Tag Archives: family

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Getting back to real life.

So the past week has been one hell of a ride! We headed interstate to say a final farewell to my beloved grandfather and to celebrate his life. It was a really great trip for the soul, and while I had to soldier on with my bruised coccyx and a tired (but amazingly well behaved toddler), it was something I really felt we needed to do. Now we’re home and a new week is starting. My husband is back at work and it’s just me and the Little Mister. Oh, sorry…the Little Mister and I. After a week of craziness and people everywhere (we totally took over my uncle and aunty’s house), I need a bit of motivation and encouragement to get back to real life as smoothly as possible! I also want to celebrate the things I learnt/had reinforced while we were away.

Here goes :)

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Upon hearing the news of my grandfather’s passing, I felt like life was being just a tad too stressful. Damn you, life! But then I realised that this trip away was just what I needed. The (re)connections we made with family were priceless and reminded me of all the good and important things in life. I had been very tightly wound for a few weeks prior to our trip and I feel like I’ve been unravelled again. I have a few things to resolve still, but I feel much better than before we left.

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I am thankful for so many things right now. It feels good. Everything from the love of my family to that feeling you get when you come home after a wonderful holiday and you sleep in your own bed (or kind of not really but you know what I mean relax in your childproofed home as the Little Mister plays)! I have some challenges ahead and I need to remember to be thankful for the little things that keep me going.

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I love Roald Dahl :) I think that my spiritual beliefs and my willingness to believe in the kind of ‘magic’ I think Mr Dahl was referring to are what got my family and I through a challenging time with the loss of my grandfather. He was an unconventional thinker and he really believed there was more after this life. If anyone believed in the magic, it was definitely him. This gives us great peace.

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I am really quite exhausted and while I need to recover from our trip, I also have to look after the Little Mister each day. I don’t want to feel dread when I hear the alarm go off in the morning (or the Little Mister cooing away in his cot). I want to feel determined. Determined to make the best of each day and give it all I’ve got to look after my little man and our home, so that I can fall into bed each night feeling great about my efforts.

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It’s as simple as that. Bring it on! :)

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Goodbye.

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Yesterday morning, my beloved grandfather, affectionately known as “Kenny” passed away. He had suffered from a form of dementia for around 3 years and he left this world peacefully, holding my Nana’s hand. I am very sad, but I have an absolute wealth of lovely memories to draw on when I feel this sadness and I find great relief in knowing that he is not suffering anymore. I have no doubt that wherever he is now, he remembers each and every one of us who were loved by him during his time on earth. I am not usually one to announce something like the death of a loved one via blogging or social media, but I just cannot let this pass without sharing with you what is going on in my life and how special Kenny was/is to me.

My family will be travelling interstate to celebrate his life with my dad’s side of the family as soon as we can.

RIP Kenny. We love you. But you already know that ;)

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Today is brought to you by the number 30 (and some very bad Wikipedia facts).

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This post is dedicated to my husband. Great gift idea, right? He’ll thank me later, I’m sure. Well, pretty sure…

The reason? Today he turns the big 3-0. That’s right. He’s been alive for three decades. He’s halfway to 60, so yeah, that’s pretty impressive. Also, he will always be 2 years older than me and I quite like that. He breaks in all of the scary ages before I get there so it’s not so scary. OK… also I like it because I get to make fun of him forever. Old fart.

I like today because for all of 2012, he has been very quick to point out, “I’m not 30 yet! STOP SAYING I’M 30!!”
Even yesterday and the day before he held onto this for dear life.

NOT ANYMORE, SUCKER!!! HAPPY MOTHER EFFING 30th BIRTHDAY!!!!

Anyway, I googled the number 30 (what the hell did we do before Google?) and it came up with some very very scintillating boring facts (as well as a ridiculous number of hipster photos of Jared Leto from the band 30 Seconds to Mars). Anyhow, Wikipedia did say that 30 is a stage in young adulthood. YOUNG adulthood. That should make my husband very happy. You’re welcome, dear! Haha, only old people call other people “dear”. Oops. I’m supposed to be the young one! Um…You’re welcome…man guy.

Also, Russell Crowe had a band called 30 Odd Foot of Grunts. And they were…well, they’ve broken up now. So, I guess that’s quite an average fact. Woo. Hoo.

