The picture above was taken around a year ago. Frog’s feet naturally fell at right angles to her body. Her ankle joints were so flexible that her feet caved in, so she was trying to balance on the side of each foot. It’s not surprising she couldn’t stand up on her own.

At the time, it was heartbreaking to see my determined tot trying to catch up with her peers. She visibly withdrew into herself because she couldn’t join in with the games of the other toddlers running around her. People often assumed she had developmental issues or was at least eight months younger than she was. I was angry a lot of the time and became an expert at biting my tongue.

We had three months to wait for an appointment between our initial GP visit and our referral. Once we’d had our referral at the hospital, we had another two months to wait for the first physiotherapist session. By that time, my daughter was almost two years old – and still not walking.

Looking back, the six months between January to June last year were ones of constant frustration. I was a frustrated mum, battling to get information and find a cause to something I KNEW had a cause. Every day saw me bat away well meant advice from other parents whose children “hadn’t walked until they were two” etc. Although these words were meant as a kindness, in my paranoid, ill informed state, I assumed they were trying to tell me nothing was the matter. I knew something was the matter though – just not exactly what.

A year on, and we are smiling. Our toddler eventually got up on her feet and walked all by herself just before her second birthday. She was given special boots (like Piedro boots, but a different brand) just after this, to help strengthen her knees and hips. These boots did the job her ankles were supposed to be doing, helping her gain in confidence.

Once she was properly, confidently up and about, the boots were ditched. We put Frog in hi-top trainers which supported the ankle, or boots from Next. Clarkes were no good, as she wasn’t deemed “ready” for the “big girl shoes” but the soft soled ones provided no support to her ankles. Equally, her tiny feet were too small for the boots recommended to us – Kickers or Timberland. So we opted for a brand called Ricosta. They were perfect at the time.

While I worried about her future footwear and the inevitable battles we’d have over high heels, I was relieved to see my daughter finally blossom into the little girl I knew at home; confident, chatty and playful. The panic in new situations and her habit of covering her face and whispering “scared” stopped almost as soon as the walking started.

Then came October and a final physio appointment, in which we were signed off, with the warning to come back if Frog complained of pain at any point down the line. And we had an orthotics appointment in December, which saw my two and a half year old issued with special hospital issue insoles, to support her ankles and give an arch to her foot which is completely lacking. This means she can finally wear “big girl” shoes.

Today, we received a letter from the Paediatric Orthopaedic clinic at the hospital. It was following up our most recent check up, just over a week ago, confirming that we won’t need to go back. Another department has officially signed my daughter off, stating a “marked improvement” and noticing she is now “walking with an entirely normal gait”. Now it’s just the orthotics team we need to keep seeing, who’ll evaluate her progress with the insoles.

Last year was a tough one. We didn’t know what we were dealing with and there were times when it felt like there’d never be a moment when I’d see my toddler stand up and walk on her own. She has hypermobile joints, possibly hypermobility syndrome. Her joints are so bendy that we’ve been warned it’s unlikely the issue will ever just go away. Although it might.

That’s the thing with hypermobility. You just don’t know. Doctors are hesitant to diagnose hypermobility syndrome until a child complains of joint pain and fatigue. We have the fatigue, but Frog isn’t yet old enough to tell us if her joints actually hurt. All we know is that an active day or a morning at nursery needs to be followed by a rest, or she’ll ask for Calpol and end up sleeping as much as 15 or 16 hours the following the night. As nice as that is for parents who enjoy a lie-in, we’re aware it’s not “normal”.

During the past 12 months I’ve learned lots; how to trust my child, how to be patient, where to search for information and how to shout if I need to. I’ve written articles about what it’s like to be the mum of a toddler with hypermobility and I’ve given a presentation to a room of students training in childcare.

My answer is always the same: it’s not easy, but you get there. You get there, because you have to.

If your child has recently been diagnosed with hypermobility, please know that it WILL get better. There IS light at the end of the non-walking tunnel, however far off it may seem.

And if you need any more information, you’d do well to contact the Hypermobility Syndrome Association.

The post Living with a hypermobile toddler – a year on appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

I chased my daughter around a shop this afternoon. I watched as she let go of my hand and made a dash for the tills, running behind the counter, before playing peepo in an empty changing room.

It was beautiful.

A week tomorrow my baby girl turns two years old. And it is only now that I am beginning to see her as the toddler she has been for the past six months. The speaking, singing, mischievous toddler. The non-toddling toddler who is no longer of the non-toddling variety.

Every day brings a new step towards freedom. Every day rewards my girl with the promise that she will beat the hypermobile joints and flat feet that have held her back so long. Every day her legs catch up a few paces with her quick mind, proving that dogged determination is the key to happiness and satisfaction.

