'This, too, will pass.' Please know that it will. And please remind me of that if it cuts into our lane again.

I came to the startling realisation tonight that this month marks the third anniversary of Katelyn's closed reduction and pelvic osteotomy, following her late diagnosis with DDH in 2012.Despite being a girl, with a strong personality and with two older brothers, Katelyn didn't walk until she was 18 months old. And, when she did, it was bitter-sweet. We'd known, by then, for a couple of months that it wouldn't be long until those beautiful little legs of hers would soon not be trotting around our yard on a mischief-making-mission; rather, they'd be confined to a heavy, awkward plaster cast (a spica) for 3 months while her bones healed after her hip surgery.After the initial shock of the news, and after the fury around the missed diagnosis reduced to a slow simmer, I channeled all my energy into being the best-prepared Mum I could be. I joined (then fledgling) Facebook support groups so I could talk frankly and honestly with other parents in Australia and across the world who had dealt with the horrors of nightly muscle spasms (every three minutes to start with), and were experts in changing a nappy on a child in a spica cast (lots of fun!). I remain friends with many of those amazing people and enjoying keeping up to date with how they, and their children, are faring post-DDH. Already an enthusiastic gym-goer, I spent hours training at the gym before Kate's operation so I'd be able to physically bear the challenge of lifting and carrying a child in a frog-leg-spica (20-kilo-plus) everywhere. I was, and remain, great friends with the quiet of the early morning where I get to spend (sweaty) time on me. I devoured all the information and readings I could find on DDH and, after she returned home from a week in hospital, became re-accustomed to three-hourly night-wakings as Grant and I took turns to turn Katelyn and shift her position as she slept. I had to take time off from my communications career to look after Katelyn and found it really hard to adjust to being a stay-at-home mum with a preschooler, a toddler and an older baby in a plaster cast. I struggled, on a personal level, with the fact that having that time off work changed everything for me, because, professionally, things were never quite the same afterwards. I can see now, however, that that realisation was a blessing, and that it was life-changing.'Little Miss Giggles', today, is a 'force'. As the old saying goes, 'She is small, but she is fierce." Katie is bright, confident and has a wicked sense of humour. That little girl with the big brothers now gives as good as she gets, and while she simply 'must' accessorise every outfit, she's happiest playing 'wrestle footy' on the trampoline. All of that crawling she did in her cast has resulted in enviable upper body strength. She adores 'Mrs Blayden's Preschool', loves singing and reading, and is an exceptionally neat writer (thanks to fine motor skills honed while in her spica). Her delayed speech development has come along in leaps and bounds; yes, she's still behind, but she continues to improve and this month will recommence speech therapy to help ensure she's ready for school next year.We know there's a chance that Katelyn will need further surgery as she grows. I think as any DDH family can attest, it's always something that's in your  mind - every fall on a bike, every bottom-bounce of a trampoline, every 'My leg hurts' in the night. But, for now, things are good for us. For all our DDH friends, a phrase we wrote on our kitchen blackboard - 'This, too, will pass.' And it will. Please know that xx 

First ever Physie performance, Nov 2014

Physie, Nov 2014

A trophy! And a very proud big brother, Harry xx

Spreading the DDH word for Hope the Hippo in Cairns, Australia, July 2014 

Summer 2014 spent in the pool

Katelyn 1 / DDH - 0

Well, we're off the hook. And I am pinching myself.
Following Katelyn's checkup at age three and a half back in February, her hips look perfect and we don't have to have another checkup until - wait for it - she goes to school (Feb 2016).
This is entirely unexpected. You know the whole glass half-full or glass-empty person - well, the latter, sometimes, is me. I'm not proud of it, but that's just the way I am. I was expecting the worst.  I was so scared about the checkup appointment. Not just because I was unable to attend (due to the challenges of being a then-casual teacher) but because I was aware of what Kate's late diagnosis could potentially mean. It's really an uphill battle from the start.
When Grant called me on 6 February to say that Kate's x-rays were clear, I (rather embarrassingly) shed a tear outside the History staff-room. I composed myself and then bought a bottle of champagne, and some chocolates (for Kate and the boys!), on the way home from school.
We're not out of the woods, yet. There is the likelihood of further surgery as Katelyn grows up. But, for now, I am going to let her jump on our trampoline and have fun with her friends at Physie. 
Cheers! To my beautiful, brave and determined 'lil' girl, Katelyn xx

DDH - two years on

Smile! Ready for Katelyn's first day of preschool. Harry's been a wonderful big brother.

