More so after a day of seeing you struggle, or seeing children your age, or seeing you struggle around children your age.

I never really notice how ‘delayed’ you are until it literally smacks me in the face when we are around other children.

The gap between abilities like speech – (WOW, children can talk…SO MUCH!) it’s insane.

It hurts. Really hurts.

Almost, aches!

Like a dull, niggling, pain that never really goes away.

It’s just sometimes easier to ignore it and distract myself, rather than sit and ponder over it, which we all know, makes things 100 times worse than they are.

If you had never suffered a brain injury, who would you be?

When would you take your first steps?

How fast could you run?

Would you like climbing?

Jumping?

Would you like games?

Hide and seek?

Tag?

Would you be competitive?

How high could you swing?

Could you do the monkey bars?

Climb the stairs to the slide yourself?

Would you like to sing like me?

Or would you be more of an, ‘out-doorsy’, person like your Dad?

Would you have been to the shooting range with him yet?

Would you follow in his footsteps and become a royal marine?

You certainly have the determination for it.

Or follow in mine, and aspire to work with disabled children? (Ironic, eh?)

What would your voice sound like, would you be cheeky?

What would you first word be – nothing naughty I hope?!

Would you be popular?

Charismatic?

I could ask myself these questions a thousand times and the sting would never change.

It would never hurt any less.

In fact, I think it probably stings a little more with each thought, each day that passes.

But, then I think…would you even be.. you?

The you I have grown to really know over the past for years.

You have the cheesiest, most determined little personality.

More determined than most adults I’ve come across.

I often try to use your determination to push myself to do the things you can’t, like the walk we did this weekend!

1,827 feet up the side of a HUGE hill!

I wanted to give up, quite a few times, but I thought of you, and how you can’t do things like that alone and that pushed me.

You have the most beautiful smile, the best I’ve ever seen.

Ear to ear, you could melt even the coldest heart.

You can say so much just with your facial expressions.

Would I ever have been so attentive to the small things if you were never, you?

Or would it have just been overlooked, if you could talk?

You can tell stories with just your eyes, sometimes, I think you’ve been here before.

The way you stop and just stare, then a huge smile will come across your face, as if you are thinking happy thoughts.

I want nothing more than to be able to understand and share those thoughts with you one day.

I would never change you, not for the whole world.

But I can’t help but wonder…

Who would you be?

I pictured the perfect combination of myself and my husband.

Blonde of course. Chubby little cheeks and fingers. Bright blue eyes.

Then I would think about his personality. Feisty and stubborn. Funny of course. All boy.

I pictured a little boy who loved the outdoors. I had visions of riding bikes, catching fish, and jumping in puddles.

I remember telling myself I didn’t care what my little boy does as long as he is happy.

He can become anything he wants. I will support him.

I was going to be the perfect mother, friends. (Don’t we all think that?) I had plans and ideas.

I knew exactly what I was doing. I had read every book and blog. I had this mothering thing down.

But never once during my pregnancy did it ever cross my mind that I would have a child with severe special needs.

I never factored that in. I’m guessing no one does.

You picture and pray for healthy.

The day we brought our son home I knew something was off. He struggled with sleeping, eating and finding contentment.

He wanted to be held constantly yet he was never happy with me holding him.

By 9 months old he was watching cartoons incessantly…and I was scared to death.

Yet, as an infant and toddler he was meeting all of his milestones. Pointing? Check. Waving? Check. Making eye contact? Check.

But still, something wasn’t right.

I felt it in my stomach. At times my worry was more than I could handle as a mother.

My favorite topic of conversation with friends and family was ‘all the reasons why my son was not autistic.’

And, of course, everyone agreed with me.

His dad said he was fine. So did both of our parents.

Even our pediatrician was certain we just had a late bloomer. She assured me that boys developed later. I shouldn’t worry.

I knew though. I felt it. I’ve talked to other parents who have said the exact same thing.

They knew. And no one else believed them. And the weight of that is debilitating.

The day we got his autism diagnosis I felt every emotion you can imagine. Sadness, guilt, fear, relief, desperation. The list goes on.

Suddenly, we were thrust into a new world and my dreams for the future were put to the wayside.

We were part of the autism club.

My whole world became finding the best possible services and help for my son.

I had no idea what our future held. I would Google autism and adulthood and find wonderful stories of genius children.

They called it high-functioning autism….a term that I made sure to say to people. I felt better for some reason.

It’s like I was reassuring myself.

I’d think…this is going to be fine. So what if my boy doesn’t become a doctor or a lawyer. I settled into a normalcy for a few years.

My son was autistic and this was going to be fine. He was high functioning.

As my son aged it became apparent that his autism was severe. And once again I found myself tweaking my hopes and dreams for the future.