She’s not sprinting, or hopping, or skipping yet. But she can let go of supportive hands that once kept her upright. She can make a dash, unhindered, to her own choice of playground equipment. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t have to shout “SWING!” to let us know what she wants. She simply walks towards it.

Amazing.

And she has reached this stage with practically no physio and no special boots. Just constant frustration driving her forwards, backed up by cheers of encouragement from everyone who knows her.

I embrace the physio sessions, soon to begin, with a new sense of eagerness. If she can do this without the imminent physio and piedro boots, what will she achieve with them?

I feel positive and excited. I’ve never felt this way before about my child’s physical milestones.

For the first time, I can watch my daughter chasing freedom without my heart breaking. I can watch her chasing freedom, because I know it won’t be long before she finally catches it.

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Lover of flapjack, creator of mischief, wearer of shoes.

She likes to crayon, play with mud and hide before bathtime.

And she can’t walk.

My 22 month old daughter is hypermobile. This means her ligaments are too flexible so she has problems balancing and holding her own weight. Every day she does a little more, takes a few extra steps unaided, stands on her own a few seconds longer, gains that extra piece of confidence to forget about crawling for another minute. We are hopeful that physio and lots of encouragement will work and help us avoid the dreaded stress fractures and casts.

That last paragraph – the part where I just went into lots of detail about my daughter’s “disability” – is something I find myself explaining over and over again every day.

To the lady in the shop who comments, “Ah how lovely she is. What a cutie. She’s very tall for her age isn’t she?” I launch into full hypermobility syndrome rant.

To the other mums at the various toddler groups who ask, “So she’s not walking yet? How old is she again?” Yep, they get the full hypermobility syndrome rant too.

And to the stranger at the park? Uh huh, you guessed it. The rant.

I don’t know why I feel the need to “explain” my daughter’s lack of independent walking. It’s really no one’s business after all. But people are inquisitive. They’re trying to understand. To place my daughter in a box of explanations. Is she a late walker? Or is there something else wrong with her? She doesn’t look like a baby, yet…. yet… she’s still not walking. What’s wrong with her?

Because, unfortunately, the plain old ugly truth is that they don’t see her.

They don’t see her spark and her sass and her wicked sense of humour. They don’t see the flash of intelligence behind her eyes and her dogged determination.

They just see her wonky legs and wonky feet, that don’t work properly.

They see her lack before they see anything else.

Sometimes I want to shout from the rooftops, “There’s nothing wrong with her! She’s just as clever as your child! She knows every part of her body, can count to five and loves to sing Three Blind Mice! Just because her legs don’t work doesn’t mean her mind doesn’t! Just lay off!”

And other times I want to stubbornly refuse to answer the questioning looks. I want to offer something petty and childish instead. Something like, “Oh she’s only 9 months. Incredibly advanced for her age really. A real child genius.”

At least then we’d escape that second look. The one I dread more than the questioning one. The look of pity.

It’s a funny thing prejudice. It comes in many forms. Never in my life have I ever had to experience any form of prejudice. I’m white, heterosexual, from a middle-class family with no huge skeletons in the closet, other than a bit of an unhealthy crush on Take That.

I don’t know how to deal with the questions. I don’t know how to bat away the pity. I don’t know how to brush off the prejudice.

But I know that I’m going to give it a bloody good shot.

So yes, my daughter doesn’t yet walk. Yes, she’s nearly two years old. And yes, she has something “wrong” with her.

But that is not who she is. So you can keep your labels and your boxes. They’re not welcome here.

We’ll just walk all over them.

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It turns out they’re all wrong.

No matter how well meant these pieces of advice were, they were misplaced.

When you have a child who doesn’t walk, everyone is eager to put your mind at rest. It’s a kindness. It seems that we all know someone who knows someone else who knows someone else who had a late walker. A late walker who just, suddenly, got up one day and ran across the room. (My own husband is one of these miracle children, afterall.) The result can be the false illusion that, actually, it’s totally normal for a child of 22 months not to be walking.

But this is a bit of a fib really.

Because now – finally – we have a clear diagnosis for our non-toddling toddler. She is not “just” anything. It’s nothing to do with laziness or disinterest or lack of willpower. It’s nothing to do with her mental development either. It’s nothing that will suddenly, miraculously, cure itself.

Our daughter has hypermobility syndrome. The hypermobility is exaccerbated by the fact she had correctional talipeze when she was born. We thought this issue had resolved itself, so that her once wonky newborn feet wouldn’t be an issue for her later in life.

As gorgeous as these feet once were….