Gosh, so much has happened of late that I really don't know where to start.

With the new year has come a new level of crazy-busy-ness and, as a family, we're just taking each week (and day!) at a time.

February marks the two-year anniversary of Katelyn's DDH diagnosis. What a roller-coaster ride the last couple of years have been. Thrilling highs, and plunging lows. And so many unknowns and uncertainties which, for a (self-admitted!) control freak like me, can be hard to take. With our annual checkup scheduled for later this week, we're crossing everything that all is as it should be.

When we embarked on our journey two years ago, we were told at our first meeting with Katelyn's surgeons that we'd all be in each others' lives for a while. DDH doesn't just go away. Yes, an operation can fix the initial problem, but the spectre of further surgery and spicas could make an unwelcome return at any time. We will have an annual checkup to ensure Katelyn's hip has remained in place and that the bones around the area are continuing to grow at the same rate she does until she's eighteen. 

Katelyn's welfare, and the potential for more surgery, has been a major factor in my decision to change careers, at the age of 37, to a more family-friendly profession and to something I've always wanted to do - teaching. Following my acceptance of an offer of voluntary redundancy from my rapidly-shrinking government workplace, I've made the switch to secondary school teaching and have never been happier.

While I'm trying to give casual teaching my best shot, we have arranged for Kate and her brothers to initially be in full-time childcare. William is in Year One at school and Harry attends full-time preschool. Katelyn goes to preschool with Harry two days each week, to Nicole's for another two and stays with my Mum on Wednesdays. Following some initial toilet-training-troubles, Katelyn has it totally nailed and wakes each morning (for now, I'm sure!) with a dry nappy. Her transition into a structured preschool program has been seamless - no tears and no tantrums...except when it's time to go home! I guess one positive of DDH is that Katelyn has learned to be very adaptable and resilient. She also continues to improve her speech and communication skills in a big way and surprised us just this morning with some basic reading ability. Now, that was a shock! We're also looking forward to starting 'Physie' (physical culture) this month to develop Katelyn's strength and flexibility as part of their dance program for preschoolers.

But, first things first, Thursday's appointment. The control freak Mummy will be at school and unable to attend, but Kate will be in safe hands with Super Daddy. We'll keep you posted.

Harry's first day at his new (other) preschool, which is based at Will's school. Will is in Year One this year.

"I KNOW, Mummy!"

There's cheek, and there's attitude, and we're loving it.
While Katelyn emerged from her spica cast in August 2012, and started to walk again less than one month later, we're reminded everyday that our DDH journey is far from over.
Physically, Katelyn, is perfect. She can run, has started to jump, and displays awesome flexibility and strength. 
However, when she was two and half, alarm bells started to ring signalling that things were possibly not quite right.
As a girl, and the younger sibling to two big brothers, we had expected her speech development to be at last on par, or to overtake, that exhibited by Will and Harry at similar ages. But, at 2 and a half, and still not really talking, we began to worry that something was up with our lovely daughter. This was compounded by endless tears and tantrums (usually hers, but sometimes mine) as she attempted, and failed, to vocalise what she needed.
The rehabilitation process began about three months ago. It turns out that Katelyn is suffering from a mild speech delay - possibly (but, most likely, in my opinion) resulting from the trauma of her surgery at 20mo for late-diagnosed developmental hip dysplasia. My theory is that while in her cast for those three months, she missed some critical physical developmental milestones, which, in turn, impacted her development in terms of communication and language. There's no medical science or theory to back this up (at least that I'm aware of), but her therapist agrees with my hypothesis. 
And so began, back in June, our journey to bring our little girl out of her shell. We're seeing the fabulous Sally, through Hunter-New England Health, and I'm beyond pleased to report that our strategy of positive reinforcement and repetition-repetition-repetition ("Yes, Katelyn, you're right, that is a CAR! It's a CAR- a shiny red CAR! Look at that CAR! It's fun to drive in that CAR!") is working a treat! I've also taken a family/lifestyle-driven career break, and I believe Katelyn is benefiting from the extra one-on-one time with Mummy and/or Daddy.
Our initial monthly appointments have been stretched out to visits every second month in recognition of the great progress our beautiful daughter in making. And now, as Katie has not long turned three, it's a joy to be able to engage in a real conversation with her - perhaps not such a big deal for parents of other kids her age - but it means the world to us. There's plenty of attitude, spirit, character and assurances that "Mummy, I KNOW!", but it's music to our ears and a source of warmth to our hearts.

