I met him when I was seventeen. I was your classic loud, jolly fat girl. Hiding behind an oversized personality.

He saw beyond that.

We were friends first. Soon he knew all my secrets.

He listened but didn’t try to change things.

We talked until the sun came up. He was the first one to accept what I wanted for my adult life.

A family, not a career.

He was not like my father.

Not at all.

My life is so different because I met him and I am grateful for him. I thank the universe everyday for his existence.

Life was dysfunctional. He made everything alright.

We married and settled in together. We were young. Although he was worried about what his parents would think, he honoured our decision.

I became a nurse, he encouraged it, supported me.

We had twins. He took it in his stride. Even though he was exhausted he shared the load of bringing up two and then three little girls.

I became a midwife and he was there, helping me all the way.

He opened his heart and his emotions when William died.

He is so different from any man I have ever known.

We compliment each other. He is my night (knight) and I am his day.

I like to spend money, he likes to save.

I like to take risks, he likes stability.

Between us we have a wonderful balance.

It could have been so different, my life but not better. I couldn’t ask for better.

This was written as part of the November Write Away Contest at another of my favourite blogs, Scribbit. It’s my first attempt. Why don’t you give it a try?

Oh my goodness today was a big day!

Last night Ivy took a backwards slide and decided she would cry all night. I don’t know for sure what was going on but by the morning, her temperature was through the roof again. Come daybreak though she was brighter and I thought the worst had passed.

Sadly I was wrong.

The girls had to be in Newcastle for their full dress rehersal of their dance concert this morning. Early. I found out about this on Friday night when Ivy and I came home from the hospital. I don’t know why I forgot… stupid! Vague headed me.

To say I was in a panic was an understatment. I hadn’t paid for costumes, I had to do full make up for three girls and buns as well.

Anywaaaaaaay.

We made our way into town and Noah was his usual happy, easy going self but Ivy…oh, Ivy! She cried and asked to be picked up and when we picked her up she cried some more. She scowled at anyone who came anywhere near her and smacked out at the other children. She was pale and her nose was running terribly.

We had planned to spend the day in Newcastle but Ivy was so very unwell we decided to go home.

She slept on the way home but woke in an even worse mood.

Poor baby.

She just could not tell us what was wrong. Despite panadol she followed David and I around, everytime we put her down (for a toilet break, to hang out school uniforms, to start preparing dinner) saying … ‘it hurts’. Even taking her outside (her treasured outside) just didn’t cut it today.

I felt so sad  that there was nothing that I could do to make it better for her.

David left to pick up the girls and that is when Ivy really lost it.

It is mentally and emotionally exhausting when she is sick and I would love to just sit and cuddle her all day but I have Noah and the other kids to think about too. Maybe the paediatrician was right. Maybe we should have stayed in the hospital for an extra couple of days.

You’ll all be pleased to know that she is tucked up in bed asleep now, medicated with pain relief, antibiotics and chest rub.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

It has to be.