The Pessimist and The Optimist

My 'Silver-lining Sight' is Retarded...

I often wonder if it is draining for a pessimist to be around an optimist; are they constantly feeling like they have to drag the other against their will to see the pessimistic point of view? Does the pessimist become emotionally exhausted from exposure to the endless, hopeful positivity of the optimist? Or is it just the other way around?

My darling, wonderful, amazing husband is a hopeless pessimist, always seeming to see the worst in most situations, without realising he is doing just that. It's like it is in his genes, through to his core, his ability (disability?) to find flaws in everything without even realising he is doing so. Maybe not flaws, that's not the right term.....what's the opposite of seeing the silver lining? He sees the looming, blackness of the cloud itself, and often can't see how things will ever get better. But he doesn't become depressed, just pessimistic.

Me? I'm a sunshine and lollipops kind of girl. As much as it may have been bred into Greg to expect the worst and natural sway towards feeling disappointed in situations, my parents groomed us to always expect the best, to see the light at the end of the tunnel and be appreciative of all opportunities. And at times I have found the difference between the two of us quite trying. It can be exhausting living with a pessimist who always seems to be 'ho-hum' about the world when all you see is blessings and miracles. But I remind myself that we compliment each other and that together we have faced and survived many different situations, despite our differing outlooks.

When we became pregnant with Ava, people took great joy in telling us we were screwed! That we couldn't be lucky enough to have two 'easy' babies in a row, that we'd be in for a really rough time, due to how easily we adjusted to parenting with Lucy. Of course, Greg was well and truly on board with that perspective, but I raged against the machine. I chose to believe that if our first born child was placid, well behaved and a general positive experience for all, our second child could be too. I chose not to be afraid, not to be pessimistic and I chose to expect the best case scenario.

My mum is all about positive thinking, and putting out to the universe what you expect to receive, and even though I give her grief about her mumbo jumbo (I believe her theories are somewhat flawed), I find myself focusing on what I want in life, rather than focusing on what I don't want. Now, don't judge me, but I heard Oprah once say: "worrying is like praying for what you DON'T want to happen"..... Makes sense to me.

When I approached Ava's birth with a positive attitude and experienced a not so positive outcome, my sunshine and lollipops perspective took a swift kick to the balls. I was left feeling very guilty and awful about the lack of hormonal response I had towards my beautiful daughter, see my blog for a long-winded explanation: http://waitingforthebellylaugh.blogspot.com.au/2013/12/this-scene-is-one-of-horror-movies.html

Due to work circumstances, Greg had to return to work (part time) when Ava was only 8 days old, and on the 10th day, I had both the girls home with me first the first time without him (Lucy had been in daycare previously). When he arrived home that night, he received a call from someone asking him if he could please work with them the following day, and it was all I needed to tip me over the edge. The thought of having the girls on my own for the second day, when he had previously planned to be at home, sent me first into a rage, quickly followed by a torrent of tears.

I was crying because I felt scared of having to look after the girls on my own again. Worried that Lucy would need something that I couldn't give her if I was looking after Ava. Worried that Ava would cry all day long and I'd have to ignore Lucy for most of the day, abandoning her to the 'TV babysitter'. Worried that I wouldn't be able to catch up on any sleep at all. And I was then crying because I felt like I should be able to do all of these things and feel okay. I was crying because I didn't want to do the next YEAR of maternity leave with this anxiety, yet I couldn't see how it was going to become any easier. And then I was crying because I wasn't coping, and I haven't ever been good at asking for help. I was embarrassed that this was so hard for me. That I was not taking to two children as easily as I took to adjusting to one. And THEN I was crying because I couldn't stop crying and that was scary! 

I continued crying for 24 hours. It was a proper melt down that scared both myself and Greg, and probably alarmed Lucy somewhat too. I remember crying at dinner the following night (that's right, I was STILL crying the following evening), trying to verbalise (not very well) to Greg how I was feeling, and trying unsuccessfully to pull myself together for the hundredth time. It was one of the darkest days of my parenting life.

I wasn't the only one crying. All I wanted to do was bond with Ava, and the harder I tried to self-create that bond I felt was missing, the harder it became to reach her. Ava cried and cried. All the time. She slept, but only on me, and she cried. And I found it harder and harder to feel like I was meeting all of her needs. I wondered if she knew I didn't have that overwhelming glow as her mother, and rather was walking around a frazzled zombie, always anxious that she would wake and start crying again....and I wouldn't be able to soothe her.

