Started from the bottom now we’re here 

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Today is World Prematurity Day, a day where we celebrate and honour all babies born too soon. Days like today inevitably lead me to reminisce about our beginning. Flipping back through old Facebook photos, I am amazed at how small those girls were. The smallest babies I’d ever seen. In some ways that time was decades ago, history written in the sand. And in a flash, I’m back in that NICU room, lights dimmed, alarms ringing, a wave of staff floating in and out. 

Ella had a doctor’s appointment yesterday where she was weighed; 30 pounds. Raegan is 28. Ella is 95th percentile for weight. How this tiny bean of a baby, smaller than a sack of sugar has grown so much that the idea she could have been anything less than a giant curly haired beam of sunshine seems impossible. And Raegan, my goodness, my Raegan. She is sassy and hilarious and has curls for days and I’m reminded of how she escaped her little isolette jail, wiggling all over the place determined to never ever sit still.

Raegan and Ella on Halloween


Those first 80 days seemed impossible to combat, but since then it has felt like constant impossible battles that we have faced; some seemingly insurmountable even as we are climbing the wall together. The reality of Ella being in a wheelchair hovers around me constantly like a full cloud waiting for the perfect moment to unleash the rain within. So, for now, I walk with an umbrella in my purse until I no longer need it.


I am amazed by all three of my kids constantly. How silly and ridiculous they can be, but then so incredibly smart and aware. How they ask questions and want answers and how they really are more like triplets; all three of them making the same facial expressions and gestures. The girls sounding so alike when they talk. It seems crazy to me how big Braeden is; how he too was still just a baby when his sisters were born.


I also think about where we started and how we got here. Living so close to amazing nurses, doctors, therapists, and hospitals. I’ve been lucky that I’ve been able to wake up in my own bed, that I haven’t had to leave two of the kids behind simply to take Ella to a plethora of appointments. How I’ve been able to access equipment and programs that have helped Ella get stronger and more confident. 


As we get closer and closer to the girls’ third birthday, we move away from the NICU and move onto other chapters of our story; preschool and making friends and discovering that there are many more  heroines than Elsa, though she does make a mean castle. And yet those days in that room are still so close to my heart, they are quickly being replaced by cuddles and giggles and soft curls. One day, a day like today will be marked by my tough as nails daughters showing how mighty preemie babies can be.

No, you staring at us is definitely super helpful 

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I would be naïve to think that people don’t notice differences; whether it be that it’s just the four of us all the time or the AFOs Ella wears, but I suppose that I assumed that we were much more further along as humans. Really, at first glance, I’m just an average mum pushing a stroller with an adorable curly hair child in it with two more curly haired ones trailing behind. It would take a second glance to notice that Ella isn’t walking or standing or that she gets frustrated a bit more than the other two when trying to play, but then sometimes it feels like that second glance never ends. 

Ella is not able to really move her legs to help her in and out of things and with her AFOs, it can be hard to pull her out of things like high chairs or swings. Recently at the mall, I was struggling to get her shoe through the chair leg when I could feel people standing over us. I thought they were waiting for the highchair until I pulled her out and realized that they didn’t want the chair, they were just watching us. Not watching and asking questions or offering help, but just staring. I’ve noticed other people staring when we’re at the park or walking down the street, and I just don’t get it. 

I know that the stares will only get more intense and will be more profound as the equipment gets bigger and more noticeable, as Ella begins to use a walker or wheelchair in public. But I also see so much improvement in Ella and in her abilities that it saddens me to think that people only see her as her equipment, as her limitations because they have no idea how far she has come. I know it will also be harder for the kids not to notice what is happening as they get older and more aware of other people. It takes a strong person to get up every morning and assume that the sun will shine down on them, that people will be inherently good, and it takes an even stronger person to ensure that their kids will always assume the same. Equipment or not, my job is for those three curly haired kids to see sunshine every day. 

Giving thanks among the chaos 

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Last weekend was Canadian Thanksgiving, and it inevitably lead to everyone posting about what they are thankful for. Sometimes, when I look around at the mess, or deal with the tantrums, or feel nothing but exhaustion, it can be really hard to feel thankful. It can seem like the world has conspired against us sometimes; when it rains, it not only pours but the roof leaks and the floor floods and the window breaks and the power goes out and the fridge stops and we lose hot water and we run out of diapers and it just. doesn’t. stop.

