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She was born at 36 weeks and 4 days and she was just fine. She was born screaming, like most babies. I can still remember the moment they put her on my chest. I said "hello" and she stopped crying and tried to look at me, with her dark, almost black, eyes. She couldn't get her eyes to look in the same direction for the first couple of days. She eventually got the hang of it. Her eyes eventually lightened through shade of teal, they are now light blue, almost grey in some lights. They're beautiful.
I, like most mums, like to reflect on this first cuddle and how our world changed that day.
I know I'm biased, but she's just such a great kid.
She's kind.
She's thoughtful.
She believes in justice, she tries to make the world a more fair place.
She's so happy.
She's creative.
She loves to sing.
She loves gymnastic.
Her memory is amazing.
I'm still in awe of her now, like I was on that first day.
The first time we were left alone in the hospital room, I remember sitting next to her cot and I explained to her how I wasn't like other mums. That I'd had rheumatoid arthritis since I was two years old. I explained that I wasn't sure how on earth I was going to manage this whole mum gig. But I promised to do my best, but I'd probably need her help along the way.
She's been Mummy's little helper from the start. Like instinctively she knew that she needed to help me out. Small things like arching her back when I went to pick her up as a small baby, crawling to me in a chair and standing up to help me pick her up from the ground when she was 6m-7m. She's always been very physically strong, I think it part because she's had to be.
I can't believe she's already seven years old. Well almost.
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