Photo credit: CP Photography

…they didn’t just correct themselves.

Various milestone checks with GP’s and health visitors told us there was nothing to worry about.

The fact our baby wasn’t steadily sitting unaided at nearly 9 months was shrugged off as, “No big deal”. The fact she didn’t crawl properly until she was 13 months was put down to the fact she was, “Concentrating on her language development instead”.

The thing is, all of these reasons for the lateness in our daughter reaching her physical milestones (in some cases up to 6 months after her peers) could easily have been explained away in a number of ways. I explained them away myself, determined not to enter some kind of baby race competition. I was Earth Mother. Relaxed Mother. I refused to be Paranoid First Time Mother.

I wish I had been Paranoid First Time Mother.

I wish I had listened to my instincts.

I wish I had looked at these feet and hips and realised they weren’t “normal”…

Hypermobile / Talipeze-y wonky feet

Anyway. Wishes aside. We now know what we’re dealing with. We’re looking at some intensive physio. Exercises at home. Lots of swimming. Strapping on her feet. More exercises.

Every time we see our daughter standing with her legs wide apart and her feet splayed out, we have to correct her posture. Clearly, this is intensely annoying for her (so much so that she’s likely to shout NO before attempting to belt the offending person), but we do it anyway. Seconds later, they’re splayed out again. It’s a miracle I could even take this picture really…

Exercises exercises exercises

The strapping isn’t the number one most popular item in our house either.

As I held Frog down on the physio table, she screamed while her wonky feet were strapped up. She shouted, “Hurt! Hurt!” before promptly shouting, “Bye bye!” to the Physiotherapist, not even having the decency to pretend that she was having a good time.

The same happened at bedtime this evening, when we had to reapply the strapping she’d removed herself. There’ll be no one left in this house once she relegates us all with a, “Bye bye!” and “Out!” all shouted at the top of her voice while said strapping is taped on. (As parents, it makes us feel ever so popular.)

Taped foot

All this palava is taking place because Frog’s ligaments in her ankles are too tight. It means she can’t move her feet around in the position they’re meant to be. And because everything else is too flexible she is overcompensating. Her muscles are having to work five times as hard as those with “normal” ligaments.

Without shoes her ankles touch the floor, meaning she’s only using approximately a third of the area of her foot to balance on. It’s no wonder she can’t walk yet. It’s testament to her dogged determination that she’s managed even a few steps on her own at all.

Without the treatment, it’s likely she would suffer stress fractures, apparently. There’s still a chance she may need her feet to be in casts.

Shoes are a problem too. She needs more support around her ankles but, until her feet are placing properly, she’s unlikely to get referred to an orthotics department to be put in the magic Piedro Boots. Kickers boots have been recommended – along with various other brands. But, yet again, we’re up against more hurdles. They either don’t sell them in a size small enough (3.5 – yes, Frog has weeny feet) or they don’t sell them full stop.

The hypermobility also means Frog is extra tired. I suppose you would be if you were attempting to walk around on a third of your foot all day, play, shout at people and make your muscles work as hard as if you were on a non-stop Spinning class. Our 22 month old is now forgiven for behaving in an uncharacteristic toddler manner, asking, “Bed Mummy?” at 4.30pm, and sleeping until 10am the following day.

Caution is another typical trait. The day at the childminder’s last week, when she sat in the corner for hours on end with her hand over her face? It seems hypermobility can be blamed for that little episode, if we so wish. The theory goes that kids who aren’t as mobile as others, tend to feel more vulnerable. Quite literally, they can’t run away. So occasional bouts of shyness and withdrawal make sense really.

In all other areas Frog excels. Her language is spot on. She is as much of a diva as ever, with a wicked sense of humour to boot. Despite what many people imply, the fact her legs don’t yet work is no indication of a problem with her brain. She is frustrated and angry and wants to get up on her feet already.

She wants to PLAY goddammit. Outside. Without her mum.

And one day she’ll get there. One day.

Until then, she’ll have to content herself with being naughty inside instead…

Note to self: don't leave child with unattended pot of Sudocrem

The post The reason my 22 month old STILL isn’t walking appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Being the suspicious type of woman that I am, I would catch those fluffy white floating seeds, close my eyes and wish for my baby’s health, then let the seeds float away on the breeze again. Every kick would bring a sense of comfort, even if it was poking right up into my ribs, as I felt safe in the knowledge my unborn child was very much alive inside me.

And then she was born.

And the wishes became about more than just her health. I now find myself wishing all sorts of things for my daughter, on a daily basis. Here are the top five:

1) Non-wonky joints

If you’ve come here before, you’ll know my daughter is a late walker. And by late, I mean very late. At almost 22 months, my toddler is of the non-toddling variety, which regularly leads to tantrums. It’s frustrating not being able to walk when all your mates are running around, apparently.