Apparently in the 1960s there was some kind of rally/protest/movement to do with students and young people. Their slogan for the movement was, “Don’t trust people over 30“. That’s very wise advice. I mean, because all of the people I know who are under the age of 30 are just so responsible and levelheaded…

As my now 30 year old husband would know, the NBA has 30 teams. I don’t really know much about them. I only know the players who are married to, were married to, or are going to be married to Kardashians. Sometimes I even know which basketball stars are guilty of breaking the law in their personal lives – because it’s totally my business. My husband has some kind of phone app which actually tells him proper game stats and player facts that are actually relevant to the sport of basketball. He likes to scroll through these while I’m watching terrible reality shows which I know are terrible, but cannot tear myself away from.

So now that I’ve bored you tremendously (and I didn’t even mention that 30 is a magical number full of mathematical qualities that I don’t even understand) and if you’re over 30, you probably need a nap now, I’ll regale you with some facts about my husband’s birthday. You know, because 30 seems to be quite a boring number… :P

On this day in:

1938: English cricketer Len Hutton set a world record for the highest individual test innings of 364 while playing a test match against Australia. Yes, this fact really does bore me to tears, but my husband quite likes the cricket. Perhaps I should have shared a fact that portrayed a cricketer having success over the English, rather than an English cricketer having success against Australia…but never mind.

1996: Osama Bin Laden declared somewhat of a war against America. Well, that’s cheerful.

…and a whole lot of other military/war related sh*t happened over many many years. As with any date in history you could probably pick out of a hat.

My husband shares his birthday with:

- King Louis XVI of France (and is almost as old as him by now bahaha)

- An American rapper called “BoneCrusher”

- Scott Caan (that hot guy from Hawaii Five-O)

- Kobe Bryant (NBA FACT – NBA FACT – are you impressed???)
Also, today is the day of the annual traditional Umhlanga ceremony in Swaziland. It’s lucky I’m letting you all know this, because let’s face it, last year you guys totally forgot about it and I turned up with my reeds and everything and no-one was there. I mean, geez, I spent forever cutting those things down and bundling them up…and for what? Just put it in your bloody diaries this time, will you? I refuse to repeat such a shamozzle this year. Sure, I’m married and I’m not childless…so maybe that has something to do with it, but dammit I was hoping the king would choose me as his wife anyway. Sheesh. I had my boobs out and everything.

Anyway, this crazy post is my weird way of wishing my husband a very happy birthday. I hope that your 30s are amazing and bring you all the good stuff that the world/universe has to offer. I love you (even if this post doesn’t really portray that in the most effective way).

I shall sign this post off with -30- because that’s the way that journalists signify the end of a story in shorthand. I don’t know why this is, but perhaps it’s like they’re saying that 30 is the end of everything. Like, your story’s over now, man. You’re -30-.

-30-

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It’s not just my voice.

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Note: This post is quite emotionally revealing and has been difficult for me to write (it’s taken a few weeks), but I felt it was important to express because I am sure I’m not the only new mum going through it.

All my life I’ve been a very strong minded (some may be reckless enough to accuse me of being stubborn) person. I’ve always known what I’ve wanted and how I feel about certain issues. Which is mostly a good character trait to have, and occasionally I learn the hard way. Luckily I do usually learn pretty well from my mistakes, but I like that I am passionate about my beliefs (while trying to be open minded enough to change those beliefs when necessary).

However, if you asked some of the people who know the ‘outside’ me (those who aren’t in my household or my immediate family) about this trait, they might look at you funny. When something doesn’t sit well with me or I feel confronted, I dither about, overexplain my position or pretend it’s all good when it isn’t. Sometimes I’ll even be silly enough to ignore my gut instincts, because I’m scared of what people will think if I do my own thing. I could get all psychoanalytical about how I think it’s a fear of not belonging, brought about by my ultimate rejection as a baby (leading to my adoption), but to keep things short and simple, I care too much about what people might say if I go against the grain. It doesn’t ultimately stop me in most cases and I might appear strong and sure of my decisions in the end, but it usually comes after a massive inner struggle that can last for days (or more appropriately 3am moments at night)!

Since I fell pregnant with the Little Mister, I’ve had to be mentally strong time and time again. I’ve had to find courage inside myself, in order to speak my truth. You see, it’s no longer just my truth anymore. My voice is no longer just mine. I have this little guy in my life who cannot speak yet. He cannot make wise life decisions that affect his wellbeing. I have the highest honour, the biggest responsibility. His dad and I must be his voice. I will sometimes have to be strong and make unpopular decisions or do something people might not agree with if I know in my heart that it’s for the best.

