When time won’t stop.

When we had our first born I was so excited for him to reach the next stage or milestone of his life. Looking back now it felt like his first five years were actually fast but slow in comparison to our other children.  

He was four days old the first time I got to breastfeed him and with an oxygen hose hooked into my bra he not only took his first few sucks he gulped down milk for a good 20 mins and then fell asleep exhausted. I was thrilled. I though the whole breastfeeding thing was going to very hard and I felt so lucky that it was a pleasant experience for me.

Because he was premature I let him demand feed and by the time he was three months old he was averaging a weight gain of 500 grams per week for four weeks in a row. Although he was turning into a mini buddah I was losing weight rapidly and my specialists recommended I wean him off the breast as it had put my thyroid functions into a spiral.  I was devastated by this but believed it was best for both of us. At four months old I gave him his last breastfeed at 6.00am and we took a photo. He enjoyed it as much on the final time as he did on the first.

Nearly four years later and along came our only full term baby. I also demand fed her and she loved the breast even more than our firstborn. So much so, that when she had her four day weigh-in at the hospital she had not lost a single gram of weight. She was discharged from hospital at her exact birth weight. I am told this is quite rare. If you saw how she attached herself to the breast and guzzled the milk down you’d know why. She put on beautiful weight gains (even though I didn’t actually weigh her, I could tell by the clothing sizes that kept getting bigger).

This time I was determined to feed until twelve months of age so sought advice from my specialist in order to maintain a healthy weight for me and keep my thyroid levels stable. I had mastitis three times and persevered. One day when she was thirteen months old I sat in the rocking chair with her and she snuggled at my breast like she normally does. She took a couple of mouthfuls of milk and promptly pulled herself away from me and screwed up her little face. I wasn’t sure what the problem was so I tried to encourage her. She went back to the breast and had the exact same reaction. By the end of the day I was in tears when I realised she had weaned herself without any warning. My final baby, My final breastfeed.

Fast forward a few weeks and it was revealed I was pregnant with the twins. I am told that when you become pregnant, nature changes the taste of your milk so your feeding baby will wean in readiness for your -in-utero baby.

As you know our journey with our twins was very different to how we expected. I was excited to tandem feed our twins but never got that luxury. When Lucia was six weeks old and put to my breast for the first time I was so very apprehensive. I had done this many times before but this time my fragile little person looked so tiny in comparison to my massive breast.

Due to her tiny size and like many premature babies, the lactation consultant suggested we use a nipple shield to help her hold on to the breast and stay attached. They get tired so easily so every bit of help provided is for their benefit. I had never used a shield before and found it frustrating, not only trying to feed a tiny baby, hold her high enough up so she didn’t fall down my body whilst also trying to get her gastric tube to the side of her mouth so she could suck properly and watching her and the monitors to make sure she didn’t stop breathing. It was truly terrifying. I can’t tell you how many times we would start a feed and it would end up with her being whisked out of my arms and an oxygen mask put on her face and me standing on the side watching with tears streaming down my face.

She was a trooper though and kept trying. If she was too tired to suck she would nestle her little body on my breasts. It was my favourite time to spend with her. Somewhere along the line she voiced her oral aversion. This meant that with no prior warning she was telling us that she was fed up with anything and everything being stuck in her mouth. Her gastric tube was put in her nose instead of her mouth as she was now old enough for this to occur and she was rested from trying bottles or breasts. A speech pathologist was brought in to teach me and the nurses how to use positive reinforcement to try and encourage her to suck. I knew if she didn’t suck we couldn’t go home.

One morning after about a week of this even her oral stimulation was a disaster. I ended up a sobbing mess. I was lucky enough to have had the head of the Special Care nursery looking after us that day. She suggested we go slowly and make it all about what she wants. I knew she loved her bath and sitting in the rocking chair with me when I read her a story so that’s what we did.

For a week, I arrived early in the morning before the buzz of the hospital day started. I bathed her, I massaged her, I sat in the rocking chair in the dark and read to her. I always did this with my top off. One day she nuzzled my breast and started sucking. Even remembering that moment now I have butterflies in my stomach. She knew how to do it and did it beautifully. She sucked, she swallowed and she breathed all at the same time. What a miracle.

We gradually increased her feeds until she was on six full breastfeeds and it was time to go home.

