I have 6 of them, these juvenile terrorists who have taken over my home. They are the reason I don't sleep at night, stay up worrying about their future and wonder if we do them right. 6 of them, 6 minds to help develop, 6 hearts to help grow, 6 bodies to help nourish.
A big ask for I was never the maternal type, raised by even less of a maternal type.
I look at my eldest son, I'm proud beyond what I could imagine, I look at my second son. He makes mistakes, but in the grand scheme they will be considered unimportant, and I adore the kid, I really do, he keeps me awake with worry, but I'm sure he good heart will see him through. My third son is a joy, and an amazement, I'm sure ASIO will break the door down in a few years as his computer skills are brilliant, but he is an adventurer, and his cheeky nature better not get too out of hand. the princess, a joy we never thought possible a girl in the mix of all these boys. She is a bossy ballerina, and I am constantly amazed by her, her carefree spirit Im jealous of. The last boy in the mix, the cheeky little crazy guy who has a laugh that brings the house down, he is adorable, and knows it. Then we have junior princess, wriggling in the baby carrier as I speak doesn't take much to gain everyone's attention, she is adorable and I wonder where her life will take her, how we can aid in whatever she chooses to pursue, she is a stunner and she will soon know it.
These are my children, grown from me and my husband who after many years of slapstick comedy, we are still fighting strong where others have fallen, I love them and I'd never have it any other way