In real life my singing voice is awful!  Of course, the song I impersonate, midst- exercising: sounds quite good to me… it’s only my long-suffering friends and family, who endure it.

But I have a new voice now: – the magnificent sound of the nightingale, will, I know forever be the tune I wake-up to and hear within me – all day!

And, the chorus from all the wild birds, I love so much, seems even more melodic; as I enjoy the new bouncy version of me: keeping myself active, and elbowing away the annoyingness of the cerebral palsy: – with a new surge of defiance.

It’s all due to my wonderful daughter, who I believe was somehow magicked to me, when I lost my beloved daddy. My good parent, who as a foundling, bestowed his tough-cockney love on me.

When I was allowed to see him.

I raised my daughter on love and humour, and it was important to teach her how to relax.  I guessed how to do this bit, as I did with most aspects of motherhood. My mother isn’t one and I’m professionally advised to keep away from her. The detail doesn’t matter, but I’m willing to admit that I had my insecurities, as to whether I was being good enough as a mum…

My daughter says nice stuff about me, she’s kindly been reading my draft about the childhood I had. Someway through reading it, she said “I don’t know how you were able to be a good mum, when you don’t have one.” I replied that it was guess-work, mixed with having such an intuitive easy-to raise child.  Even when she was tiny, she somehow knew to grip hold of my side tightly: – to counter my impaired balance, would always make me beautiful cards, and entertain me with her flair for accents and impersonations.’

She met and married a super guy, they’re incredibly well-matched, and I love them both with all my heart.

Through her adult eyes, and professional wisdom, she’s been able to notice and nurture my many foibles.’

I am getting better at listening to my daughter-teacher, but I used to fret if she got frustrated with me. Emotions are distorted in an adult- child- who’s not known nurturing, and insecurities can be hard to harness…

But that woe is behind me now. I am forever perched in a tree in Berkeley Square, the nightingale in the well-known old song.

Because last month I was blessed with my first grandchild.

My phone had lain on the bedcovers as I mimicked sleep. I knew they’d be calling soon.

My kids, as I call them, showed me their raven-haired beauty, and then they both asked would I like to know her name… I cried with humble joy at the honour of them including my name in hers.

And, the next day, when I met my granddaughter in person, I asked again if they were both sure:

“Gosh you must think I’m an okay mum.”

“Yeah, you’re alright.” My daughter replied, shining such love for me through her beautiful tired eyes.

And in those moments, still in disbelief about their depth of kindness and decision: an almighty knot: deep in my stomach, unravelled itself and melted away. And, in flew the secure joy of a nightingale forever more.

I so hope you can enjoy borrowing my energy.

SUNNY wishes, Grannie Emma-Jane.

PS: This is my actual first name, and now in my granddaughters too…and I’m certain that my daughter knows, that it was also my daddy’s preferred name for me.

I am the luckiest mum in the universe. Equals hooray!