But, it doesn’t take much to bring me back to reality. Ella and I had an appointment at the rehab hospital where she receives services, and there in the elevator, was a little boy with two prosthetic legs talking to his mum about running and playing. And it was just such a normal parent child interaction, like nothing in their lives seemed to be different. But, of course, I know, as do other special needs parents, that that’s not the case. That sometimes the walls close in and the doctors and therapists start to sound like the adults on Charlie Brown-making little sense as we nod along nonsensically. But then, I look at Ella, smiling and chatting to strangers from her stroller about the car she was holding and giggling at me as she sassily told me, “I’m not listening!” and I’m thankful. I’m thankful for such a strong daughter, who is usually stronger than her mama. I’m thankful for our past which has created our present. I’m thankful for tiny moments of reflection amongst the chaos. I’m thankful for my three hooligans who equally keep me on my toes and keep me giggling. 

I’m thankful that when life seems to be especially bitter, that the four of us are all here to not only survive, but thrive, together. 

Thanksgiving family trip to the zoo

Don’t ask me to predict the future 

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It’s hard to believe that just three years ago, I was pregnant with the girls, just trying to get them to be born, not much thinking beyond that. I assumed if they could just be born, just make it that far, that all would be right in the world, and I’d have two adorable, chubby babies. 

Now, I don’t know if that was naïve or just plain survival mode as the three of us seemed to be in a constant battle with the pregnancy gods. Either way, here we are, three years later, on World Cerebral Palsy Day, in a very different life than I had imagined back then.

Today, I have a rambunctious crew of an almost five year old and two ladies headed towards their third birthday. Today, we know what Cerebral Palsy means. At least, we know what it mans to us. Like so much, CP exists on a spectrum, and Ella seems to dance and giggle her way all around it. She is strong and capable. She talks and talks and talks. She uses both hands. She feeds herself and tells you exactly what she wants and definitely what she doesn’t; “I can do it myself, Mama!” 

Ella uses a walker, with assistance, and a stander. Ella wears AFOs. Ella can sit in a high chair or another chair with good support. But, I don’t know what Ella will be able to do next year. I don’t know if she’ll ever walk on her own or if she’ll need a wheelchair. I don’t know if she’ll run or dance without someone helping. I just don’t know. No one does. Ella won’t know until she tries. I can’t tell you, I can’t calm your anxiety or answer your questions. I can’t answer my own. No one can but time. So, all we can do is sit back and watch what this amazing girl does. Watch her strength, her light, her smile. All we can do is wait and see what every child can do, can become, because life, like CP, is a beautiful spectrum.

Amazing Ella

To preschool and beyond 

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I had a really difficult decision to make in the spring-to keep the girls together for preschool or to separate them and place Ella in a reverse-inclusion school for kids with different abilities, or special needs. Ultimately, I decided what was best for Ella was to place her in the specialized program, even though it meant separating her from Raegan.

Ella on her first day of preschool


Just two weeks in, and I already know that I made the right decision. The daily updates from her teachers equally bring me a smile and to tears. Her teachers write about how much Ella has to say and how funny and silly she is. Ella tells me about playing with her new friends, about their birthdays. She’s playing basketball at school and going on the slide. And she’s so, so happy. Just full of joy as she talks about her day and it amazes me how smart she is and how happy she is to go to school, and how happy I am to hear her tell me about her day. 

Ella practices her walking by pushing the stroller


And, she is getting so strong. She always has been a Mighty Mouse, fighting from day one, not even three pounds, but now she is stronger and so confident and moving her legs and telling me excitedly, “I’m dancing!” or “I’m walking!” And always, always with her big grin and happy eyes. If only we could all see the world like Ella, a world where everything is exciting and awesome and new and fun. A world where even our limits are seemingly limitless. 

Ella plays at home in her stander


I worried so much; about the girls being separated, about Ella making friends, living life, being happy. But I didn’t need to because today she is learning so much, building her confidence, her strength. Today she is learning about chances and how hilarious it can be to try our best. Today, she is learning about making lemonade and being the sugar that keeps life sweet. Today, she is learning about life, and she’s teaching me all about it too.

