilities.

Fast forward to her sitting on the island with Mum baking, covered in flour with a massive grin.  Scooting around the floor on her ass like lightening. Sleeping in the car.  Standing up for the first time and taking her first steps, and all of us screaming for joy when she did. Talking.  Painting her mattress with nail polish. Starting school.  Cooking things in her fake kitchen.  Six, joyous Christmases. The first time I took her to school in my car.  Her meeting Boyfriend, and telling Boyfriend’s parent’s that he “…wasn’t very good with kids” (she’s changed her mind about this, and loves him almost as much as I do). Meeting Barney.  Seeing my house for the first time. Right back to last Thursday when we carved a pumpkin and went to Subway.

She got her first ‘fake leg’ when she was around 2, and has had one every six months since.  She’s now 7, and she wouldn’t be the same Sonny without it.  I’ve yet to meet a person who doesn’t think she is an extraordinary child.  She has improved my life to no end; from that first day when we found out there was something wrong, and I decided to grow up and stop skipping school.  To last week, when she woke me up on the morning of my birthday, by running in with a present she had bought with her own money, and a card she had written all by herself.