I was even more determined to feed my tiny baby as long as she wanted it. We breastfed through five bouts of mastitis. One so serious I ended up hospitalised for a severe reaction to the antibiotics which actually started attacking my liver. We breastfed to keep the germs away, to keep her growing, to help get her strong, to keep a strong bond between us as we were separated so long in the beginnning, we breastfed through a six week camping trip, we breastfed through her first birthday, we breastfed through two hospital stays with bronchiolitis, we breastfed when she was happy, when she was sad and sometime just because we wanted to. We breastfed most nights to get her to sleep, she loved it, it was her comfort.

At seventeen and a half months old she woke at 6am, I sat in the rocking chair so she could feed.

She sat up and pushed me away and turned her head in the opposite direction.

I tried again.

She hit my chest and pushed me even harder away from her and tried to wriggle out of my lap.

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.

I knew my breastfeeding days were over.

I walked downstairs with her into the kitchen, poured her some cows milk, heated it up and put it in a bottle. I laid her down on the lounge and watched the smile spread across her face and the light in her eyes as she grabbed for her bottle.

I watched my baby girl gulp down every last drop of her milk and I cried.

I cried because I wasn’t ready, I cried because there had been no warning, I cried for how hard I fought to have this with her.

But then I smiled, I realised I had protected her, nurtured her, helped her grow big and strong and now she was telling me that she was a big girl and she wanted to do it on her own, with me by her side.

Today my mindset is completely different to how it was seven years ago when we had our son.

Today I want time to stop, I want my babies to stop getting big. Our youngest is on the verge of walking and I know once she takes that first step our world will change again, we will no longer have a baby, we will have a toddler, a little person who will constantly assert her independence in many ways, and then before we know it we’ll be getting her ready for school.  

She has made me understand and realise many things, especially that it doesn’t matter what I do to slow down the time, it will keep moving and they will all make sure we understand their need to change and grow before us.

Make sure you enjoy every moment xx


There’s nothing like Best Friends

Yesterday started with such excitement, a girls night out on the town with the bestest girls ever…..

A year ago my son started school, and like lots of parents before us, we had never done the school thing before. You hear so many stories about “Mummy Clicks’ and gossip, so you really don’t know what to expect.

I was lucky enough to meet three of the most beautiful, caring and nurturing women who have become some of my bestest friends. These women have held my hand and walked with me through some of my hardest days, they have picked up my son from school, they have made countless cups of tea, they have handed me tissues and wiped my tears away and they have made me smile and laugh till it hurts.

Because all our birthdays are very close the four of us decided to treat ourselves to a night out together.

We started with cocktails, then followed them up with more cocktails and a Tapas style dinner. We talked and laughed for hours and couldn’t believe it was midnight when we decided to go out dancing. Lets just say it was a night to remember!

With sore feet, tired bodies and a night full of memories, I climbed into bed in the early hours of Mothers Day hoping beyond hope that the children let me sleep in.

Thankfully a 9am start is more than appropriate after a late night.

I was spoilt with love and showered in gifts from my husband and beautiful children.

We spent the day with my dearest friend. She is a single Mummy to a beautiful little girl the same age as my son. We met each other when our first borns were six weeks old. From that moment on both our children and us have been inseparable.

She happens to be Godmother to both of my daughters. She has been with me and my family through the toughest night of our lives. The night we were told we were going to lose Charlize and I knew without a doubt that I wanted her with us.

She dropped everything and was at my side before I can even remember blinking, holding my hand, hugging me and holding Charlize in her own arms. Because she was there that night she understands more than most what we endured and how fragile every moment in life is.

So, why wouldn’t I want to spend the day with her. As always we planned to have brunch and then have a few hours together and go our separate ways and as always that never happens.

My darling hubby made us the most delicious brunch. Brunch turned into afternoon tea, a few games of scrabble, many cups of tea, cake, dinner and eventually supper. Our kids bathed together, ate together and finally went to bed together.

As I sit here on the lounge next to my dearest friend I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I am surround by strong, determined, amazing women who I’m lucky to have as friends and make beautiful memories with. Without you all life would be very dull!

Thank you for making life even more fun and exciting everyday. I love you all dearly xx


Just go to sleep!

image imageThere is nothing that I love more than walking upstairs into the kids bedrooms and seeing them blissfully sound asleep.

