You know that phrase “it takes a village to raise a child”?

My village has always been small. Absolute quality, but small. Kev & I could not have dared to hold down jobs, as we had no choice but to when Immy Squidglet was born, had it not been for his parents.

They gave up their life of 14 years in Spain in order to be living in the town in South Wales where we had bought our house, to offer childcare for their first precious granddaughter when I went back to work. They moved their whole world without question, because they were the kind of people that didn’t think twice about wanting to see their granddaughter grow up.

Nothing was ever too much. They looked after Immy whenever we asked, to facilitate breaks, date nights, my university degree of six years. My father-in-law passed away just 19 days after I received notification of my first class classification. I am so glad he was there to celebrate with us, because I could never have achieved it without him and my lovely mother-in-law, who can still never do too much for us, even when we tell her she has!

To my husband’s lovely parents, they are just doing what loving parents and grandparents would do. That is, anything they can. There is simply no way we could have even dreamed of having our Gabby Gabster without knowing they were there to help. They are, and will always be, a gift and I would wish every family could have such loving support as we do.

Then there’s Cat. We met in primary school aged 9. We went to different secondary schools and I fell into social isolation, not knowing how to keep friendships going when I was not independent or free. We volunteered at the same primary school for a while when we started college, but I felt I had nothing to offer as a friend. I was stuck at home, not living, existing.

Cat came back into my life in our early twenties, when we were both in relationships that would evolve into marriage. Cat never judged for my absence in her life. She was just glad to see me, keen to make me laugh til I cried. She’s good at that.

Cat is the friend everyone needs. Cat is who I will call if I ever kill someone. I know she will never ask why. She’ll shrug and say “They probably deserved it. I’m on my way” and I can trust completely she’ll come bombing over the Severn Bridge to assist.

I know this because Cat was the person I called when Kev & I drove across it, having received the call that it was time to say goodbye to Mum. “Drop the girls at mine” she said. No questions were asked. The girls were not with us that day, so Cat offered Kev & I her home instead. Instinctive.

Cat was the person I called in the cae park of the coffee shop Kev & I had taken Immy to to explain that her brloved granddad would be going to Heaven that day. Kev, of course, had to race back to hospital. He asked that I stayed with the girls, to be their normality. I didn’t know what to do with myself, or have any idea how to pull off normal when I knew my family would be in such pain, while I sat at home. I explained to Cat I didn’t know how to be on my own waiting for the inevitable to happen. She was at my door with her own family in tow, cakes in hand within 2 hours. She kept my girls distracted and didn’t ask a thing of me.

Cat is why they say friends are the family you choose. And that’s my village. Other than that, it is just the four of us, doing the best we can. With me, always panicking that my contribution, although taking up my whole heart and energy, is never enough. Mum guilt is omnipresent and suffocating.

Your village, whatever size, is vital and irreplaceable. But so are we, as the parents, everyday caregivers and families to our precious little people. And it is just as important to recognise and celebrate our successes too.

This week, I received Gabby’s report from her year at playgroup. Gabby is a lockdown baby, August born. So she is destined to be amongst the youngest wherever she’s at in the education system.

I was anxious at the offer of a place at playgroup for her, not 5 weeks after she turned just 2. She was my tiny baby. My last baby. The baby that grew beside me as we were mandated to stay indoors. My baby who ddn’t get to her first baby group til she was 10 months old. How could I expect her to do well away from me so you, for so long?

But…. that anxiety was mine alone.

This report described my tiny baby as “friendly & happy”, “eager to explore”, “independent”, “consoles her friends when they’re upset”.

I was so proud. Because this wasn’t about the village. This was about us.

Baby Gabby had been stuck indoors, as all lockdown babies were. Therefore, everything she learnt, she learnt from her little coccoon of family. Mummy, Daddy & her “best friend”, Imogen.

Even through the blackness of grief, bereavement, depression, anxiety & the pressures of perfectionism, I had undeniably had my part in raising such a happy, bright, well-adjusted little girl. Her social skills had come from her big sister, another product of my parenting. I had clearly taught good lessons, because even my little 4 year old had imparted the best of her knowledge and her wonderful personality to our little blank slate of a baby.

In all the scariness of the pandemic, the 4 of us had managed to raise an incredible little girl. We did that.