Part 6 – Would We Call Her Determined or Defiant?

Ayla. She was born determined.

As with Annie, I wanted to spend as much time with Ayla as I could right off the bat. She was spunky right from the start – strong willed and a real clinger. I could put her on my hip, let go of her, and she’d hang on – content as could be for as long as you’d like. Because she didn’t take no for an answer, ignoring her was not an option. From the time she had the motor skills to do it, if I wasn’t giving her the attention she needed she’d take my face and turn it towards her while nestled on my hip with my arms around her. She knew how to get what she wanted. And I gave in.

I have a favorite photo of Ayla from when she was only 12 months old. She is sitting in a royal blue colored child size armchair. She looks like the CEO of something…Probably us!

One Friday night I rang Bindi and offered to bring wine and snacks so we could all have a Friday night drink – ‘let’s pretend we are hitting the bar!’ Ayla was only 10 or 11 months old and she could walk with the assistance of furniture. We were enjoying the chardonnay and dipping into the bowl of chips. Ayla had been given several crisps and she was determined to get another crisp snack from her dad. He had already told her ‘no more’ after the last chip and, without hesitation, she held her right finger up and babbled ‘one more.’

Ayla was born with fun and adventure in her genes. 

As a toddler, she was fabulous to spend time with. Her face would screw up with delight and her 6-8-tooth gummy smile would break wide open any time you entered the room to pick her up after a nap. She would squeal and giggle. Her giggles started deep in her tummy and her little body would reverberate. Her laugh was infectious and I would always burst open with laughter.

We loved going on adventures. Now, an adventure could be as simple as walking out the front door and waiting to see what we’d discover. For Ayla it always meant starting out by walking along the front fences of neighbours’ homes. She was determined to climb up and walk along the walls – whether they were made of brick, wood, stone or cement. She would clamber over and around the pillars. I watched her, assessing how she would tackle a gate. At times I would have to insist on holding her hand – but she would challenge me with “no Tan – I do it” as she balanced and climbed her way around the neighborhood.

One weekend I was babysitting her while her parents went out for the night. I stayed at their home. It was still early days and she was no older than two or three. 

Early in the morning we went on one of our adventures. She started her usual ritual of fence walking. It was like watching a tightrope walker with the agility of a small elephant learning to walk. All the while talking! She would climb and talk with hardly a breath in between. We were talking about the flowers and which one was her favourite and why,  when she suddenly fell into a neighbour’s yard. It was a three to four foot drop. For a split second I froze and my thoughts raced – ‘please don’t have broken your back. Oh God, no. Please, no broken bones.’ 

Oh hell, how do I tell Bindi and Sam? My mind went to the catastrophic end and within milliseconds, I had mentally committed to being her carer for life – supporting her rehabilitation. 

I looked over the fence. She was lying flat on her back – deep amongst the crushed flowers and small bushes of a very well-manicured garden.  She was staring up at me, not crying. Not making a sound. I calmly said, “does anything hurt in your body?” “No,” was the somewhat tentative response. Keeping my voice calm, I said, “Ayla, move your legs like you are marching for Aunty Tan.” She did. I then said, “Move your arms like a bird for Aunty Tan.” And she did. Her face broke into her signature grin. Now it was a game for her and she started to giggle. I jumped the fence and lifted her to the wall. 

I know I did it all wrong. What if there has been damage to her back and asking her to move could have created more? I was trying to stay calm for her.

I don’t remember checking to see if the homeowners saw anything or if anyone was even at home. I looked back into the garden bed – yep, the full indentation of her body was still there.

But nothing hurt and there were no tears – all good. Back to our adventure. This time, holding hands.