Almost full-circle...

I realised with a jolt this week that I hadn't actually updated my Blog with the good news we received back at Katelyn's six-month check-up. I mean, I'd updated my Facebook friends, but neglected to make note on my Blog THAT WE ARE OFF THE DDH HOOK...well, until next January, anyway.

We left our appointment with dazed, silly smiles on our faces and shaking our heads about how lucky we've been.

Katelyn's hip is stable and the blood supply to the area has either re-established or was more visible in this round of x-rays.

The surgeon is very happy with her progress, and we left with instructions to book back in to see him in a year's time. He was almost apologetic about our having to have annual checkups at least until she's ten years' old - but, seriously, who cares!?!!?!? When we started this journey almost a year ago, the surgeons made it very clear that this was the start of a long relationship with the pediatric orthopaedic clinic. Yes, the parking at the John's a pain in the you-know-what, but it's a small price to pay for our beautiful girl to remain free of pain and be able to enjoy an active, happy childhood. 

Baby Ballet, here we come!

Not sleeping...

...but lots of dreaming.
But, they're not the good kind.
We have Katelyn's six-month checkup with Dr's Ho and Tewari on Thursday, where we'll find out how her hip is looking (please let it still be in place) and if the previously-diminishing blood supply to the area has miraculously managed to reestablish itself over the past four months' since our last checkup.
It's been a tricky few months while we 'wait and see'. 
The surgeons reckon we'll know, one way or the other, on Thursday. Katelyn will have another supervised x-ray and they'll be looking for a condition called avascular necrosis (AVN) - in simple terms - a loss of blood flow to the hip joint, which would, eventually, cause it to lose all mobility and die. Our last x-ray suggested a hint of the condition back in October, but the condition can sometimes correct itself, so we're beyond hopeful for that.
DDH continues to be a roller-coaster. On one side, we have what we've affectionately termed, 'the running girl' - our Kate doesn't walk anywhere, she runs - perhaps because for the sheer exhilaration and joy. We watch her like a hawk for the primary symptom of AVN - excruciating muscle soreness or stiffness - but, as we know, this is the girl who lived with the pain of an undiagnosed dislocated hip until her operation at 20 months, so we know that beyond the angelic face and the cheeky smile, there's a fighting spirit and unwavering stoicism. So many people share their delight in her achievements and her recovery, and I smile and agree - but, the reality is, I'm shit-scared about the potential AVN - and, especially, my inability to protect her from its development. Her operations, so far, have possibly just been service stops on the long surgical road to recovery, and I guess in the wakeful hours before dawn I'm yelling in my nightmares, "Stop the car, I'm wanna be sick!".
Till Thursday....xxx

Pardon my tardiness...

...as it's been a while since I last posted ;-)

It's been a pretty full-on few months. Katelyn's first steps since being released from her spica cast coincided with an extended family camping trip to Mudgee (Central West NSW), and it was wonderful to celebrate the joy of her achievement and strength with her grandparents and aunties, uncles and cousins. And perhaps a few celebratory wines and beers, as well. She started to walk just shy of one month after she had her hip spica removed, which, from what I hear from her specialists, is quite exceptional. We've also been caught up in the flurry of everyday life with a young family - preschool, birthday parties, Little Athletics and Kindermusik - while work, for both of us, has proved to be more than a little challenging.

Our home life has seen a return to the 'lock-down' state which is synonymous with having a mobile toddler in the house. The fridge is clipped closed, items in the pantry have been moved above little-hand-height and the magnetic cupboard door locks have made a (most unwelcome) return. The toilet brush is seldom housed in its protective casing and it's not unusual to have to rescue an array of teddies and dolls fearfully awaiting a spin in the washing machine.

The princess herself currently spends her days tearing around after her big brothers, climbing atop tables (and freaking her parents out) and parading a never-ending procession of bags, hats and shoes. Compared with other children her age, she's not as steady on her feet, is physically slower and appears to have stalled a little in terms of her speech; although, with much encouragement, she's improving everyday. On the flip side, her fine motor skills are exceptional and she seems to have a talent for music and dancing, showing a surprisingly good sense of rhythm and timing for her age. 

We went back to see our Surgeons about six weeks after Katelyn's hip spica was removed.
The good news is that Katelyn's hip looks good - the femur's back where it needs to be, meaning that the closed reduction was a success.

