Looking back, at looking forward

Hearing the unmistakable sound of the unraveling tape as my Husband packed up the last box of tableware, i straightened by back and turned to gaze at him. Placing my hands on my ever-expanding hips and adjusting my posture, I keep looking. He doesn’t know I am watching him yet. The way he takes his strong hands and wraps them around the bottom of the box, or the way that his eyes dart about the room, looking for any missed items. As he turns around to grab the keys off the table and yell ‘babe this is it!’, he notices my stare, and gives me his trademark cheeky grin. As we load the last of the boxes into the back of the sedan and lock the doors to the old Victorian house for the last time, my toes start to tingle. This is it. This is the change we have been waiting for. The car glides along the road for the 20km trip as we head west, to our new home, our empty street. 

The thing that appealed to me when we purchased our first home was how green the neighbourhood was. How quiet, and how empty it seemed. It was bliss. As we drive up the still-dirt driveway I shot Joff a playful look, he gazed back at me, biting his lips in what I only assume is the anticipation that I can feel slowly rising in the pit of my stomach. The key slides into the keyhole perfectly, and the door creaks slightly as we wedge it open. Slowly pacing from the front of the house to gaze out the clear back doors I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. We are finally here, in our new home, we have worked for years, and all the hard work has finally paid off. ‘Can you believe we own this place?’ Joff whispers in my ear as he wraps his arms around my stomach, only to be met with kicks by our growing daughter.

‘We are truly grown-ups now, no turning back’, I giggle in response, and turn around to kiss his bitten lips.

With a house of our own and a baby on the way; I can’t wait to see what our future holds.



For the longest time I have wanted to write.

For even longer I have let myself been held back the expectations of not others, as it would seem, but those I unfairly throw upon myself. I am not funny. My writing is not entertaining. Don’t write; who would want to read that?

No more. No more self-pity and no more self doubt. I am the bird. I do not claim to have all the answers, however I, like all do have my story to tell. I am incredibly lucky, incredibly blessed, more so than I ever thought I would be, with incredible people and opportunities in my life; I hope to share my story with both these friends and anyone else whom would take pleasure in reading.

Hopefully this will serve as a much-needed road to self-discovery. I am on a constant mission to better myself; I will do s through blogging, through sharing my experiences, having something to look back on t the end of the year and know that for all the times I was angry, smiling, laughing or crying, that I had a reason and I have learnt from that experience.

Who knows, maybe one day I will be brave enough to study journalism; not letting my fear of being a bad writer get in the way.