The day after my 24hr meltdown, we met with Rachel Gately, the amazing photographer I had per-booked to capture Ava's tiny newborn-ness. Less that 12 hours after my hysterical crying spell ended, I was required to play serene mother for a (lovely) stranger and smile for the photos I wanted so badly. I was feeling extremely anxious that I wouldn't be able to get Ava to sleep for the session. And I felt like a fraud, trying to hold it together in fear of losing my shit again and not being able to stop.

As Rachel tried to get some pictures with Greg and Ava together, Ava began to cry so he handed her to me. She calmed. I handed her back, Rachel snapped a few more quick ones before Ava cracked it again, and again Greg gave her to me and she calmed. And Rachel then said something to me which helped me shed some of the baggage I had been weighing myself down with since Ava's birth. She said "you have a beautiful bond with your daughter, look how much she already takes comfort from you, that's so special!"

And again, for the second time in two weeks, time stood still and I looked around with fresh eyes. The eyes of someone who saw, for the first time, saw the situation as it actually was. This was not a baby who was feeling unloved by a mother who wasn't 'glowing'. Instead, this was a newborn baby who was learning to live in a world very different to the one they were used to, and her mother was utterly exhausted from trying to be a superwoman when all she needed to be was herself. Not to mention, the physical fatigue after an intense delivery and two weeks of averaging three hours of sleep a night.

Having someone who knew nothing of my struggles point out the beauty of my relationship that I had been too distracted to see, was all it took to settle me that day. I realised that Ava relied on me no different than Lucy had. Ava trusted me as her mum and didn't know, nor care or my insecurities. She simply loved me and wasn't at all affected by any of the crap I was going through.

It was that day that I realised my normal silver-lining sight had up and left the house. My normal ability to see past the current hardship seemed to have been disabled. That whole saying about everything looking better in the morning doesn't apply when you are not sleeping.....for there is no morning if you haven't slept. Things were at a scary low for me, and I couldn't see how them becoming any easier any time soon.

People would say to me, 'she's a newborn, it will get better with time' and 'you will get used to juggling the needs of two kids, soon it will be easier' and I disregarded their rubbish advice with a grain of salt. All I could see was me crying everyday for the rest of my life, Ava crying endlessly and poor Lucy being neglected all day long as I walked kms around our house trying to get Ava to settle. Woe is me, or in more realistic language, this is shit and I am scared. I had become the pessimist.

And magically, without me to be all sunshine and lollipops, Greg took on responsibility for seeing the positive side of life. He started making comments like 'sweetie, you're being too hard on yourself, you are doing a great job and it will get better' and 'you go and have a sleep, I'll get you up when Ava needs you, she'll be fine with me'. My favourite pessimist had become an 'everything will be okay' person, as I swung heavily into groundhog days and endless tears.

Life's circumstances can make or break you. Most of us learn lessons that we can use for the rest of our lives. The first two weeks of Ava's life taught me several things about myself:

• I expect too much from myself during difficult times
• I don't like it when I feel like I am not achieving what I should
• I need to sleep whenever I can, because I become very pessimistic without it. 
• I need to give myself a break, I'm often doing better than I realise. 

And I learned one very special thing about Greg during this time....he was everything I needed him to be when I felt like i was drowning. Without meaning to, he adjusted his own deeply ingrained pessimism and became the hopeful one, seeing better days ahead had and reminding me of the reality of our situation. He praised me and thanked me and prioritised my well-being over his own, despite his own exhaustion. He was amazing, and just what I needed to get me through. And I will never be able to explain to him how dark my days were and how important his role was in pulling me through it all. He was my best friend in all of this, my rock and my strength. He believed in me and my mothering abilities and told me so. I love him even more for how he was during this time.

This photo is of Ava and I having a cuddle after the photo shoot that day, both feeling a brief sense of calm before the next emotional hurricane arrived. But that's a story for another day....

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Good!

P.S Rachel, if you read this, I want to thank you for your words that flooded relief into my soul. I bet you didn't even know. xo

P.P.S If you want to check out the amazing work Rachel does, the blog pics of Ava and Lucy can be found at http://rachelgatelyphotography.com.au/?p=9059

"This Scene Is One of Horror Movies!"