Earlier this month we found out the reason for the non-walking. Hyperflexible joints is the issue. Our daughter is too flexible to walk. This means she needs treatment and, possibly, special shoes. The extent of the problem should be made clear when she has a physio assessment.

So, at this moment in time, when I’ve spent an afternoon negotiating tantrums and explained to my very independent little girl that she can’t let go of my hand if she wants to walk around in the garden, because she can’t walk…. Well. I just wish those joints were non-wonky ones.

2) Sass

Not too much. But enough to stick up for herself and be proud to show who she is – whoever that turns out to be. A bit of sass is a good thing, in my opinion.

3) Good taste in shoes

Because a decent pair of shoes will get you far in life.

4) Good taste in partner

For the same reason as above.

5) An appreciation for family and the important things in life

If I could bottle the one thing both myself and my husband have taken away from our respective childhoods, it would be the importance of family. We may not live near our parents, brothers, sisters, best friends, but they’re always with us. Either on the phone, Facebook or in thought. Those are the important things in life. The people we love. I hope I raise my daughter to appreciate this.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say the appreciation for family goes further than the appreciation for a good pair of shoes.

Controversial, I know.

***

This post was written for this week’s Listography. Pop over to Kate Takes 5 to peruse the other entries.

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I rarely put any of my work-related writing here because this is my personal space. But I wanted to share my most recent post for one of my clients, because it’s something that I could easily have written right here.

***

It’s 10 o’clock at night and I’ve had a difficult day. I’m tired and emotional and a bit overwhelmed.

We’ve been at the hospital, you see. My daughter, now approaching 22 months old, is still not walking. The doctors think there may be a problem with her hips.

She is X-rayed and examined and yes, it’s confirmed, there is a problem. Nothing hugely serious. But she won’t be walking this time next week, or even this time next month.

And here’s the thing. I’m numb. I don’t know how to feel about this. On the one hand, I’m thankful that she won’t need surgery. But on the other hand, I’m upset that there is something wrong. I was hoping the doctors would tell me otherwise, that it was all just a big mistake.

So when a message pops up on Facebook, telling me that an old friend from school has got in touch – a friend I haven’t seen for more than 10 years – it’s a welcome distraction.

And when I open the message, I find myself welling up. It tells me that my old friend has been thinking of me today. That she has read my blog posts about my daughter’s walking issues. That she wants me to know everything will be alright, that my family and I will see through the treatment together.

You can read the rest of this post over on the Mums and Me blog.

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Hospital waiting rooms - a good source of books

I didn’t sleep last night.

I was too busy tossing and turning in bed, mulling over the various different things that could mean my toddler isn’t toddling. Why is it that things always seem so much worse in the dark?

Today’s hospital appointment – both dreaded and anticipated – wasn’t particularly pleasant. The X-ray which I was hoping to avoid did actually happen. The consultant examined Frog’s gorgeous hips and sent us straight to the room with the “special camera”.

It turns out, as much as Frog loves having her picture taken, she’s not so keen on the “special camera”.

In fact, she rather loathes it. As the light turned on she screamed “HOT HOT HOT” as her father and I pinned her to the bed, desperately singing The Wheels on the Bus in an attempt to stop her escaping the X-ray Monster. Pleasant is not a word I’d use to describe those 5 minutes.

But, once some raisins had been retrieved from the bottom of my bag, and Frog was safely out of sight from the “special camera” our spirits started to lift.

The consultant examined the X-ray and uttered the words I’d been hoping to hear for the last four months: There’s no serious issue with her hips. They’re not dislocated.

I could have cried with relief right there – black mascara running down my face – but I was too busy listening to the next bit.

But there is a problem. She will need treatment.

It turns out Frog is exceptionally gifted in the flexibility stakes. She could put any ballerina or gymnast to shame, apparently. The thing is, Frog’s flexibility is what is causing the mobility issues. In short, she’s too flexible to walk.

An examination from the doctor showed her feet turn almost all the way around, so that she could be facing forwards while her feet face backwards. Not something you need when you’re trying to negotiate the simple act of standing up without holding your mum’s hand.

Frog also has a clicky hip, caused by a dogdy ligament, caused by the flexibility issue. Her knees swivel around like some kind of fancy chair featured on the latest BBC talent show The Voice. Her body is a bit like a pipe cleaner, with no locking system to keep every joint in place, where it needs to be.

So, the bottom line is, although she’s approaching 2 years old, Frog is unlikely to walk any time soon. She needs special shoes with more support around the ankles (although where I get these is anyone’s guess) and she needs lots of physio treatment.