It is my duty to be strong and assertive. To carve my own way where my little family is concerned. I can’t dither about, ignore my instincts or doubt myself constantly just because some people out there may be ignorant or judgemental. I need to realise that we (my little family) don’t have to answer to anyone. We’re good people, we’re proactively educated, and we will always do our best to raise our baby.

I respect other parents and their choices. I am not perfect and I do judge occasionally (like when a pregnant woman says she’s going to drink Red Bull all night at the club – overheard on the train usually), but I do believe that being a new parent is hard enough as it is. Every parent is different and every baby is different. Most of us grow up relatively OK. Some may have more issues than others, but we all do what I believe is the best with what we know how at the time. If we know better, we do better and I always try to know as much as I can.

I guess what I’m saying here is that we might falter sometimes when we speak up for ourselves as individuals and we might ignore our own needs when we shouldn’t, but since having the Little Mister I have learnt a very valuable lesson in using my voice because right now, it’s his voice too. I have to get over myself. I have to stay strong. I don’t have to get confrontational (that’s not always constructive), but I have to believe in myself, not doubt what I believe in and quietly do my own thing anyway (without tearing myself to pieces with guilt or fear about it).

I don’t want to stand up on my somewhat unsteady soapbox and go on about how I’m a mother and all others should bow down because I’m the first person to ever have a baby. I just have to set limits and draw lines. I have to take calculated risks and believe in the fact that no-one knows my baby (or my family) better than my husband or I do. I have to stop listening to those who love to judge someone else (even worse when it’s other mothers who should know better), because they are probably insecure themselves and don’t know how else to feel OK about their own choices.

It’s not just me anymore. Someone else is depending on me and I take that responsibility very seriously. If I ignore my gut feeling where his needs are concerned because I’m scared someone will tell me I’m doing it wrong (even though it’s actually none of their business), then I’m not doing my job. I’m always open to learning and improving, but I need to trust my ability in seeking out the right answers and not blindly follow someone else.

When the Little Mister was born, I felt thrust into the unknown (in both the best and the scariest way). I wanted to show that I was eager to learn and I wanted to trust in the fact that billions of people on this earth have given birth before me. If I had my time over (and maybe I will one day) I would stand up to the people I was scared of. I would trust more in my intuition. I would tell the well intentioned midwives that I didn’t want them to grab my nipples when showing me how to breastfeed – that I could tell my baby knew exactly what to do without them grabbing me the third, fourth and fifth times. I would tell them I was too stressed to express every hour if they all kept walking in the hospital room and watching me each time I had a quiet moment and that it wasn’t helping my milk to come in. I would say that the real reason I was crying on day 3 of my hospital stay was because it was unnatural that I hadn’t seen my baby the first three days of his life and that my painkilling drugs had worn off making me realise that I was p*ssed off that they were acting like it was normal that he wasn’t with me – not because of stupid baby blues (they didn’t help but they weren’t the real reason). I would tell my friends that it’s OK that my Little Mister doesn’t spend a lot of time overnight with his grandparents so I can go out more, because I feel like it’s my job (and my pleasure) to be with him when I can. I am still teaching him to manage his separation anxiety and he gets plenty of time without us (let’s go easy on him – he’s 5 months and 3 weeks old), and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything in my life. I don’t know if they think about any of this, but I worry that they do. I just have to be OK with my decisions and wear them with confidence. The Little Mister’s doing great (all the usual baby maladies aside) and so am I! We’re happy :)

I need to tell people it’s not OK to just rock up at my house with very little warning and start making noise during the Little Mister’s bathing, feeding and bed time unless they’re planning on staying the night in his room. ;) I need to be able to say, “Sorry I can’t afford that. Our income is limited right now and we’re channeling our funds into our family home or the baby’s needs, before we start spending on other things. Some months will be tighter than others.”  and not just try to keep up when it’s simply not possible, out of the fear that people will think we’re tightwads or will start analysing our spending. “Oh, I saw her buying a $4 magazine last week. She can’t be THAT poor.”