I'm Actually Looking Forward To Birth....!

During my first pregnancy, I was scared. So very scared of what was to come - somehow the baby had to get out. And the thought of a c-section terrified me more than the fear of birth itself, crazy I know. I remember my mum gave me some words of advice that I clung to with dear life: 'Lauren, you come from a long line of women who have birthed without complications. Your great grandmother did it fine. Your nana did just fine. I did just fine. You have good birthing genes, it's in your blood...and your hips.' Now I don't know how medically sound her advice was, but I didn't care, because I believed from that point on that I would be fine; that my body was destined to fulfill it's role in life by birthing this miraculous little being and I would come out the other side just fine as did my foremothers (is that even a word?).

And through some miracle in itself, I did survive the process of delivering Lucy. I was actually one of those women who LOVED it. I was GLOWING and totally blissed out from the moment she arrived. I cared not as the midwives checked out my nether regions for damage. I cared not that Lucy poo'd on my tummy as I held her for the first time. All I cared about that our child was here, safe and sound and she just the most beautiful thing I had ever seen! I even wrote a blog about it - and how I would never swap my role in giving birth with anyone.

I have never felt such achievement than when I gave birth to Lucy, not ever in my life. I was in awe of my own ability to focus, to stay in control and calm, to get in the zone and believe in myself. I was in awe of my own body and what it did without my conscious decisions, how it really took the lead and I was just along for the ride. So it was no surprise to me that when I fell pregnant with our second child, I was very much looking forward to the birth, to the wonder and pure joy I experienced the first time. Sicko, I know.

Yet, it seems I did not account for the fact that labour might not go the way I expected it to. I expected that I would labour at home until I needed to go to hospital, at which point I would then labour in the bath until it was time to push, and then I would choose if I wanted a water birth or not.

I didn't expect that my contractions would start and stop so many times. I didn't expect that getting into the bath at the hospital would draw a halt to the whole proceedings, which is most depressing to a woman who is five days overdue. I definitely didn't expect that Lucy would come down with a fever the night before as I was in early labour and I would have to leave her for who knows how long while she wasn't feeling well. It was my very first moment of having to let go a little and prioritise my new baby over her, and it was much, much harder than I realised it would be.

If there was one word I could use to describe my second labour, it would be active. Or maybe excruciating. No, let's go with active. I had to move, i couldnt sit still. Greg was ever encouraging, making sure I didn't sit down for longer than five minutes a row (didn't I love him for that), and bravely suggesting we 'jog it out' every time I trudged up the two flights of stairs. In the beginning it made me giggle, him jogging next to me on the spot trying to get me moving, but eventually I remember staring him down and suggesting ever so politely (between clenched teeth) that if he mention jogging once more I just might crack it. It was active, because I had to physically move in order for my contractions to progress. Which I both wanted and didn't want to occur. On the one hand I wanted to meet my baby and have it all over and done with, yet on the other hand I really just wanted it all to stop, wishing that I could just forget it all and go home like nothing happened.

I no longer felt like a warrior princess. Instead I resented the process of having to deal with such excruciating pain in order to have children, couldn't Greg take one for the team this time? I tried my best to put my game face back on as we hurtled fast towards the business end, reminding myself that the end wasn't far away. That a little (a TRUCKLOAD of) pain now to progress the labour was worth it, as it would mean a quicker labour overall. Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize.

But as my body leant towards wanting to push, and midwife cautioned me against doing so as I wasn't quite ready, I wondered how much more I could take. How much longer I would have to resist the most powerful force my body has ever experienced. How much longer I would have to prolong this labour that I was no longer excited about. And then my body took over. I no longer could withhold the urge to push, and so I began the most active part of any labour.....getting that watermelon the hell OUT! And in four gigantic pushes, our little girl made her entry into the world.

She was taken immediately to the trolley to ensure she was okay, and I lay on the bed thinking one thing and one thing only. Thank FUCK that was over! (Please excuse my language, but I distinctly remember thinking those exact words!) I was done. I had done what I came to do, I was spent well and truly, and my down-below hurt to all buggery! My legs trembled aggressively, and I felt extremely shaky all over, apparently from the adrenaline. Personally, I felt like I was in shock.