Ella the rockstar

The things you never knew you could do

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Yesterday I did something I never ever thought I would do; I ran a 5K race. And I know, those who run think a 5K is a trip to the grocery store, but for those of us who have never run before, it seemed a bit like climbing a mountain. 

off to the races! nervous and excited


Yesterday, after I sweated through the race and was thinking about how I never thought I’d cross that finish line, I was thinking about how far I’ve come. The biggest I’ve ever been was 255 pounds when I was pregnant with Braeden. I never thought I could do much at that size, but now, after three kids and a year and a half using Beachbody products and having a Coach and friends to push me and encourage me, I not only crossed that finish line, I soared across it and only my maturity held me back from screaming Fuck yah! as I did.

post race, finisher medal!


The best part was that I raised money for Sick Kids, a place I’ve found myself and my children more than anyone should. In fact, that thought kept creeping up on me as I nervously awaited the start of the race. I wondered how many of the people there had stories of the hospital. Friends or family who found themselves there, without anywhere else to turn. I wondered how many of the parents whose kids ran or walked with them had spent countless sleepless nights in its halls, unable to conceive that the world continued outside. I thought, too, about the babies and kids there right then. The ones who missed their first days of school. Their summers. How something as trivial as a 5K seemed so scary when we’ve already been to hell and back. 

Raegan tries the medal on for size


So, I did something I didn’t think possible when I was bigger, and even leading up to my feet hitting the pavement, I still didn’t think it was possible. But, we do the impossible every day, with friends and family cheering us on and with a little help from our neighbourhood doctors, therapists, and nurses. May we each continue to conquer our own 5Ks every day, and to look back and smile and tell Fuck yah! cause we can’t all be too mature.

She believed she could, so she did 

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I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’ve always been Ella’s number one fan. I never believed she would be anything less than incredible, and she’s proved herself to be just that, as well as sassy and hilarious. Her giggle is infectious and her sentences are so observant. Listening to the girls talk to each other is one of my favourite things in life; Raegan will do something silly and Ella will giggle incessantly and then Raegan will ask if she should do it again and Ella will say yes and the cycle continues. To be an outsider to their bond is amazing, but I know she is sometimes sad that she can’t do what her siblings can.

Raegan and Ella celebrate Hawaii at school


Last week, Ella was on my lap and we were all playing on the floor. Ella said she wanted to be on the floor, so I put her down, and she rolled around playing a bit before saying she wanted to play with the instruments we have. I asked if she wanted help, and she looked at me and said, “I can do it myself.” And so, I watched as she army crawled on the floor and got to her instruments and happily played while I excitedly watched and saw how proud she was.

Braeden and Ella play


And, the thing is, she really can do it herself. She feeds herself more and is more independent than ever before. She asks for help when she needs it, but is emphatic when she does not. Here’s the thing; my Ella Bella has been fighting since she was two pounds, and has always been doing her best to keep up with her sister, who is desperate to do the same things as her brother. And that girl, that amazing girl, who crawled on the floor, once was told she may never move, she may need brain surgery, and a shunt. That she may not survive. Not only did she, she is thriving and sassy and loves cuddling with her panda bear.

Ella and Raegan share a crib


Recently, I saw a print of the quote, “She believed she could, so she did,” and I thought of Ella, her bright smile and her determination, never giving up, always getting stronger. That’s my Ella. 

Would I still have taken the same path had I known its destination?

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Every now and then I find myself thinking about life and how strange it is, how you think you’re heading in one direction then the course veers and you go with it, unsure at first, slowly taking steps until you get comfortable and break into your stride. 

When I was 20, I was told I would never have children. At the time, I was kind of unsure what that meant. I was too young to know if I even wanted children, so I went on with life just thinking it would never happen. And then, it did.

If I had known then what was in store would I have still walked that same path? If I had known when I was pregnant with the girls that our story would look like this, would I have still excitedly ripped open that envelope, telling me I was having girls?

If I had known about Ella’s cerebral palsy, about the worry, the uncertainty, the appointments, the equipment, would I have walked through those NICU doors with my head held high every day?

If I had known I’d be doing it on my own, with a broken heart and semi broken spirit, would I have kept going? If I had known about the exhaustion that seeps into my bones every night, the dark circles under my eyes, the stretch marks, the loneliness, the worry, the sense of loss, would I have just laid down and refused to move?