That’s not everyone else’s voice. That’s the mean voice inside my own head. Stupid voice. The nice voice should remind the mean voice that my husband and I work very hard to budget our cash and we believe in living a balanced life. Our finances are our own business and they don’t stop us from living our life. So to hell with what some hypothetical, imaginary mean person might think!

And now I sound crazy with all this talk about voices in my head and imaginary people…moving right along…

I need people to understand what it’s like to have a baby – the challenges, the need for stability and the energy it requires. Sometimes I just have to ask tell everyone straight out what I want or what the Little Mister needs as an individual (not all babies are the same in a situation). They might not actually be mindreaders (!) and it’s not fair to assume that they will understand a situation they’re not familiar with or that they haven’t lived.

Most importantly, along this journey into parenthood, I’ve noticed a pattern. Every time I ignore my gut instinct because I’m worried about what people will think, I take a bit of a detour down the wrong path. From now on, I am going to try harder to stay true to myself and my family. I need to trust that those in my life are strong too and they can handle my truth.

If I don’t stand up for my Little Mister, who will?

Have you ever found it difficult to stray away from the pack or speak your truth (this is not just a mummy specific question)?

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Five months: What it means to me.

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April marks five months of my Little Mister’s life. It’s an odd age to consider a special milestone, but to me it really is an important one. I didn’t realise just how important it was to me until it arrived and it brought with it the revelation that I had been waiting for this date for all of my adult life (and perhaps even before that).

I have spent my whole life trotting out my little life story to anyone and everyone who seems particularly interested in my “background”. You see, I look Asian on the outside but on the inside I’ve always been an Aussie. It brings with it a lot of fascination and the need to ask me for an explanation. Especially when I’m out with my parents, who don’t particularly resemble me physically!

I was adopted from South Korea as a baby. How old was I, you ask? Well, I was five months and one week old when I arrived in Australia, ready to start my new life as a very loved and cherished Aussie bub.

Every time someone asks (rudely or politely) where I’m “from”, I start my well rehearsed, finely tuned, short spiel. I can sum the situation up in a very short time: “Well, I was born in South Korea but I was adopted at five months old and being Aussie is all I’ve ever known.”

It explains my looks and it lets someone know that I don’t have an unusual ethnicity or different cultural practices (so they don’t start talking to me really loudly or slowly or make assumptions about what I eat or how my family views education blah blah *enter Asian stereotype here*) . Of course, it doesn’t always sink in, but that’s another story ;)

Anyway, I always dreamed of being biologically related to someone. I have loved my life and have always felt extra loved and extra wanted because my parents had to go to such lengths to bring me to them when my own biological family didn’t choose to keep me. It’s just that I dreamed of having that dream my mum/s couldn’t have. I dreamed of being able to carry my own baby safely to term and be able to keep him or her forever. I dreamed of one day having what I had never had – someone who maybe looked a bit like me and shared my genes – in my life.

I’ve spent my life being fascinated by family resemblences. Looking at brothers, sisters, their parents and wondering what it would be like to resemble someone. The advantages, the disadvantages.

When my little man reached the five month milestone a few days ago, I realised what my parents were receiving that September night in 1984. A little very chubby five month old, who was smiling (a coping mechanism I have used to this day), grabbing at things and completely aware of her surroundings. I see what an undertaking it would have been for me to fly all the way from South Korea to start a whole new life and never look back. When my Little Mister starts to show separation anxiety and tests me at night time, crying as I get to his bedroom door after I’ve said goodnight, I realise that I would have had some idea that nothing would ever be the same. That time of my life shaped a lot of who I am today and it is bittersweet when I think about it.

I realise what a gift I have had. I have had a bonus five months with my Little Mister! I’ve seen him from day one (albeit briefly before he was rushed to another hospital for three days - long story). I’ve watched him grow and learn. I was able to breastfeed him (not that it was very easy but I got the opportunity), I was there to give him his first taste of solids: apple puree and broccoli puree (not a fan but we knew we were pushing it haha). I was there to bring him home from hospital and change his first nappies, watch my husband give him his first bath. My parents may have missed out on those moments with me, but I realise one thing. The bond between parent and child is the same no matter how you came together. I now know exactly what my brother and I meant to my parents (and still do). I am so blessed to be a child of loving parents, and a loving parent of a child. Blood isn’t thicker than water: love is.

