My daughter Grace, 3, stared up at the sparkling glitter ball I’d attached to the living-room ceiling.
‘Now it really is like Strictly,’ I chuckled, grabbing Grace’s hand, swirling her around.
In a pink leotard and tutu, her long brown hair flowing, she looked just like a little ballerina.
It was October 2015 - and looking back, it felt like a miracle she was here at all.
After 20 years serving as a linguist in the RAF, at the age of 38, I’d decided I wanted to be a mum.
Only, just as my biological clock started ticking, my 10-year relationship fell apart.
‘I’m going to do it alone,’ I told my friends.
‘If anyone can, you can,’ they replied.
Although both my parents had passed away years before, I…