Only this time, it seemed more permanent. Even bleaker.

I was no longer planning for college. Instead I was planning a way to pay for my son’s care for the rest of his life.

At age six he was completely nonverbal. He was not potty trained nor did he have a desire to be. He had zero self-care. He still struggled with sleep.

There were moments when he would hit, kick and head butt me. I felt isolated and alone. I felt scared.

And my dreams once again morphed.

I pray that he learns to tie his shoes. I pray that he learns to use the toilet. I pray that he learns to read.

I pray that he makes a friend. I pray that he is happy and that he can tell me so. I pray that he learns to speak.

I pray that I can be the best mother ever to this vulnerable, amazing, innocent little boy.

I pray that I have the courage to always fight for the best care for him.

So, how, as a mother did I make this evolution?

It’s a very interesting question.

It takes time, friend. For me it took 6 long years with many highs and lows.  I am human.

Let me be clear I am absolutely in love with my son but I went through the grieving process.

I grieved for the little boy I had dreamed of. I struggled. I cried a lot of tears. I worried about his care after he turned 18.

I worried about him living with me for the rest of his life.

I worried about my worry.

And then I came out the other side.

Throughout my pregnancy my dreams for my son all revolved around happiness.

And – don’t worry people – my son is happy.

Every single day is the best day of his life. He is never crabby. He knows no greed. He is loved.  He attends an autism kindergarten class. He loves trains and being tickled and swimming.

He spends every waking hour immersed in learning about the railroad. He squeals with delight when I sing to him and make funny sounds.

His life is simple.

And now, when I look into the future I very clearly see our future. Cooper is living with me.

He is happy. He is healthy. He is loved. And I tell myself that is all I can ask for as a mom.

My son is happy. And he is loved.

I have read that for the International Women’s Day on 8th March this year the theme is to focus on, “Women in the Changing World of Work”!

The internet and articles read state how we should focus on women’s empowerment and how strong women are needed within important roles of society.

We see celebrities such as Beyonce and Oprah, yes these women are entertainers and icons, but they’re also ambassadors for meaningful causes or owners of thriving businesses.

But I’m a powerful woman too, in my own way!

I’m not famous or rich in monetary value but I have one of the most priceless gifts of all – an autistic son.

I’m a wife and have a husband who loves me unconditionally and appreciates the strength I bring to our family home.

I am a full time working mum who is valued within the workplace and juggles the complexities of military precision on a daily/weekly/monthly basis to keep our world turning.

In fact I am surrounded by a whole host of extremely diverse women who don’t need the world to tell them to be powerful.

They are living and breathing beings of power and I look at them in awe and amazement:

My granny first and foremost, originally from Cyprus she was married off to an English soldier at 14 years old and came to the UK which was a foreign country to her where she had no one for support and couldn’t speak the language.

She endured abuse, hardship and without her I or none of my family would be here today

My mum – a mother herself with me from the age of 15, worked and provided for all her 5 children and now ever expanding number of grandchildren.

Who helped support and care for her father as he was terminally ill with cancer and then has endured her own cancer journey over the past 18 months with tears, laughter, strength and determination.

My lovely friend Ceri-Ann who after a textbook pregnancy with her daughter endured birth trauma and is now, what seems to me to be a medical knowledge genius in her daughters HIE and other complex needs.

The time, energy, investigative actions I see her fathom out alongside her role as a mother is inspiring.

My sister, she is a single mum to two beautiful boys on the ASD spectrum.

They say you can take a horse to water but can’t make him drink – she can!!

She is that awesome.  She is a mum & dad, homemaker, cook, cleaner, teacher not only to her own boys but an amazing aunty to my son who loves him as her own.

You see to me International Women’s Day will be spent hailing the females in my day-to-day life that make a difference to others lives daily.

Recognising women’s unpaid care and domestic work; the unconditional love and support that they provide, with often no thanks – these are the real achievements in life.

Being a woman is powerful, this, to me, is pinnacle!

I don’t really need a special day to concentrate on this I live and breathe this every day.

They are completely motivated by a desire to create change for their families and others, in a way that paid writers cannot match.

It’s cathartic – the most common reason to start a blog is to be able to express yourself.

As one writer put it, blogging is a cheap form of therapy or counselling for many.

So often we find ourselves writing into the evening, tears plopping onto our keyboards, and working through the trickier emotions we so often face and somehow we ‘blog through it’, as if seeing the words on the page unscrambles what is in our heads and hearts.

Sharing information – Some parents share resources and tips on their blogs, others use the online space as a kind of diary to provide a running commentary with friends and family when their child is ill.

This reduces the need to keep repeating themselves and the blog acts as a hub of information.

It can also be a way of explaining difficult situations to loved ones when a face to face conversation might prove impossible.