And all of a sudden, it felt like my waters broke a second time. There was blood EVERYWHERE! It is not an exaggeration to say it was running off the opposite side of the queen bed I was lying on. My midwifes clothes were messed. Greg took several steps back from the bed to get out of the way. After the bleeding stopped, my midwife told us that she hadn't attended this bloody a birth in a long time. That it was the stuff of movies!

And then they tried to give me my baby. And all I wanted to do was sit up a little, but it hurt so bad. I asked Greg to just please give me a second before I could take her............and that was the moment where everything stood still. Time froze for a second as I realised with great trepidation that I wasn't feeling joy, pride, awe, or wonder at anything that had just occurred. My second born child was being offered to me for my first cuddle and I didn't feel joy, I didn't feel the need to see her, to hold her.

All I felt was a sense of stark clarity. My blood was everywhere. My legs were shaking beyond control. My girly parts felt so very sore that I thought I wouldn't be able to sit for a week. And I didn't want to hold my baby right away. I just wanted a second to get over the traumatic events that my body had just experienced. God, give me a bloody second!

From that moment on, I knew it was going to be different. From that very moment on, I knew that I wasn't going to have that influx of overwhelming emotion to carry me through. That I wasn't going to feel awe or wonder this time, instead simply a sense of the harsh reality of life, of what women are put through in order to expand their families. Of the worst pain I have ever experienced.

Within the first minute of Ava's life, I experienced feelings of not being as good a mother to her as I was to Lucy. Within the first minute of Ava's life I worried that I might not love her as much as Lucy. Within the first SIXTY SECONDS of Ava's life, I was already beating myself up for not feeling joyous, not feeling wonder, not wanting to hold her immediately. I felt like a bystander, watching myself and my reaction to this situation like a foreigner watching a scene they don't belong in. This wasn't me. I loved my birth experience, didn't I? Nope, not this time.

As I did finally hold her a few minutes after her arrival, our little girl without a name at that stage, I looked down and knew that I did love her. I didn't feel a beautiful rush, but I knew without a doubt that I loved her. Again, I felt a sense of reality more than anything, and the fact was that she belonged to me, she was my daughter and I loved her. I fed her immediately and used that time to try and regroup myself, my emotions (or lack of), and we tried to figure out a name for her. Our second princess. A sister for Lucy. Our tiny Ava Isabel.

I have become teary and emotional writing this one tonight, because although the day Ava arrived is almost 4 months ago, I still remember these feelings with clarity. It is terrifying not feeling the way you expect to about your baby. Not knowing when these feelings will end. Not feeling what you think you should be feeling about your baby.

The bliss never arrived. The trepidation stayed and grew into raging guilt and anxiety. The hormonal rush I wanted so desperately never came. Instead, I was left feeling inadequate.

And Tiny One, if you ever read this I want you to know the following:

• Your mother loves you very much, always has and always will. 
• The lack of hormones released after your birth has nothing to do with how much your mummy loved/loves you, and all to do with a automatic, physiological reaction to birth that cannot be controlled, enhanced or explained. 
• Forever your mother will remember every contraction, every feeling, every step your daddy made me walk up during labour for you to arrive. It will always stay with me how much I went through so you could have a safe arrival into this world. And no matter the pain, I would do it all again for you. And I will always fight that much for you with just as much gritted determination. 

And I know I'm not alone. As hard as it is to talk about it, it is better to reach out. For those of you out there who have struggled too, it does get easier. You aren't to blame, as hard as that may be to remember. 

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Gloomy (at times).

Managing Your Expectations

Who Knows What Tomorrow Will Bring.......

When I was younger, I would look forward to Christmas with eager anticipation....mostly for the PRESENTS! I loved the mystery of not knowing what might be under the tree. I'm not sure to this day if it was Mum's deliberate intention to keeps us on our toes each year, but very rarely did we actually get what we 'ordered' in our Christmas letter to Santa, no matter how good we had been. But that was because often Mum had something even better up her sleeve. I remember many a Christmas Eve of sneaking a good long, lingering look at the Christmas tree during my walk from my bedroom to the toilet and back once everyone was asleep. I loved the unknown!

Sadly, it seems to be expected that as you grow up, your excitement for Christmas should dwindle out and that eventually you will say very grown up statements like: 'no, don't bother getting me anything this year, I don't need anything', or worse: 'let's just buy for the kids this year'. Because as an adult, we seem to lose that love for the unknown, and instead we like to plan our lives down to what presents we will be receiving from which family member, or not at all. 