The possibly-bad news, however, is that the Katelyn's hip and femur is currently showing evidence of trauma, and an indication of some loss of blood supply to the area. This could potentially develop into a condition called Avascular Necrosis of the Hip, or AVN. It's a hard condition to explain, but, basically, bones are living tissue, and like all living tissue, they rely on blood vessels to bring blood to keep them alive. Most living tissues have blood vessels which come from many different directions into the tissue. But certain joints of the body - like the hip - have only a few blood vessels to bring in blood. If the blood supply gets damaged, there is no back-up, and the bone can die.  

Cheeky Miss. Wearing my old pinafore from 34-odd year ago. Serious vintage.

Fancy a bikkie?

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Riding in the rain at Mudgee

"Don't!" One of Kate's fave words.

AVN is very rare - but it can happen. It was one of the scary things the Surgeons told us about when they talked us through the potential risks of Kate's surgery. It generally takes months to develop and be properly diagnosed, so, until more x-rays in January next year, we're in a bit of a holding pattern until we can know more. They're not telling us much at this stage, but what we do know is that there's nothing much we can do to reverse the condition. It's come about because of Katelyn's late diagnosis. Her hip was dislocated for so long that those crucial blood vessels supplying the bone became irreversibly damaged. On probing, Kate's Surgeon admitted that the treatment for AVN is surgery - many more surgeries - to reconstruct her hip as she grows - but that we can potentially look forward to twelve months' off from the Hospital, with no surgery likely to be scheduled for 2013.

So, I guess that's the real reason I haven't posted in a while. I guess I'm, to put it impolitely, a bit pissed off. Okay..a lot. But, at least we knew of its potential to develop, so it wasn't too rude a shock, I s'pose. It just makes me angry. She's a good kid, and she doesn't deserve it.

We're trying to stay upbeat. Really trying. We know things could be much worse. Meanwhile, it's nice to see her acting like a normal (naughty) two-year-old...even if we can never leave the fridge unlocked again! 

The Blog post my husband is going to read...eek!

"So, I'm writing this Blog thing," began many a conversation between Grant and I over the past five months.
"What do you think of..." I asked.
"Does this sound okay?" I questioned.
'Will I sound like a dick if I write this?" I said...many times.
The fact is, my dear husband, Grant, has not read my Blog. Until now.
Grant and I have been best friends for nearly eighteen years. Half our lives. 
We share everything. Everything. But this Blog has been the first thing that we have not.

Elke and Jenny start to remove the cast

Noisy, noisy, noisy!

Katelyn tried to sit up not 30-sec after the cast came off!

Happy!!!!!!!!!

Kate's legs were very dry, red and scaly under the cast

'Pass the Parcel' at Kate's combined 'Plaster Cast Blast/2nd Birthday'

Kate's (first) cake... it's okay, that's not her Port

Four days post-spica

Six days post-spica...morning cartoons on the lounge

LOL - action shot on the Dino! Fathers' Day, 2012

Kate's 2nd Birthday - 6 September, Delight at her 'Fur-Real' "Bub-bay" (puppy)

First hydrotherapy session, 6 September 2012

First hydrotherapy session, 6 September 2012

Birthday Dinner!

Katelyn's 'shy' act where she closes her eyes..if she can't see you, you're not really there!

mmm, choc!

