to see the world with innocence and vigor.

New negativity.

A jaded, bitter, watchful me seeks out the sickly and squeezes between them, hoping to filter away any airborne disease.

Inwardly, I laugh at my naivity.

Feeling defiant and wrong for being out amongst the people, for socialising, when we are supposed to be in ‘enforced isolation’.

We are only buying food.

The cupboards bare for fear of exposing anyone to anything.

Shopping these days is a luxury.

Wall watcher, wishing away the days to a time when  there is sunshine and the house will not hold us prisoner anymore.

Doctor chaser.

Too much of a nurse and not enough of a mother.

Wordless, worry.

Does she look a bit off to you?

When will the next infection hit and will we get through it without a hospital admission?

Dark thoughts of failure and exhaustion.

Doctors names as large and complicated as their egos.

Weeks when our trips to the doctor’s are our only outing.

Medication

cannulation

 putting all our eggs in the infusion basket.

Frustration

Lonliness.

I read something that said we’ll get used to this, that we will learn to take it in our stride. It won’t be as stressful as it is now.

I don’t know.

Will I ever get used to this new normal?

Ivy is sick. 

 Almost hospital worthy.

We went to the paed who said she was sick but ’stable’.

He  offered her IV antibiotics to clear up the obvious infection but it wasn’t emergent and with six other children to look after and a husband who has no more leave left, I declined.

He had nothing else for her,

No new answers and no word from the immunologist, despite leaving several messages and emails.

She is missing.

So I did the only thing I could.

I cried (silly I know, I’m usually much better at keeping my emotions to myself)

and then I left.

He called last night.

Just to see how the girl was holding out and, I guess, to see how I was too

but

still no word from the immunologist

and so we are living in limbo.

Written as part of MamaBlogga’s GWP.

The soft glow enveloping your small, pale face and big blue eyes. Filled with wonder and a new understanding. Of birthdays and life and all the important things, like snails and mud and which brand of Peanut Butter you like better and whether Captain Feathersword is funnier than Wags The Dog.

Four candles should be yours today with a wish and a dream attached to every one.

A lime green dinosaur cake with a black smartie eye and spearmint leaf spines. You might have asked me, before the party, if you could have the tail and I would have given you the biggest hug and said, of course, it’s your birthday.

Four candles should be yours today and as you blow them out, in overly dramatic puffs of boyish air, you would feel the love of your big sisters and cousins… and maybe even your little brother and sister too.

You would feel the warmth of their hugs circling you. You would secretly enjoy their attention but you would never show it because big boys who are turning four are tough. They can’t be seen to love too hard.

Except with their Mummy.

Four candles, my son. Where have those years gone?

Four candles, my boy. Has it only been four years?

Submitted as part of Mamablogga’s GWP for April

Early morning risers, kisses and cuddles in bed as the sun breaks over the mountains.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Debriefing and discussions about dreams during the night, good or bad.

Shiny, clean faces, at the breakfast table. Easy conversation.

Laughing at jokes that aren’t quite funny. Great big smiles that show teeth.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Standing on the verandah, with little bodies close to my side, waving good bye to school children as they walk up the street calling ‘I love you’s’ until they disappear over the hill.

Morning stories, dancing to The Wiggles, new words, new milestones met. Bright blue eyes and faces turned to the sun as they venture outside. Wonderment as the fluff from a dandelion blower flies into the sky, caught by the morning breeze.

Free spirited, loving life play.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Morning naps, angelic, peaceful faces. (Is any mother not grateful for this?).

Bleary eyed babies stumbling out of bed to climb up onto laps. Nuzzles and snuggles and drifting off again with the warmth of their special person. Deep, sleep filled breathing that relaxes the soul.

Emerging sentences, new understanding, watching them grow and learn through play.

New foods, new experiences, evolving personalities.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Excited faces at the gate, in anticipation of the big kids’ return from school.

Excited faces at the gate, happy to be home with the little ones again.

Stories of their day, their worries and their hopes, what made them laugh and why they felt sad.

The house feeling full, the chaotic noise of seven, the push and pull of siblings.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Squeals of happiness, backyard games of cricket, swimming, playing -  togetherness.

Hugs for no reason, an arm around my shoulder, playful banter, exclaimations of ‘you’re the best, Mummy!’

Sharing bath time with the little ones, even though their bodies are changing. Willingly helping when they see I am flagging.

Excited cries of ‘Daddy’s home!’ Little ones standing at the door waiting.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Dinner compliments, voices too loud, spaghetti sauce chins.

TV wind down time, everyone squeezed onto one lounge, when there are two, dogs between legs with furry heads resting on pyjama clad laps.

Talking while the show is on, asking questions about when we were children, interested wonders of ‘the olden days’. (I am constantly telling them I’m not that old).

Bedtime kisses and last minute, trying to stall, anecdotes, needs for a glass of water and one last call to the toilet before bed.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

Slipping quietly into each bedroom, looking upon them, hoping they have a good life.

Pulling their blankets up under chins, tucking soft toys back into the arms of their owners, turning out lights.

Standing in hallways, listening to the house sigh with peace.

That’s what I’m grateful for.

My children.

They lift me up, fill my day, make everything worthwhile. It’s the everyday things.

I’m grateful for them.

This was written for Mamablogga’s November Group Writing Project. Why don’t you give it a try?