As my little baby starts to get “boy” legs instead of tiny baby legs, and he starts to push for independence, trying to hold his own bottle and take control of his own spoon, I’m realising just how fast he’s going to grow up! I love who he is (when he grins his face off and puts up with my shenanigans) and I am so glad I get to keep him forever.

Just like it was for my parents, five months is just the beginning of a very special journey. I realise now that what I craved all my life was not simply a little ‘me’ or a genetic relative. I just wanted to realise, to KNOW, that the love I have for my child is exactly the same as the love my parents had/have for me. Perhaps deep down, I needed the confirmation. I needed to know for sure that blood and some genes don’t make an ounce of difference as to how much a person can love (even though with all the blessings and love in my life I already had a pretty strong inkling).

I love you, Little Mister. Thankyou for choosing me as your mummy.

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But he’s never gonna remember it!

Pic: My own Christmas tree. Which I decorated. Whoa.

So December 25th will be a special day. It’s all about the baby. And I’m not just talking about baby jeebus (although clearly He is the reason we all celebrate a day where we can eat until we’re in food comas and bitch about the crappy gifts we receive…”You don’t even know me at ALL!” even though none of that has anything to do with the original meaning of Christmas).

This will be the Little Mister’s first Christmas. Which is all very exciting. A new child in the family means new traditions. I’ve purchased the little guy a very generously sized Santa sack from Target and now I realise that each year this sack will have to be filled to the brim with thoughtful gifts until some evil, precocious kid with too many older siblings tells him that Santa is just your mum and dad sneaking around in the middle of the night (which of course is a lie – Santa’s totally real). Which, if anything like my childhood experience will raise questions about the tooth fairy and the easter bunny. That was one tough day.

I am determined to make this Christmas a special one. It will be the Christmas that will set down the traditions and family memories for perhaps the rest of my hubby’s and my lives. NO PRESSURE. I say this with tongue planted firmly in cheek, but the basis of it all rings true. Also, I am a little bit of a nutter…

This year I decorated the Christmas tree at the beginning of December. Not halfway through the month with unenthusiasm. I did this all while recovering from a C-section and tending to a 3 week old baby. Now if that doesn’t impress your socks off, then I don’t know what will. I even saved the special ornaments that were given to us for Little Mister, so that my Husband Man could be there with us when I put them on the tree. I am totally parenting that sh*t up! OK, that last sentence should have my parenting license revoked. Apologies.

The Little Mister will be 7 weeks old on Christmas day, so basically he won’t remember a thing. Which won’t stop me from wrapping his presents in festive paper (even though he can’t even unwrap them). I thought about not doing anything of the sort or just buying a big box of nappies for him (that sh*t’s expensive – literally) and chucking a bow on top, but then the crazy new mummy part of me decided that I have to buy him something! Even if there’s hardly anything good for a newborn on the shop shelves – turns out the fun doesn’t truly start until you’re three months old. Might have to get the kid a fake ID so he can play with all the good stuff.

And you know how albums of Christmas songs and carols can be frickin’ annoying? There’s the Mariahs and the Biebers and the Gleeks. There are the terrible kids’ albums full of cheesy keyboard music with creepy vocalists. Each year of my adulthood, these types of tunes have wafted through busy, bogan filled shopping centres driving me batty and making me a little Grinchy. But this year…this year is different. This year I have decided that the Little Mister needs to be exposed to all the Christmas songs I listened to when I was little. Sure, I’ve managed to find some bearable versions on iTunes but I have basically become my parents. Playing the songs while dancing like a dork in front of the Christmas tree. Singing them off key to my poor innocent babe who did nothing to deserve such punishment. Maybe it is a good thing he won’t remember this time…although I’m hoping that he too will want a hippopotamus for Christmas.
I’ve bought my little man a particularly embarrassing outfit for Christmas day. I got it for $9 and he’ll only get to wear it once, before it’s no good to him and will be placed in the bottom of a crate somewhere until it can be bestowed upon an unfortunate second child. It’s a jumpsuit made to look like a Santa outfit. It comes with a hat and everything. He’ll probably dribble milk all over it by lunchtime and poop through it by late afternoon. Fun times! I am going to take so many photos, that he’ll have to skip the country by the time he’s 21 because those pictures will be going on a big, embarrassing photo collage of his life at his 21st birthday party. Along with some obligatory naked bath photos – why does everyone have those? You know the ones. Usually it’s you and your very best childhood friend sharing the tub, while one of your mums washes your mullets/bowl cuts. Or you and your sibling squished together in a makeshift tub (more of a bucket) on that camping trip in the 80s. Don’t pretend there isn’t one of you out there.
And to think that I hoped to be a “cool” parent some day…
On Christmas day, my firstborn will be showered in gifts, fussed over and talked to as if he actually has the faintest idea of what’s actually going on. Which he doesn’t. He’ll probably wonder what all the fuss is about, before crying his little head off because his nappy is dirty! Which incidentally, smells suspiciously like ham that has been left out in the sun. Nothing says Christmas like a baby that smells like bad ham! :P
Let’s face it. A baby’s first Christmas is really all for the adults. It’s just one big excuse for us to play with toys we’re too old for, to believe in Santa, to relive beloved family traditions (while creating some new ones) and to be a bit silly! I can’t wait! :)
How are you spending Christmas day? Do you have any traditions you love?
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I can’t sing (not for lack of trying) but I have a damn good life.