23 August 2012 - koala cuddles!

It's not that he hasn't been interested, or supportive. He has been, of course, because he's awesome, and the absolute best.
It's just that this whole thing with our baby daughter, Katelyn, has just been, as he put it, "too close".
And now - now that the first leg of our DDH journey has come to an end, he feels he is able to revisit the highs - and the lows - of these past few months. Eek - I hope he still likes me after reading all this!
Katelyn's cast was removed after thirteen long weeks on 23 August 2012.
It was a wonderful day. Without wanting sound all poetic and stuff, that late Winter day was blissfully warm and full of the promise of Spring. 
After dropping Harry at Nan and Pa's, and Will at Preschool, we arrived at John Hunter Hospital a little after ten in the morning.
We met the wonderful Elke and Dom and went through to the cast removal room. Thanks to some prior warning from the girls, we'd come prepared and armed with some chocolate for the ordeal we'd heard was to come.
Turns out, the chocolate was forthcoming, but the drama was not. True to form, our brave little girl not only abstained from crying throughout the noisy cast removal process; she giggled her way through it! The only tears came when faced with her first bath in three months; that was all a bit too much.
It was so good to hold her so close again - and, to this day, almost three three weeks' later, she's still just like a koala, and can't cuddle close enough.
We all had our best nights' sleep in three months that Thursday - Katelyn was so much more comfortable, and able to turn over on her own. Our family celebrations continued that weekend, where our 'Plaster Cast Blast' saw the party continue late into the night.
Kate's second birthday on 6 September coincided with her first hydrotherapy session at the Hospital. Following a somewhat rocky start - where she insisted on having ALL the floating rubber ducks in the pool - she shone like a star, mastering the ability to 'cruise' along the side of the pool before the session's end.
We are just so proud of her determination, strength and resilience - it's not yet been three weeks post-spica, but she's already trying to walk on her own. It's going to be a long road, but she's taking the first few steps....and they're big, strong ones.
The horrible cast might now be off, but our DDH journey has, regrettably, just begun. Our hydrotherapy sessions will continue for another five weeks, after which our 'land' physical therapy will begin. We'll also be back to the Hospital in another four weeks for some 'standing, supervised x-rays' which will enable us to gain a more complete picture of the rehabilitative route ahead. 
In other news, the past week has brought, at least, some clarity as to why Katelyn suffers with this very crappy condition. Turns out her mummy suffers from a condition called 'hyper-mobility' - which can result in - yep, you guessed it - DDH in their daughters. When someone is hyper-mobile, their joints stretch far further than what is normal - I'm in, like, the 5% of the population who has this - lucky me. I know you can't turn back time, but I can't help thinking what could have been if I had known about my condition and been more watchful of Katelyn and her propensity to develop her condition. Hindsight, huh?
Anyway, I'm super appreciative of everyone who has read my Blog and expressed their support along the way. Although Grant is only now just reading my account of our journey, I have shared with him everyone's positive thoughts, helpful advice and kind wishes, and we have both been buoyed by the lovely words and comments. Thanks heaps xoxo

Best intentions...well, bugger those ;-)

Now that we're nine weeks into spica, with only three weeks and two days (and five hours...but who's counting?) to go, I had been feeling all reflective and had decided to pen a post on what we've learned and how we've (all) grown over the past couple of months.

As I said, the best of intentions....

I was all set to wax lyrical on what we couldn't have lived without - our spica chair/table in the early days, our tiled floor (as opposed to scratch-prone timber), our First Years Portable Booster Chair and the trundle bed on loan from Grant's Mum and Dad that allowed us to reclaim our bed and to all get a better night's sleep. I was poised to ponder the things which haven't been as hard as we expected - nappy changing, sponge-bathing / hair-washing and how it became easier to entertain a near-two-year-old the more mobile she became. And the things which have proved harder than expected - carrying and lifting, keeping the cast clean at mealtimes (a draped tea-towel does the trick for us) and grocery shopping, which is physically impossible on my own with all the kids in tow.

But then, one night after all the kids had gone to bed, Grant and I were sitting together in the lounge-room enjoying our half-hour of together-time and quiet reading before we collapsed, exhausted, into bed.

"I'm going to write a blog post about what we've learned over the past few months," I said to Grant, resting my book (haha, no, it wasn't '50 Shades'!) on my lap.

"Maybe I can include things which we have learned along the way and perhaps it can help another family who's going through the same thing. What would you say has been the biggest thing for you?" I asked.

I waited for him to have a sip of tea as he thought.

"It's her smile," he said, eyes shining.

"Her smile is different. When she smiles now, it spreads over her face and she smiles with her eyes, too. I don't think she's hurting anymore."

Yep. He's so right. Katelyn is the happiest she has ever been.

Like I said, the best of intentions. I'll cover off on all that other stuff next time.

Katelyn and Charlie 

Playing peek-a-boo in her Ikea tent

Liking those leaves!

