This morning, she was so happy. She ran through the house and she called out to Dad and she cheered. She knows today is special.
My Littlest Sister sat and watched, and chased her around the room. She climbed on Dad.
I can't do those things. I would, if I could.
But, Dad knows I love him. It's just different with us.
It's different with cerebral palsy.
Dad was excited to be having a son. He imagined me playing golf with him, on the weekends. He imagined me playing footy and cheering for the Manly Sea Eagles. He imagined teaching me how to drive and shave.
And then, they found my brain damage.
Everything is different now. Dad had to learn all about being a Dad, but in a different way.
He makes me giggle. All the time. Even when everyone else had been trying, all day, to make me laugh... Dad would come home and I would laugh.
His tickles are different. His tickles are funny.
Dad lies on the floor with me, and we try to hide from my Noisy Sisters. We cover our eyes and lie really still.
Dad fills the bath up, really high. Its like a swimming pool, and I love it! Mum is a bit scared to do that (because I sometimes like to try to roll over!) Dad knows I love the deep water, so he lets me swim in the bath.
I don't complain, when Dad dressed me. If it's not Dad, I can get very noisy and whingy, after a bath. It's cold and I don't like it. But, with Dad... I don't complain.
This cerebral palsy business is tricky. I can't always see Dad, and I can't tell him I love him, but he knows. He knows it in every movement. In every grin. In every giggle and in every splash in the deep bath. Dad knows I love him.
Happy Father's Day, Dad!