Every now and then I wonder. I wonder if I would have thrown in the towel, waved the red flag, conceded defeat. But, I know the answer. Of course if I had known, I would have kept going, through the thickness, pushing aside the thorns that scraped and cut, moving forward through the fog, squinting to see the light, because I know the light. The light is my three curly haired children. The light is singing songs and reading stories and watching them grow, no matter what unexpected challenges this path throws our way. The light is looking at little people and knowing I did that. I made them. I was there and I’m here and I will be here. The light is hearing their excitement when I come home from work. The light is the giggles and hugs and the sassy looks and the cute outfits.

Would I have kept going had I known then? Will I keep going now? Despite the occasional look over my shoulder, my sword is at the ready, and we soldier on. If only then I had known how different love can be I would have skipped down the path, eagerly awaiting today, tomorrow, and the next day.

Oh that invisible weight on my chest? That’s just the crushing loneliness 

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Ever since becoming a mum, I have been the happiest I have ever been. I love watching my little people grow and I find them hilarious. They’re my homies, and we have all kinds of crazy fun together.

But, I have also never been this lonely. I think there’s a reason you’re meant to have a partner when you’re a parent. It’s really fricking exhausting to be on all the time, to not have anyone to spot you, to step in, to give you a second to just breathe. But, it’s also so isolating when you look around and all you see are couples. They don’t understand that not only is there no one there during the bad times, but there also isn’t anyone around for the good either.

No one to talk about what an amazing day we had. No one to plan adventures with or to compare notes. No one to talk about how hilarious and awesome the kids are; to break down their chatter. No one to tell how proud I am of Ella or to say how scared I am of her uncertain future. 

Once the kids are tucked into bed, the quietness feels suffocating. When others are cleaning up from dinner together or sharing a glass of wine, or even just getting cozy on the couch, I often find myself standing alone wondering, what now? 

While I so badly want to believe that our knight in shining armour is out there, will see us and immediately understand and want to take the loneliness away, it seems further and further away every day. As I watch other parents stroll, hand in hand or out to dinner or just out together with their kids, it’s so obvious how different our lives are, how they just couldn’t get it, but I’d love to not get it anymore, to be blissfully unaware of anything but my own happiness, the feeling of completeness, of saying goodbye to the loneliness and hello to being surrounded by love. 

We’re two and a half!

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It seems like only yesterday that the two tiniest babies I’d ever seen squiggled in their isolettes, learning how to breathe, move, and live. In a flash, they’ve become little people, with big personalities.

Raegan may be one of the nuttiest tiny humans I’ve ever seen. She has her own flair and way of doing things, but knows how to flash those big blue eyes at you and dimples to get her way. She also likes to pick out her outfits, including jammies, tutus, and baseball caps. She loves to chase her big brother and splash in the bath and read stories and play with cars and trucks. She loves to avoid the stroller at all costs and pick out chocolate timbits for snack. She’s also incredibly active and wiggly and hilarious and cuddly and a bit crazy, but she’s Raegan. 


Ella is my voice of reason telling her siblings not to run too fast or to have a time out. She’s sassy and full of sunshine that beams out of her very core. Ella loves to sing and read stories and chit chat so much and play with babies and cars and splash in the tub. She loves the swings and snacks and giggling and calling everyone her friends.


Anytime someone talks about Raegan and her wildness; her inability to sit still, her slightly crazy attitude, her sassiness, I remind them that she was the two pound baby who wiggled around her isolette like she was on vacation. The baby who in my belly purposely swam away anytime the technician needed to measure her. Raegan has always been Raegan and I wouldn’t change one tiny curly hair on that girl’s head because she brings me endless laughter.


Ella has always been Amazing Ella, Ella Enchanted. Her spirit has always been the shiniest, happiest, most brilliant, and her strength has constantly amazed me. She continues to be so strong, every day. She uses her AFOs every day and her stander and walker. She is becoming stronger and better at sitting. Yesterday, I watched as she slowly inched forward on her hands and knees, so close to a crawl. I had tears in my eyes as she has accomplished so much and works so hard and yet is always my sunny girl. 


My two sweet girls, I love to watch as you grow and learn and I love to listen to you sing and chat to each other and laugh and giggle together; to be reminded how you once were one in my tummy and will always have such a unique bond not even I will fully know. I can’t believe you are toddlers, so full of personality, the same two girls who seemed so fragile now are so strong. Two and a half years and so many adventures, and I’m just lucky enough to be your mama.