A spanner (or k-wire) in the works

An interesting twenty-four hours has seen Katelyn's cast change which was scheduled for 23 July brought forward to the day after tomorrow.
Katelyn's now been 'in-spica' for six weeks and we were counting down the days until her mid-treatment cast change which had been booked in - albeit, late - for eight weeks' in. While we've been careful to protect her cast from spills and thrills along the way and have been fastidious about her hygiene, the fact of the matter is that spicas get smelly. Really smelly. I had heard that this is entirely normal - six weeks' worth of skin and sweat build-up (ew, gross!) ain't gonna be pretty. But, yesterday morning, when I could smell my poor princess from six feet away, I decided it might warrant further investigation.
I enlisted Grant's help when he came home from work around 5pm. Armed with a packet of wipes and a torch, he set about doing a bit of an examination of the cast and nappy area to see if he could pinpoint the cause. There, under the cast, and over the top of her sore left hip, was swelling and seepage. Her 'big wound' (the smaller, completely-healed one, is near her groin) had come open.
We rang the Hospital's E.D. but, being after-hours on a miserable Winter's night, were advised to stay at home, monitor Katelyn's condition (she was comfortable and happy with no fever) and call up to the Hospital in the morning. 
Turns out the cause of the issue is one of the two k-wires which have been inserted to hold Katelyn's hip steady. One of them has dislodged and is now protruding and opening the wound. The k-wires are apparently about 2mm each in diameter, so the smelly mess inside her cast (and the potential for infection) is not insignificant. Because of this risk, Kate's surgeons have decided that it will be best to bring the cast change forward to Friday so they can remove the pesky  k-wires and apply a new cast under a general anaesthetic. She's been taped up to protect the wound site and we're now preparing for another over-nighter on Friday. And, if I remember to ask, a bright pink cast this time. Because the purple's 'sooo six weeks' ago'. And because I hear hot pink's the colour for Spring 2012 ;-)
Kate on the move 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kcN_17sDAU&feature=youtu.be
Little Miss Giggles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpnF1NTq4a8&feature=youtu.be

Little Miss Tenacious K

As of Monday, we will be one quarter of the way through Katelyn's twelve-week stint in her plaster cast.

A lot of people have asked how Katelyn is doing since her operation, and my best response is "she's adapting". And so are we.
Not a day goes by where I don't marvel at Kate's willingness to accept being confined to an awkward, uncomfortable and heavy cast and her determination to make the very best of her time in it. Little Miss Tenacious K.
The first few days at home were hard for us all. The passing of each hour without tears (from anyone) was something to be celebrated. Our glass 'whiteboard' on the kitchen wall became Katelyn's medical chart where we recorded each administered dose of a suite of 'special medicines'. We found this was the only way to keep track of where we were up to as fatigue blurred our consciousness. The days became an endless three-hourly cycle of shifting Katelyn's position (from spica chair, to tummy, to back, to bed, repeat) and changing her double nappies. The nights were long and, at times, lonely, because all though Grant and I have been taking turns sleeping in our bed with Katelyn and being 'on shift', dealing with the frequent wake-ups and continuing the three-hourly ritual on your own can make you feel as if you're the only one in the world awake at 2am. And 3am. And 4....
And then it got better.
I quickly figured out that Katelyn (like her Mummy) is happiest when she's got something to do and places to go. That first week at home saw us visiting our friends at work, taking in a trip to Oakvale Farm and a commencing a staged return to daycare. We found out that Katelyn's frequent wake-ups (there was one night where she woke every 3-5 minutes until 3am) were the result of muscle spasms (which are common side-effect of osteotomies) and were prescribed some Diazapam to help Katelyn get better rest at night. Following an unfortunate spate of poo-nami's during our first week at home, the nappy-changes suddenly didn't seem as daunting and we can literally now do them in the dark (and in Katelyn's sleep). Before I kiss her goodnight, Katelyn shows and tells me where I need to put the rolled up blankets which go under her knees to support her legs and prevent bed-sores. And, exactly two weeks after her operation, Katelyn started to commando crawl and is all the much happier for it.
Don't get me wrong. It's still hard-going. Despite being the fittest and strongest I have ever been, I have aches in muscles I never knew I had from lifting and carrying Katelyn, who, in her y-shaped cast, weighs close to 20kg. Katelyn has reverted to the very clingy baby she once was and doesn't like us to leave the room, so it's hard always being 'on', especially on those longs days when Grant's at work and I have all the kids on my own. And, if I thought the daily 5pm 'witching hour' was trying before Katelyn was in her cast, well, let's just say that bedtime now can't come quick enough.

Kate playing with her vintage Family Tree-house. 

A change of scenery in the front yard. She's showing off her ubiquitous bed hair. We're going through a lot of  'detangling' spray right now!

Cheeky xx

Making a friend at Oakvale Farm.

Beautiful afternoon - nice break from the rain.

Painting our nails!

Sleeping beauty with her 'Jaime' doll xx

Rocking her tartan look

Forget 'Princess Grace' - this is 'Princess Kate!'

But, I'm glad to say that Kate, with her family, is 'adapting' and we are 'adopting' our new normal.