One of my earliest childhood memories is of meeting Lydia. It was February 1984, I was three years old and my parents held me up as I peered into the bassinet and into her big blue eyes.
‘Will she stay this little?’ I asked my mum, Vicky, then 30, as she cradled Lydia. Mum, and my dad, Malcolm, then 36, laughed. ‘No, but I’m sure you will always look after her, even when she’s big like you,’ Mum smiled. I was only little but I felt so proud. I’d just been given the most important job in the world. I was a big sister now.
Back home, I took my role very seriously, helping out with Lydia – who I called Lyd – as much as I could. As she got bigger, she’d sit, and I’d hold her hands during the scary parts, reassuring her that it was OK, I was there.