She also needs to go back to see the lovely consultant after her 2nd birthday to double-check there’s nothing more sinister behind her refusal to walk.

There are three months sitting between us and that first physio appointment.

I’m going to use that time wisely, to search for a special pair of shoes and a large supply of patience.

The post A diagnosis, of sorts appeared first on Mother's Always Right.

Because, after hurtling through a whole array of emotions, from elation and joy to despair, guilt and wretchedness, back to elation, I am now at the point of denial.

Being a working mum has it’s benefits, a healthy bank balance and a stimulated mind not least among the working virtues. But, sometimes, it can be utterly rubbish.

Today was one of those days.

At nearly 21 months, my child is still not walking. Or wasn’t, anyway. She has been trying to put one foot in front of the other for the past 6 months, but failed to actually make any progress on her own. Recently I got hugely excited at the fact she was walking holding just one of my hands instead of two (finally, I can stand up straight!), but that is as far as we have come.

Until this morning. When I received this text from the childminder while I was at work:

“Hi. We are so excited. Freya took four steps on her own just now!”

“Oh. I missed it,” I thought. And then a single, solitary tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. I felt sad and guilty and utterly resentful of the job I usually love doing.

Then I felt cross with myself for feeling that way. It was good news afterall.

But then, “You are joking,” I thought. “I’ve been waiting six bloody months and she chooses NOW to take her first steps!” So. Anger and a bit of frustration thrown in for good measure.

After pinging backwards and forwards from one unhealthy emotion to the other I plumped for good old fashioned denial. So now I’ve decided those first steps didn’t actually happen at all. They’re not real until I’ve witnessed them with my own eyes. And iPhone.

Which means we are still yet to take those elusive first steps, despite my best efforts to catch them on camera this evening. That child has me right where she wants me…

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoh8z_EcqRA]

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Frog turned 20 months old yesterday.

She’s still not walking.

Unfortunately for my child, she’s been blessed with rather wonky feet and very long lanky legs. Just like her dad.

Also, unfortunately for my child, every pavement in Britain isn’t littered with a permanent handrail on which to balance while trying to negotiate life on two feet.

Each trip out of the house is fraught with anger and frustration. As other small people wander around, wreaking havoc on the world, my non-toddling toddler can only look on in dismay.

We’ve gone past the “Who gives a monkeys?” stage now. Instead, Frog is jealous and upset. She wants to join in but doesn’t know how. She has the language to demand other children take notice, but is left sitting in the corner, alone, as they skip off to play.

And as a mum, I now feel very much alone too.

The knowing smiles and reassurances of, “She’ll do it when she’s ready” have disappeared.

At baby swimming, I try to prop my daughter up to help her jump from the side, rather than simply flopping off the edge. All the other mums stand a metre or so back, waiting for their children to splash into their arms. Frog sees me trying to help and bats me away. Again, the tears and frustration.

At the baby sing-along class, the other toddlers march, hop and skip about the room to the beat of the music. My child is the only one still clutching her mother’s hand. Occasional attempts at letting go result in a wobble and fall to the ground. She’s left confused as the other children dance around her.

Now that we know there may be a problem, I’ve stopped mentioning the non-toddling status of my toddler to other mums. I’m sick of explaining away the raised eyebrows when the question of her age comes up. Instead, I let them make up their own minds. Is her speech just highly developed for an 11 month old? Or is there something wrong with her?

I leave the question hanging in the air between us.

Frog has one month to go until she passes the family record set by her dad for non-walking. As a bum-shuffler, I’m told the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine didn’t even stand until he was 21 months. But Frog is a crawler. She’s been standing and trying to walk for months now. Trying but failing.

And then I see the hospital date deadline looming in the future. 4th April.

Will the wonky feet have corrected themselves by then? Is there a hip problem? Will it all magically disappear one day as Frog gets up and puts one foot in front of the other, by herself? Or are we facing yet more months of frustration and tears?

If I could walk a day in my daughter’s shoes, I would.

I would stand for her and leap about and chase the other children she’s so intent on playing with. I would reach for things that can’t be reached on all fours. I would open cupboards and climb on tables and run through parks.

I would let go of my mother’s hands and embrace freedom.

***

Nominations are now open for the Brilliance in Blogging Awards. If you would like to nominate me, you will need my name (Mother’s Always Right) and my URL (http://mothersalwaysright.wordpress.com). There are 11 categories. I like the look of Lit but I wouldn’t shun a nomination in any category. Even the one for Daddy Bloggers. Although I rather think the actual dads may have something to say about that…

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