So here we are. Day 50.

When I started writing back in July, it was less about telling a story and more about surviving one. Seven long weeks stretched ahead of us with no Nursery, two children at home and me already tired before we’d even begun. I wrote one day at a time because it felt like the only way to get through.

And now it feels right to pause and look back, not because everything is neatly tied up but because we’ve lived fifty days of it. We’ve had obstacles, we’ve had triumphs and we’ve had plenty of “just about survived” days. But together, we did it.

So lets go ahead and see what we did and what hopefully I’ve learnt…

---

Parenting in the Everyday

That pretty much sums up so much of this summer; the battles over bottles, the disgusting day bag with food permanently ingrained into the fabric, the endless bedtime routines, the wet beds at 3am, the forever charging iPads that saved us and drove us mad and the never-ending list ticking away in my head.

But it’s also been two kids under one blanket watching a film, quiet mornings in the garden when it was easier to stay at home and snuggles on the sofa before bed. The everyday things that never feel big at the time but when I stop and look back, they’re the bits that made the summer.

---

Speaking River

River didn’t speak before he was two and when he did, his first words weren’t “mumma” or “dada,” but numbers, letters and “no.” Helping him involved learning new terms.

He is a ‘Gestalt language processor’ where he learns language in chunks not one word at a time. He also uses ‘echolalia’ where he acquires his chunks by repeating scripts from TV, books or people around him to communicate his feelings and needs.

On the plane: “I want to get off the mountain” which meant he wanted to get off the plane. “Waah, baby crying” meaning he was sad and needed a hug. We still haven’t figured out what “I miss my best friend Gary” means but it still is entertaining.

This summer hasn’t been about him starting to speak, he already was but about his speech becoming clearer, stronger, more confident. From whispered testing to little sentences. From scripts to his own words. From “NO JUMPER, NO NURSERY!” to calmly saying “Bye bye Daddy, go to work.” From needing us to translate to shouting across a hall: “MUMMY! IT’S MY MUMMY!”

We often say now that we all speak River. And that’s progress.

Routine and Adventure

Routine held us together: breakfast shows, bedtime routine, iPads, snacks, Cbeebies and the bottle that we are slowly saying goodbye to. But adventure pushed us too.

We did Dawnosaurs at the Natural History Museum, where River waved at the roaring T-rex and ran round the empty exhibition twice. The Science Museum, where he found the water play of his dreams, while Summer asked endless questions. The Postal Museum, where we all discovered the best museum ever!

The theatre trip where I spent a long time chasing him up and down but he cried out in emotion when one of the characters was hurt and was then welcomed by the cast onto the stage.

We went to Kew Gardens, a place very local to us which I’ve never had the confidence to visit with River. He ran free, so free I lost him but I knew he’d find his way back to me.

And then Ibiza: the plane meltdowns, the lollipops for sore ears, the pool laughter, the sensory room, the balcony dashes to the bar before midnight. A whole holiday abroad. Hard, yes. Worth it, absolutely.

---

Isolation and Community

I began this summer already tired, already lonely, wondering how I was supposed to stretch myself across fifty long days.

But people did show up. Friends came to babysit River so I could get Summer where she needed to be. Others walked with me when I needed to chat. Some joined us on outings, making the impossible feel just about doable. Sometimes they simply sat in the chaos with me so I wasn’t carrying it all alone.

All of these are valued, all of them are needed, all of them are appreciated. More than I can express.

---

Identity

There were days when my body hurt. EDS means waking up in pain and carrying on anyway. Lifting River, chasing him through museums, bending, stretching, it all takes its toll. Some days the tiredness was written all over me and I simply couldn’t function. Those days are scary and I will always continue to try to ‘pace’ my life, balance those spoons to live the life that I have.

But my identity isn’t just EDS and it isn’t just Mum to River either. I’m also a wife, swapping routines with Kike, watching him head to jiu-jitsu, tag-teaming when we were both stretched thin. Trying to find a window of time to enjoy each other’s company away from being parents.

I’m a mum to Summer too, taking her to her clubs, listening to her worries, nudging her towards bravery. Enjoying K-POP singalongs and so many episodes of The Traitors.

I’m a friend; enjoying people to walk with, talk to, drink with and to help each other. I love to hear about other people’s stories, be involved in their lives. Find connection and community in a city that can be an isolating place.

I’m me at work. Teaching children, being a part of a different community, learning more about education and how to truly support people. Reminding myself there’s another part of me beyond our four walls.

And there’s just me – someone who loves Eurovision and Musical Theatre. Who loves to travel. Loves pub quizzes, drinking wine with her friends, watching films and someone who has rediscovered her love of writing.

They’re not equal and they never will be. Some parts of me have to shout louder than the others and sometimes one role completely outweighs the rest. But that doesn’t mean the others disappear, they’re all still there, waiting their turn. And maybe that’s what identity really is: not balance but shifting weight.

---

What Changed

At the start, everything felt heavy. Fifty long days stretched out in front of me and I wasn’t sure how I’d cope. I wrote because I needed to, a way to get through, one day at a time.

But somewhere along the way, the writing changed things. The days didn’t get easier, not really but naming them, holding them on the page, made them feel lighter. The bleakness gave way to moments of humour, pride and even joy.

The summer didn’t magically transform, it was still messy, tiring, chaotic but I changed in how I carried it. By the end, I wasn’t just surviving. I was noticing, laughing, celebrating. The words helped me see that.

---

What Others Can Do

Someone asked me to end my blog by summing up what I think people can do to help. This list can be adapted to friends or family that you know that is caring for someone.

• Show up practically: babysit River for an hour, come on a walk, or join an outing so I’m not carrying it all alone.
• See Summer too: ask her about what she likes, include her, give her space where she’s not just “the sibling.”
• Sit in the chaos: come over, even if the house is messy, even if it’s loud. Just being there helps.
• Ask specific offers, not vague ones: “I’m bringing snacks, biscuits or healthy?” or “Shall I take Summer to her club?” is easier to accept than “Let me know if you need anything.”
• Remember the invisible load: the playdates, the after-school diary, the uniforms or clothes in general, the doctors appointments, the WhatsApp pings, the endless lists. Offering to tick off just one small task is a gift or remembering to try not to add anymore.
• Check in, even if you don’t get a reply: sometimes just knowing someone thought of you breaks the loneliness.
• Include me as me: not just as “River’s mum.” Invite me for a walk, a drink, a chat, a pub quiz. Keep the other parts of me alive.

And maybe most importantly:

Educate yourself about Autism. Not for me, not even for River but for everyone. Because understanding makes the world less isolating for families like ours and it makes spaces more welcoming for people like River.

Maybe I need to write a Halloween Special!