In praise of big V

This blog is a continuation of something I started somewhere else; the crazed rantings of a UK foster carer which were originally in the fold of a support group but are now perhaps selectively placed before the whole world.

Many years ago we fostered a girl lets call her V, that's to you and Big V to those who are emigres from the other place.

Big V came into care when she was 9 after refusing to go home from school one day. She didn't say why she wouldn't go and it was many years before the truth came out.

A game of pass the parcel followed and finally as a last resort she was exported to us in West Wales. A jolly old time she gave us too and eventually we got her to 16, ready to do her GCSE's the leaving care team (yeah and my did it ever mean that too) got involved showed her greener grass she went off on her toes and thanks to their intervention, came out of care with nothing.

But things have changed inside that team and things are quite a bit better.

She got all the way to 20 before she got pregnant and, had the baby, took up living with a heap of shit of a man BUT

I was talking to her worker today and things have been very rough for her this last few months but even when things were lowest of the low, there was never a question of taking the baby away because he is immaculate, thriving, well fed.

And that's the good news story, at 13 she presented as a self absorbed self centered cow not to mince my words. And now she has become the person that was always inside her.

Sometimes getting out of bed is worth it.

R