It's the same for most facets of life. We try our best to plan ahead, to prepare both physically and emotionally for what is to come. There are very few who actually enjoy living week to week without a care in the world, the rest of us rely on stability, predictability, and routine.

In the same way that we expect, at the most basic level, to wake up each morning. That we expect, naturally, that our loves ones will all wake up each morning. That we expect, naturally, to be able to look forward to milestones we will experience in the future without hesitation.

There were tears when I put my girls to bed tonight. Not the loud tantrum tears of my adorable Lucy, who at the age of two, knows all the tricks to get mum and dad to come back to her room several times before settling off to sleep. Not even the protesting cries of my tiny precious Ava, who at three months is figuring out that when she is zipped into her sleeping bag, she is expected to sleep. No, the tears were the silent and soft, very grown up tears, and they belonged to me.

Because today I have been reminded to expect the unexpected. I have been reminded that I cannot rely on us all just waking up everyday like it is a personal right.

This morning, i woke up to the news that a mother from my August mothers group experienced the unexpected in the early hours of today. Her son, who would have been 3 months in a few days, failed to wake up. Her precious second-born child, her innocent little baby boy, her darling little man. He didn't wake up. She expected he would, naturally. When she put him to sleep last night, or perhaps after a feed early this morning, she of course expected he would wake again. And when she woke, and he didn't....well, I can't imagine.

All day, I have been amazed at the support, love and outpouring of grief felt by all who hear of this story. It is shocking, so sudden. So many have been moved to help in any way they can, and support has been offered at all levels to those who wish to share their grief with others. We are all in it together, supporting this family with everything we can. Because we are saddened for them. And it is terrifying. Terrifying because it is so close to home. Terrifying because it could have been any of us. Terrifying because we hadn't expected it.

The fact that your child may not make it through the night doesn't occur to most people, naturally. Why would it? We are planners. Expecting that the days will play out as we have planned, that in the morning we will all rise to meet another day. But what is the alternative? We can't go to sleep every night wondering if tonight the darkness would fall on our home. Thinking that each night might be the last. Constantly looking over our shoulder waiting for death to arrive.

No, we can't. But we can acknowledge that each day is a blessing we didn't necessarily earn or deserve. We can thank our lucky stars (or God, the universe, or whatever it is you believe in) that we have loved ones to cling to, and that we wake to live another day. And we can plan for the worst by remembering what is its important in our lives.

When I put my girls to sleep tonight, as I cried into their sweet heads of hair (Mummy! You're making sweaty!), all I could do was have hope that they will both live long, healthy lives. Because focusing on the alternative would do my head in. 

Spend a moment tonight thinking of all you have to be grateful for. And cherish your loved ones. 

And as for the unknown, it terrifies me these days. I want to know exactly what is in store for us all and adjust my expectations accordingly. So honey, I'd love a coffee machine for Christmas please. 

"You've Been Having Sex!"

It has never, ever occurred to me that being pregnant would publicly confirm my bedroom (lounge room/kitchen/dining/bathroom/your lounge room!) activities....

I remember the first time I put two and two together. I was in year three at school and a friend's mum was expecting a baby. I'm not sure if I was particularly curious, or it was simply the fact that my parents never shied away from the mere scientific facts of life, but I was aware of how babies were made. My mum had read me 'Where Do I Come From" so I knew all about babies being made by daddy putting his penis near the mummy's vagina, and then something about little swimming fish and a big egg (that wasn't the same kind of eggs that we ate for breakfast). I had it covered.

But it wasn't just the facts of life that I understood. The penny dropped one day when I realised that Danielle's dad had actually put his penis near her lovely mums vagina and somehow the swimmers had attacked the egg and magically she had a massive tummy. And subsequently, a baby sister! I can't tell you it was welcomed or enjoyable news to me. I was truly disgusted. And as I thought about it a little harder, I also came to the realisation that my own parents had actually undertaken the same process. THREE TIMES!

Of course, I had no idea (nor should I at that age) that mummies and daddies may have actually enjoyed the process of making babies - that it was arguable the most enjoyable thing you could physically do. Nope, I was simply grossed out.

As I grew up and came to accept the reality of life and discovered all new things baby making process, I also accepted that it was a normal thing to partake it when in a relationship. That you would want to do 'it'.

