Reflection

Tonight is New Year’s Eve. A time of reflection.

I don’t mean the sight of my squiffy face staring back at me, mirrored in the side of a goldfish bowl-sized wine glass. 

No, I’m referring to the habit of looking back at the miscellaneous mish-mash of stuff that has happened this year. Life, bumbling, stumbling, and rushing along.

In 2011, as usual, Prader-Willi Syndrome has played a huge part and a tiny part in our lives. We’ve planned meals, bought the right snacks, arranged alternative food, adjusted, tinkered, overseen, delegated, cajoled, praised, scolded, shouted, and laughed about it.

I’ve been amazed at how much self-control a little girl can display, against the odds. Although I’ve watched my daughter cry at the news that tea that was five minutes late, on other occasions I've seen her wait, silently and stoically, for two hours, just so she could eat with everyone else.

I’ve also seen my daughter cope with huge changes.

We moved back to our home town after nearly 20 years away. My girl started a new school, made a friend, and started to shine. She became a teenager, which meant some days soaked with stormy emotions.

Really, we’re all still finding our feet. My toddler's are usually kicking me in my face as he jumps on my head pretending to be Spiderman. Did I mention he’s starting nursery in January? I expect to simultaneously miss him and heal up.

There is a cloud looming for 2012. Someone close to us is facing a tough climb that will pull on our reserves of strength. I hope we’ve got enough to haul us all through it.

But looking forward, I’ll make the same prediction I always do at the start of a New Year. It’ll surprise us.

So tonight, our daughter will go to bed at 8pm, as usual. Upon her insistence, we’ll wake her up and bring her might-actually-not-be-awake-at-all-and-I-think-she’s-technically-sleepwalking body downstairs to watch the fireworks and hear Big Ben chime midnight.

Here’s to 2012. May it be right, not shite.

Video is Aretha Franklin & Billy Preston - Auld Lang Syne.

If that doesn't float your boat (can't imagine why not, though), how about Girlschool doing their version? It's sublimely rubbish, but there are definitely no bagpipes.