Support and community – When I began my blog I thought I would be supporting new families with a baby with Down’s syndrome.

What I very quickly realised was that my blog would serve as a portal into a whole online community who would help me through the toughest of days, the worrying moments and whose families would lead the way for us through example.

Blogging brings us access to a fantastic network of support and friendship and often supplies the answers we seek that we can access in small chunks whenever we are ready.

It reinforces that we are not alone.

Campaign work – Often the blogging community join forces to create lasting change.

Our voices are stronger and louder together, and we can see them put to good use working on projects such as calling for more accessible toilets, supermarket trolleys with support for disabled children or adapted clothing and larger nappies to be more readily available.

These, along with campaigns to educate the public and medical professionals about various conditions are having a real impact on the way families like ours experience life.

Fundraising – Another way in which SEND bloggers often join forces and work together for good is fundraising for their charities, as well as raising the profile of the work they do.

With social media and hashtags often going viral on awareness days, it can be a straightforward way to collect vital funds.

Today is one of those days.

In 2 days we will be off to Alder Hey hospital where Sam will have his much-anticipated VNS surgery.

We have to book in on the Monday around 2pm, to give time for pre-op tests etc, then surgery is booked in for Tuesday.

I really hope that he’s one of the first on the list because we both hate waiting.

Only one parent can stay with him overnight, and once again his wonderful Dad has volunteered (in all fairness they pretty much have to drag me off the ward when it’s time to go, its tears me in two leaving them every single time).

It’s not entirely altruistic however, if I stay overnight at the hospital then Daddy has to negotiate the joy that is Liverpools one-way traffic system, alone, at night.

He only recently passed his driving test, so I can understand the reluctance here, believe me.

So, this weekend will be busy.

Sam’s fed a blended diet in addition to his formula milk, so we’ll be getting his meals planned and prepped; we expect to only be in hospital with him for 3 days, however we’ll be staying the rest of the week at my Mums, as she only lives 40 minutes from the hospital, so we need to pack a weeks-worth of continence and feeding supplies.

Then there’s sorting out OUR food while we’re on the ward – I wonder if most people have ever considered how much it costs families when they have to stay in hospital with a sick child?!

There’s the cost of parking, petrol, food and drink… only the patients get fed on the ward, the carers have to fend for themselves.

The food offerings are usually pretty good in fairness, Costa is available for coffees etc., there’s a WHSmith and a cafeteria there too.

But it all adds up.

So, this weekend I intend to be cooking up a number of meals that can easily be reheated in the parents microwave, in a bid to save some cash.

That and it’ll give me something to take my mind off my nerves.

After all, we’ve waited many years for this to finally happen, it’s the third date for surgery as the first two were cancelled for various reasons, and my nerves are starting to build the closer we get to surgery-day.

We finish our coffee as Sam starts to stir, and it’s time to get him surgery-ready.

The look of utter disgust on his face as he stretches his arms out and I whip his pj top off in one movement has his Dad and I chuckling away like a pair of lunatics!

10 minutes later, and he’s been wiped down with pre-op wipes (to guard against MRSA I’m told), is dressed in his surgery gown, and is dozing back off to sleep.

At 8am the Consultant Anaesthetist arrives to go over a few details –softly spoken and gentle, this lady has my complete trust.

She will be responsible for keeping my baby safe during and after surgery, monitoring him for seizures that could prove… problematic.

I won’t allow my mind to take me down that route.

At 8.50am the porters arrive and we lift our sleepy little bundle onto the trolley bed, before heading off to theatre.

Only one of us can go in with him, so Daddy takes a seat, and I follow Sam.

The room is bright, cartoon characters adorn the walls, taking Sams attention away from the equipment.

A nurse explains what they are going to do, and shows him by putting Bear to sleep with a mask over his snout, then laying him down next to Sam.

Meanwhile the Consultant gently administers the anaesthetic to Sam, and within moments he deeply asleep.

A quick kiss to his forehead and a whispered, ‘I love you’, and I’m gently ushered out.

I hate leaving him, and I hate waiting for news.

At 12pm the nurse comes to let us know that he’s out of theatre and in recovery.

His surgeons pop in; everything went smoothly, the wires wrapped easily around the nerve and the unit worked perfectly on testing.

It takes 2 hrs for Sam to fully come round – evidently he was comfortable and the pain meds were working their magic.

And to add some amusement, the lovely surgical team also made sure Bear was dressed appropriately to accompany Sam in theatre.

A mere 10hrs after surgery and he’s discharged… while Mummy and Daddy are incredibly nervous about causing pain when transferring him from the bed to his wheelchair, our little trooper doesn’t seem bothered.

Now to wait 10 days for the surgical incisions to heal, stitches can then be removed and the VNS turned on. And it is going to work.

Because it just has to.