The things we carry

There’s the obvious stuff we carry the kind of things every parent knows by heart. The baby bag that somehow weighs more than the baby, packed for every possible situation. Paracetamol and Brufen for before casting appointments. Teething gel Jack and Jill’s, the one that actually helps. Extra nappies and bottles. A couple of changes of clothes for when life gets messy. A few hand toys, though they usually end up on the floor before we even make it out the door. The mobility parking permit that makes hospital trips a little easier, but also reminds us why it’s there in the first place.

Then there’s the weight that doesn’t fit inside a bag. The things that sit quietly on our shoulders and hearts. The nerves before each appointment. The looks from people who don’t understand. The exhaustion that lingers even after a good day.

We used to welcome every trainee who wanted to learn. It felt right—if they could understand our girl’s journey, maybe it would help the next family who comes through those doors. But after a while, the room felt too full. Too many eyes, too much explaining, and not enough space to just be. There’s something deeply uncomfortable about being stared at when all you want is to get through another appointment without feeling like a lesson.

So we made the circle smaller. It wasn’t about shutting people out—it was about protecting what mattered. Trust had to be earned again. And that’s okay. We learned that boundaries aren’t a sign of weakness; they’re a kind of strength. They mean we’re choosing comfort over performance, safety over politeness.

And in between all that, we carry hope.
The quiet, stubborn kind. The kind that doesn’t shout or demand attention but keeps showing up anyway. Hope in a new movement. Hope in a stretch that wasn’t there before. Hope in the way she keeps proving that progress doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.

One small win at a time. One day, one appointment, one milestone.

Good things take time. And our girl keeps teaching us that the slow, steady steps are the ones that matter most.