Today work started on Elin's ceiling tracking hoist for her bedroom/bathroom. An amazing piece of kit that cost thousands of pounds (thank the lord for DFE grants) which should save our backs and provide Elin with an amusing ride in the process. Hoorah. Oh- did I mention I hate it?? I have a total and completely irrational hatred of the 'The Hoist' (it even sounds alien and sinister!) A hatred which far exceeds any feelings about other specialist inanimate objects that are necessary in our lives now. I even put off getting one because I could not bear to have it dangling in the corner of Elin's beautiful room like an evil science fiction- esque spider. Looming over us like a constant reminder of technological intervention eventually needed in Elin's life just to get her up every day. A reminder of hospital wards and homes, like the old folks home Elin's grandad lived in during his final few years with us. Not for my daughter, The Hoist. I don't want The Hoist for her. But choice is something I have learned to relinquish to a degree in our funny topsy turvey world. It doesn't matter whether I want it or not, I have to have it. Elin will need it. The Hoist must become part of our lives. One day I will not lift Elin as I do now, almost wearing her on my front like a koala bear, one day she will be too big and I will have to lose that extra bit of contact, that part of her still being my baby. So to me I guess The Hoist is an unwelcome but necessary divider between myself and Elin. However as sure as I am of my hatred of The Hoist I am equally sure that like everything else acceptance will reluctantly follow and in a few short weeks I will probably forget it's there, or wonder what we did with out it. I may even one day be singing the praises of The Hoist. For now though I shall park it in the corner of the room and refuse to give it eye contact. I'm not ready to be it's friend yet. As a literary heroine of mine Scarlett O Hara once said "I'll think about that tomorrow".