It makes me smile.

It makes me happy to know that they’re little brains are resting and filing away everything they’ve learnt into a safe place ready to bring it to the surface when they need it.

But then there is the most frustrating part of our evening, putting Little Miss Indiana into bed.

If you have had the opportunity to read the children’s book for adults called ‘Go the … To sleep’ you would be able to laugh with me. If you haven’t seen it, you tube the Noni Hazelhurst version it is hilarious.

Getting back to my delightful three year old. I truly do not how I ended up with the most defiant little girl, with unbelievable attitude, a temper that fires up with little warning, but who dazzles you with her warmth and sincerity. She is a Tauren just like her Mummy and Daddy but seriously this routine she pulls every night is ridiculous.

First we have a drink of milk, brush our teeth, read a story, say goodnight to our siblings, go to the toilet, put on a pull up, have a drink of water, go downstairs to get her snuggle, go to the toilet again, get into bed, ask Mummy to lie down with her, put Mummy in a headlock so she can’t leave, have another drink of water …..

……then Mummy tells her she loves her, give her a big kiss and cuddle and BANG – I am knocked in the head to push me back into the lying down position. I shouldn’t have dared try to get up.

After my concussion wears off I’m usually able to negotiate my way out of her bedroom back downstairs where all is quiet.

Daddy and I sit on the lounge counting the minutes, waiting for that sound, the one we will try to palm off to each other.

Ten minutes later it happens.

The sound of little feet that touch the floor out of bed and pad their way downstairs, then those words are spoken like every other night.

She is like clockwork.

“I did a poo”

We look at each other and smile then the conversation goes something like this,

“It’s your turn”

“No, I did it twice last night”

“No you didn’t that was me”

Eventually one of us goes upstairs, changes her, gives her water, gives her snuggle, lies down with her, gets knocked out, regains consciousness and wakes up next to a sleeping three year old.


We creep down stairs and hope with all our heart that they all stay asleep.

Can you hear that? Neither can I, the sound of silence, the sound of children breathing softly, sound asleep.

I LOVE it xx

My way or His Way?

I didn’t get a chance to write a post yesterday as it was my husbands birthday.

Last year he turned the big 4-0 and I had organised a surprise weekend extravaganza that he talked about for months afterwards.

This year, I woke him up at 6am to say I was going to work and the two girls needed their nappy changed, that our little man was watching television and wanted some toast and by the way “Happy Birthday, I’ll take you out for dinner tonight with the kids cause I will leave work early”.

Fast forward twelve hours and I was only just on the bus making my way home after a long day at the office. The kids had eaten dinner and my darling husband was ordering Thai takeaway for our dinner.

We sat on the lounge and ate our Thai and I asked him how his day was. He told me that he did washing, folding, fed and watered the children, oiled the new front deck, gave the kids dinner, put them to bed and was now sitting down with me for the first time.

I laughed. Actually I nearly choked on my dinner.

How times had changed. My lovely husband took redundancy after 22 years a few months ago and I went back to work earlier this year. We have had a complete role reversal.

A few weeks ago he told me he needed to tell me something, that he didn’t enjoy the stay-at-home-parent thing as much as I did. I told him that there were many times that I too didn’t enjoy it!

He told me how he remembers coming home from a long day at work a few times and the house was chaos, and although he never verbalised this (lucky for him), he thought, what has she done all day!! He now feels terrible for thinking that because he realises that some days it’s a challenge with three small children to even get out the front door.

He doesn’t dress the children in matching clothes like I would;

He doesn’t separate the loads of washing like I would;

He doesn’t feed the kids what I would;

He doesn’t play with the kids like I would;

He does many things….. but most, not like I would.

But, the kids belly’s are full, their clothes are clean, they are warm, they are happy and they are loved.

I realised pretty quickly there are so many things I could do my way but why? The result is the same, our family still works.

I love him even more today for all he has done for our family. For the past fifteen years he has been the main bread winner and worked hard and been very successful at what he does for a living. He has made sure that our home is secure and beautiful and our yard just as beautiful. He loves to build stuff and is great at it. He has been an amazing father to all our children. He is the bad cop when I am the good cop.

