Inside out pyjamas

Hello you people who can actually read, its Lotty's nonsense blog land again.

Funny old few days, friends will know what I mean, others will know I've been quiet..yes..that's when you know something is up with Lotty when she's quiet. Can't bloody stop me yapping on twitter as much as you can stop me winning a chocolate eating competition. Anyways digressing already, good start Lotty.

So tonight my boy went to bed in inside out pyjamas..my response; who give a fluck. I know people who would be calling social services at the thought..yes I really do know people like that..obviously not closely or anything, that would just be weird right?

We adopted my boy when he was 16 months, he's 4 now..I feel like he's been with us since I was in my twenties..after today I'm counting my blessings and he is one of them. My husband is one of the many others..without him I wouldn't have my boy, the two go together like left and right, Dempsey and Makepeace, egg and chips and wine on a Saturday night.

Its weird, I feel like I gave birth to him (my boy not my husband) we tried to have kids of our own, went for fertility stuff but when some one wanted to stick a needle up my you know what I said hold on a minute I'll think I'll get a kitten instead. Of course the old motherly instinct won the battle over the kitten (I mean basically they just meow, purr and shit right?) That's when one day, and I will never forget it for as long as I live adoption popped into my head. I was sat in bed one Monday morning and I remembered those Romanian babies on the news when I was a kid..I rang my husband and said "what do you think about adoption"...I was expecting a what the fuck is she on with now response..but he said..I love the idea..I think its great. So five minutes later I was researching the whole thing. From  that day it took, one house move and 3 years and our little one came to stay. Oh yes and zillion reports, checks, social worker visits but all of that shit was worth it.

Its strange I forget he's adopted, and whats even stranger is that I only remember when we are doing something lovely together...I always think..god what could your life have been and what a truly precious moment this is and I will hold in my heart until I am old and grey;it could be something at school that's hes achieved or something simply like dancing his heart out with me in the kitchen. His birth parents were drug addicts, from terrible homes. I hold nothing but empathy and sympathy for them I really do, they didn't choose to become addicts..who the fluck does. My son was born an addict and slept for the first three months of his life because his birth mum injected in her tummy when she was pregnant. Don't feel bitter towards her, I don't, she knew no better, she was never given love like most of us know love if we're lucky. If wasn't for her I wouldn't be a mummy. I have a few letters from her for my son when he is older and they will be more precious to him than gold and sometimes I just wish I could tell her he's OK and he's happy and he's a little sod and he sings to me and he's just so loving and kind and caring sometimes I could burst with pride. His eyes light up a room even though he can't see very well because something made them poorly...it might be genetics, it might have been the drugs but it doesn't matter because he can laugh and smile and play and learn and be part of this wonderful place that is the world.

I don't know to this day if I could ever conceive my own child, I don't need to know...its strange I'm a bossy control freak that likes to know everything, but the most personal thing about myself I have no yearning to know. If it ever happened I'd prob faint with shock...but really it doesn't matter to me because my son in mine, is ours. I teach him to share and to be kind and when not to talk about willies in public (ya know all good life stuff) I love him more than I ever thought I could anything in this world..just as a birth mother would and could if we ever got the chance.

So in the scale of things, when I see those children in Africa starving and sick and walking for week to get to a hospital that can offer them no help, it doesn't matter about the sad start to my sons life, it doesn't matter if his bedrooms a tip or his pyjamas are inside out; it matters he's loved - and boy he is that.

xxxx