I've blogged before about the assumed mystery of sex and how some people think that their sex is a secret. I've always worked on the assumption that people are generally active in their private spaces unless I'm told otherwise. No big deal, right? I suppose in the same right, I've always assumed that people would consider the same for me. I've been married for 8 years this October, and have been with Greg for 10. Shock horror and surprise surprise.....we have sex!

So I'm just not sure why it took me by surprise the other day when a previous colleague came past my desk, realised I am pregnant and announced very loudly to my open-planned office: "Hahaha, I know what you've been up to, you naughty thing!" Nudge nudge, wink wink. Oh. My. God.

It takes a bit to embarrass me - doesn't happen often at all. But when it does, it will be a thorough job, with every part of me from my hair to my nipples turning a bright beetroot red! It is similar to the exercise glow I love so dearly (not), but a deeper and much more severe colour. It alarms others. It embarrasses me further, at which stage I turn from beetroot red to a deep purple you'd think almost impossible for human skin to be.

And this guy at work announcing to the office that I was sexually active with my husband got me. It got me good. All I could do was laugh along with him, and try my best not to pass out from the blood rushing to my face like a freight train.

I consider Greg and I to have a healthy relationship. We argue, we get along, we communicate (most of the time), we have fun, we get the shits with each others, we love each other, and we have sex. I've never hidden any of that from anyone......and I don't actually find it necessary to do so. I'm not at all ashamed or embarrassed that my parents (and my Nana - Hi Nana!) read this blog.  My parents are smart people who are intelligent enough to know that their children have sex, and probably even want us to have a healthy relationship which includes all of the above as well. And I will want the same one day from my children too. I don't want my children to ever feel shame for enjoying all a relationship has to offer, including the physical aspect. It's what was intended for us all to discover when the time is right, after all!

But while I'm not ashamed of our sex life, I also don't feel the need to announce it to 10 of my work colleagues. Let them make their own assumptions, if their mind takes them on that path. I can't say it's the first thing I think of when I see a pregnant woman. Maybe I will now. Maybe you all will now!

After my work buddy screamed confirmation of my sex life to the world and my face lit up like a navigation beacon, I realised that it isn't that simply anymore. I realised that the reason it has never occurred to me that being pregnant might automatically equal 'sexy-time' is that sometimes pregnancy can be a result of awful things, like manipulation, violence, rape. And sometimes it can be a scientific miracle found in IVF. Sometimes, more commonly than we might even know, it may be a result of years of tears, trying and trying, and finally succeeding. And it may have become all about the business of trying, not the fun and spur of the moment love making session that we would all have preferred it to be.

For the simplest of all things in life, supposedly the most natural thing to occur ever, I am often left pondering the old story of what's fair and what's not. Because for something that should be a simply task, an accidental 'whoops' in many cases, may seem impossible for others. I'm reminded that the human body isn't as perfect as we first thought. It doesn't behave how it should every time.

Apparently, having children (as many as you want and at the time that you want) isn't a given in life. Its a journey that alludes some, and seems freely given to those who don't want/deserve it. I'm left pondering the lack of 'fair' in the world again, the injustice that is unexplainable.

I write this as my second blessing shoves his/her foot under my right ribs and gives me a regular reminder of the fact that he/she will be in our arms in less than 3 months. And as always, I am reminded daily to be grateful.

But I also write to you as my heart breaks for several people close to me who have been to hell and back in their efforts to have children (first child or additions to their family). I'm not naive, I know I can't understand their road. That I sit in the very position they would kill to be in. I get that.

But I hope they can see that my eyes are open to their pain, and that although I am the lucky one, I hate the injustice just as much as they do. I want for them the same as what they want. It is, of course, easier to be the one in my position. But I am not blind to you. I see and hear you, and I feel some of your pain. I cry my own tears for each and every time it doesn't work out. I don't cry in sympathy, I cry in true grief. I rage against the unfairness of life. It doesn't escape me, even in my position.

And when all seems lost, all I can can offer is hope. Because at the end of the day, I can't offer you relief or understanding of how it feels to be you. I can't offer you the answers you need or the magic to happen. All I can offer is a hope that one day it will work. That one day, despite the odds and the past, it will work.

And if you can't believe anymore and hope itself alludes you, I will secretly hope for you. Because, that is all I can do.

Ciao for now,
LG - Life's Good!