He has loved and supported me, us, our family through the most traumatic months of our lives, when we lost our baby girl. He helped me to stand up, he helped me to smile he helped me to survive grief. He helped me survive three months of going to the hospital so we could bring our baby girl home. He helped me be the person I am today, the people our children are growing into.

He is amazing and I love him and sometimes we just don’t say that enough.

Happy Birthday darling, we’ll have birthday cake on the weekend xxxMy true love


A Baby on the Horizon

My sister is about to have her first baby, and it struck me the other day that she looks a little frightened. She’s not frightened of having the baby, she’s frightened of the unknown like all first time mothers. Exactly like I was and probably my mother before us and our grandmother before her.

This got me thinking about how I felt before I had my first born.

Like my sister has done, I was booked in for an elective caesarean because I was fearful of a natural labour and it wasn’t something I really wanted to do. Thanks to a private obstetrician I knew the date my baby would be born from when I was only five weeks pregnant.

I also thought there was so much pressure to breastfeed and I was going to try it and if it didn’t work I wouldn’t bother. I was going to take twelve months off work, I was going to get the baby in a good routine as soon as I could, I was, I was, I was ………

……..and then I went into labour at 34.5 weeks. The day after I finished up at work. My Dr was on holidays, I was given a new Dr, I was given drugs, lots of drugs that made me sleep and I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. I was monitored. 1 cm, 2cms, more drugs, more sleep, more monitoring.

After a while I was moved from delivery into maternity where everything stopped and then my lunch came in. I was starving.

I got out of bed at exactly 35 weeks to get my lunch tray and the pain hit me like a truck, the contractions pounded one after another. I realised I was standing at the end of the bed rocking side to side like the 80’s style lady they show you in the birth class videos.

The nurse came in and got me into bed, 3cms, 4cms, more pain in waves. I was told to call my husband that it wouldn’t be too much longer now.

I didn’t want to do this naturally I was booked in for a Caesarean.

I called my husband “Honey, the baby’s coming, you need to come to the hospital” he replied with “But I’m at Bunnings and the baby has been coming for a week now”.

Half an hour later he arrived in the most hideous t-shirt he owned.

The pain kept coming but then in came the Dr to take me up to get the baby out.

I was scared, my baby was five weeks early, I wasn’t ready.

Then at 3.25pm on the 12th August, 2006 a very unhappy little man was raised out of my belly into the world. The Dr didn’t think he would weigh even 2kgs, but he showed them, 2.1kgs. He screamed his little lungs out, he was not happy. The frown on his face was so wrinkled. He was wrapped up and passed to me.

The world stopped.

I couldn’t hear anything but the love I felt for this amazing little boy was so overwhelming I started to cry. I told him I was his Mummy and I loved him very much and he stared into my face with the most intense gaze that I will never forget.

Our bond was instant.

I was head over heels in love.

He was wheeled into Special Care to be checked over and after an hour he needed breathing support. After 24 hours we were being briefed on the fact that he may not make it.

He had severe respiratory distress.

My world crumbled, I felt totally helpless, so I held his little hand and talked to him for hours on end. I read him the newspaper, I sang him songs and I pumped milk.

Four days after he was born he turned a corner and we had our first breastfeed. I couldn’t believe how magic it was that my body was feeding my beautiful little boy and he was loving it. More importantly I was loving it. It was amazing. I felt very blessed.

Ten days after he was born he came out of a humidicrib and off all breathing support.

At two weeks old we put our precious little man in our car and drove home.

He was ours and he was fine.

Even to this day I am still overwhelmed at how instinctively we become protective of our offspring, to nurture them, to love them and to protect them from everything, sickness, bullying, falling over, anything and everything.

All the things I was going to do changed the instant he was put in my arms. I wasn’t scared anymore because I knew that the love I had for this beautiful little person would guide me through whatever we were going to do together. He had never been here before and I’d never had a child before, so together we were clueless, together we would work it out and that we did.

He fed, he slept, he grew, and then one day he smiled and the love got even deeper.

Today I look at my dazzling six year old who covers me with the most beautiful kisses and cuddles, who plays with my hair when I’m not feeling well, who can read to me, sing with me, converse with me and I know I had nothing to be frightened of.

It doesn’t matter if he was born naturally or by caesarian.

It doesn’t matter if he was bottle fed or breastfed.

It doesn’t matter if he was in a routine or not.

