Our youngest, “complex needs”, ex-micro-preemie daughter started her third year of primary school last week.

On the second day back, there was a curriculum talk for the parents, going through all the different bits and pieces they’d be covering this coming academic year. I listened as the teachers went through all the different elements of literacy and numeracy that would be covered, thinking how much our little lady was going to struggle — particularly with the expectations that would be present for written work.

At the end of the talk, I approached her teacher, commenting jokingly, “Good luck to you, getting Naomi to do all of that this year!” Her response took me rather off guard.

“I know she’s your baby, but give her a chance and she will surprise you.”

If one sentence could sum up the last (almost) seven years of being her mama, that would be it.

I found myself feeling rather emotional, digging my nails into the palms of my hands so not to burst out crying in the middle of the P3 classroom. Like so many in the wonderful school that our girls have all attended, this teacher is aware of her rough start at 26 weeks, and some of the challenges she has faced over the last seven years. Also like so many in that wonderful school, she is not taking that as an excuse to sit back and let her coast through, rather than push her (gently) towards reaching her full potential.

It’s easy for me to just look at her difficulties — and, indeed, we are trained to list all the negatives to get her the support that she has needed over the years — rather than looking at all the ways in which she is excelling. Yes, she may not be top of the class for writing, but she can absolutely hold her own when it comes to reading and number work. We’ve seen delays in some parts of her development, but we’ve also seen massive progress. Just last year she was going to school in pull ups and her classroom assistant was having to jot down every bite that went into her mouth (or didn’t, as the case was) so that we could judge whether or not she needed a second tube feed that evening. (Speaking of tube feeding, take a look at this amazing Tubie, who most certainly has not let her challenges hold her back. Definitely a lesson to be learned in that.)

Her name means “my delight” and, while she has delighted us every day, I have to admit, it’s been a bit of a mental shift at times, switching from “she can’t do this” to “look at how amazing she’s doing at that”! It can be mentally scary letting go of her so she can fly when we spent so long being shocked that she could even walk.

One of the topics that was mentioned that will be covered later in the school year includes the importance of taking care of your teeth. At the time, my mind was focusing on how much we have struggled to brush Naomi’s teeth, given that she has had a massive oral aversion due to the amount of times she was ventilated as a baby — spending a small fortune on different types of toothbrush and toothpaste, and none of them working. Some of her baby teeth ended up discoloured due to previous meds and, again, oral aversion/little brushing. A little part of me panicked inside as the teacher mentioned this, thinking of how the other kids might start picking up on the condition of her teeth, and drawing attention to it. As it happened, before bed that night, with no prompting (and the help of Big Sister #2), Naomi went upstairs and brushed her teeth by herself.

As our “Delight” almost flawlessly rattled through her first homework last night, recognising and reading 100 common words, having written “revise common words” all by herself in her new homework diary, I think it’s fair to say I need to stop flapping as she will be just fine.