OK, so there’s this kid from Korea who made worldwide headlines when he auditioned on Korea’s Got Talent (I didn’t even know they had a Korean version until this incident). It’s one of those feel good stories where a young man who was orphaned at three years old, living on the streets by himself after being beaten and abused in an orphanage, discovered his passion for singing and somehow wound up on a televised talent show (making all the judges and the audience cry their eyes out).

Check the video out below (I know you’re a busy person and all but it’s totally worth it):

So now that you’ve wiped your eyes and snotted into your Kleenex (or is that just me?), I’ll tell you why that video struck such a chord with me…

I am an adoptee from Korea. I was a lucky one. Despite being given up at birth (by all accounts my biological mother committed the socially unacceptable sin of falling pregnant outside of wedlock), spending a brief time in an orphanage and being placed with a big, jolly looking foster mother (who fed me all sorts of naughty treats until I looked like the Michelin Man), I was one of the lucky ones.

At five months old, I arrived in Australia to be placed in the arms of the Best Parents Ever. I have lived a fantastic life, with a roof over my head, three meals a day (well – except for the times I couldn’t be convinced to eat breakfast) and all the love, support and resources a child could ever want or need. I have plenty of friends, social networks and a great education behind me. I am healthy and I am happy. The world is now my oyster because of events that unfolded roughly 27 years ago. Well, I can’t sing very well, but I make up for lack of talent with unbridled enthusiasm (usually in the car).

This video reminded me that not all orphans (or abandoned children) from Korea or other places around the world are so lucky. I realised as I wiped a tear from my eye, that with a terrible stroke of bad fortune, that boy could have just as easily been me, my brother or any of my adopted friends. How blessed I am.

There are some people (even within the government) who believe that taking a child out of their country/culture of origin is harmful and damaging. I say only if it’s done wrong. Would I trade everything I have to live the life of that Korean boy? Quite bluntly, hell no! Would he have traded his life on the streets or in an orphanage for unconditional love and a family of his own in another country? I don’t want to speak for him, but I think I can guess what his answer might have been…

It’s not always easy. Sometimes you feel too white for the Asian communities, but everyone thinks you’re too Asian to be a “proper” Aussie (whatever the hell that is). There are issues to contend with such as racism, constant misconceptions about your “culture” based on your appearance, and awful stereotypes to contend with. There are feelings of abandonment (by your biological parents), constant intrusive questions from strangers and the feeling that you’re somewhat of a sideshow attraction when you just want to blend in.

However, we all face issues like this (adopted or not) in life and with the right love and support, we can overcome them and see just how strong we are. All of that is nothing compared to living on the streets with no-one there to love you every single day.

Of course, I had to share the video with my mum. Predictably, she cried. She then sent me a mushy email back. And then I cried again – happy tears of course :)

As I face impending motherhood, I feel so blessed to be able to bring a baby into the world who I can provide with love, support and a safe home. My biological mother couldn’t do that for me, but I can change the destiny of my biological family tree and if I hadn’t been adopted, I may not have had the same opportunities in life allowing me to do this. I can’t wait to look into the eyes of a little version of me and my husband. This child will be my first biological relative – the first one who will be in my life for me to love and grow with every day. No matter what happens, I will never ever abandon him/her.

And the fact that I will have all of my beloved Chosen (and very “REAL”) Family with me to share in this experience is even more special.

Now excuse me while I go and bawl a little.

xo