None of it matters, because at the end of the day it’s the love for them that wins out everytime that keeps us Mum’s strong and determined and enables us to lay the foundations for their beautiful lives that we so amazingly get to watch and grow.

So, my dear sister, there is nothing to be frightened of, you are going to be an amazing mother and if you are frightened just remember you have an amazing sister who will help you through.

Lots of love and kisses to all the Mumma’s out there, the in-waiting Mumma’s, the bereaved Mumma’s, the tired Mumma’s …. you’re all amazing and if you’re ever frightened there is another amazing Mumma just around the corner waiting to help you xxxxxx

Rest in Peace GG

After 94 years (a month shy of 95) my husbands Grandma passed away this afternoon.

We all called her GG (Great-Grandma). GG had two daughters and when her youngest daughter was only nine years old her husband died suddenly. At a young age she became a widow in a world where most women stayed at home to take care of their family. GG got herself a mortgage, purchased a house, took in boarders, went to work as a signwriter and raised her girls lovingly.

I knew GG for fifteen years. The thing I remember most was the amazing caramel slice she would make. She was able to get the base just that little bit crunchy and the chocolate and caramel was perfect, it truly was an experience every time you ate some of GG’s caramel slice.

Both of GG’s daughters married and had four children each, giving her eight grandchildren whom she adored to the end. Those eight grandchildren gave her over 20 great-grandchildren.

She was a woman surrounded by love and she gave love so naturally. She gave the best advice. She was once talking about sex and relationships and told my husband “why buy the book, when you can borrow it from the library”. She was full of fun and good humour. She travelled the world, she was at the opening of the Harbour Bridge, she loved to paint, to do ceramics, she loved bowls, she loved bingo, she socialised often, she was independent, she was amazing.

Rather than being sad that GG has gone we are celebrating the life of an amazing woman. Without her strength and determination the family would not be what it is today.

You will be truly missed GG. Rest in peace xxxxxx


The Immunisation Debate

I thought a long time about this before writing it, so I thought I’d be clear from the outset. This is my opinion only based on my personal situation. I do not judge others for their choices but this is mine and why I have taken this path.

There is currently a lot of controversy about immunisations and the parents who have decided not to immunise their children.

When Orlando was born over six years ago I did a lot of my own ‘research’ about immunisations. Lets be honest I googled it! A lot!

At the time I had a friend who had an autistic child and flatly believed it was because of the MMR immunisation that this happened to her child. The dr that started that theory was officially struck from the medical profession many years ago.

I remember being told by our dr that immunisations are based on a herd theory. If you have 100 people and one or two are not immunised they are generally protected.

The problem we have today is so many of ‘the herd’ are choosing not to immunise and this is putting infants that are too young to be immunised at risk.

Today, a baby is aged between six and eight weeks when they have their first immunisation – that is a long time for exposure. Whooping cough is running rampant and many people don’t realise they need a booster shot when adults to protect them and their children.

When I was pregnant with our second child I received a booster shot, as did my husband, parents and siblings – to protect our children.

After losing Charlize I became neurotic about germ control. We were bringing Lucia home, our miracle, after 84 days in hospital and exposing our tiny baby with a suppressed immune system for the first two years of her life to society, full of germs, but worse, full of children who are not immunised.

I’ll be honest, we lost friends over our germ rules and we upset even people in the family. We didn’t allow anyone to hold Lucia and you were not able to visit our home if you were bringing small children with you or you had a cold or had been in contact with anyone with a cold. Why did we do this? To protect our baby.

We know the unbearable pain of losing our child and we were not going to let it happen again. If our friends and family couldn’t understand that, then tough.

I am all for freedom of choice and making informed decisions but drs and scientists have researched these things for decades. They have irridacated some hideous diseases and tried relentlessly to keep others at bay. The problem is that I don’t think the anti-vaccination people realise they are putting a great many lives at risk. I personally couldn’t live with the fact of taking my non-immunised child to the park who happens to have a cough, which turns out to be whooping cough and passes it to an immunised immune suppressed child who ends up dying. Could you?

So yes, I am all for immunisations and I’m all for exclusion from preschool or daycare for non-immunised children. I am just not comfortable with having to put my children at that much risk.

I’d love to hear your views on it ………. Until tomorrow x

The way to a mans heart – with a Thermomix!!

