One Direction, fizzy drinks and kids. A scary combination. Still, there we all were - me, my husband, Mitchell, 31, and mate, Angela, 28, in our local community centre - running a tot disco.
And, in the middle of it all, our little treasure, Martha, 3, twirling round with her two brothers, Zak, 13, and Kallum, 10, and sister, Katy, 11.
So worried
‘Martha’s smile makes listening to Justin Bieber worthwhile,’ Mitchell laughed, hugging me.
But it wasn’t Martha’s birthday. We were celebrating the fact she was here at all.
And the money we’d raised would go to the hospital that saved her life.
Three times.
The first time was two years ago, when Martha was just 1. Born profoundly deaf, at 6 months old, she’d had surgery to put…