Sundays have always been my favourite day of the week. We sleep in, we go out for breakfast, we do things as a family and then I like to spend the afternoon preparing a yummy meal and baking.

In February I very courageously purchased a Thermomix. I say courageously because I told my husband the biggest lie ever … I told him it only cost me $600 because I hosted a Thermomix party. He thought $600 was too much to pay.

Over the past few months I’ve gradually increased the price at the same as showing him how much he actually loves Ernie (we started calling it Thermie and now the whole family calls him Ernie).

I’ve made bread, gelato, apricot chicken, risottos, the best mash potato you’ll ever eat, the best home-made dips you’ll ever eat, fresh lemonade and the list goes on and on.

Last month our neighbours finished building their pizza oven so I offered to make the pizza dough in Ernie. We had the most amazing pizzas followed by chocolate mousse and passion fruit gelato – all made by Ernie.

Today, for the first time I made real fresh butter. My husband was in awe and immediately buttered some bread to try it. He loved it. I used our fresh butter and made a lemon and coconut cake. The smell lured him from our office to enquire what I was making. The smile on his face was like that of a small child’s when I told him, his favourite.

We finished our dinner (also made by Ernie), put the kids to bed and sat down to enjoy our cake. Ernie had even made a lemon butter for the cake.

My husband smiled through every single crumb of his cake, then he stood up and said “$2000 might be a lot of money but Ernie is totally worth it”

I just had to laugh.

I LOVE Sundays xx

Forty before Forty

I was reading a blog recently by a lady who was nearing the age of thirty and she had a bucket list of all those things she wanted to do before she turned thirty.

It kind of got me thinking, I’d never had a bucket list. Every year in January I write our list of goals for the year and I’m amazed how much we get through in a year. But it’s more like; Put in the front deck, get a new letterbox, put in the downlights … all really boring stuff but it’s how we get it done.

So, why don’t I write a list of all those things I’d really like to do? I guess I always have an excuse …. I don’t want to leave the kids, we can’t take the kids, I’m too tired, it’s too expensive, we can’t get time off, etc, etc, etc.

Here goes, I’ve decided to write part of my list.The only problem is I can’t believe it but I’m already past thirty so I guess the list will have to be before I turn forty.

The start of my list of I wants ……

1. I want to go hang-gliding at Lennox Head

2. I want to learn to surf

3. I want to get fit and stay fit (not just get excited for a few months and falter again)

4. I want to visit Pompei

5. I want to work and live overseas

6. I want to do my cake decorating course

7. I want to stay up all night and watch the sunrise on the beach with my hubby

8. I want to go on a weekend away with my closest girlfriends

9. I want to learn how to make an awesome Paela

10. I want to write a book…….

That’s my start. Feel free to comment with your top three. I’d love some more inspiration.

Until tomorrow xx

Torture or Treasure?

Because I haven’t yet updated our full story I thought I’d give a brief run down on my twins. Charlize and Lucia were whisked into the world at 27 weeks and 1 day due to Stage 3 Twin to Twin Transfusion (TTTS). This is a condition that only affects identical twins. In laymens terms the babies share one food source and unfortunately for some reason the blood vessels get a bit confused and one baby gets too much and the other baby doesn’t get enough. It’s usually the baby that gets too much that loses its battle because the excessive blood puts pressure on the heart.

on the 14th November 2011, Lucia was getting too much. She was in heart failure. Another couple of hours in my belly and we would’ve lost her. Thankfully our specialists noticed and pulled both my tiny babies from that dangerous situation into an even bigger situation…..the big wide world of germs.

Our situation was different to most, Charlize was supposed to be our healthy twin and Lucia was supposed to be our sick twin but somewhere along the line that changed and Charlize’s tiny body could not fight the germs that attacked her body. After 32 hours our sweet little girl closed her eyes for eternity in my heartbroken arms.

Since losing Charlize I have joined many support groups which brings me to today … I specifically joined a group on Facebook called Twin to Twin Transfusion. It is a beautiful group with stories similar to ours but so many stories started out worse and ended up with two healthy, happy identical little people.

Today I have seen photos of 25 week twins who were very sick but have just celebrated their first birthday. The group has educated me too much I think on the variations of medical intervention of Twin to Twin Transfusion. Different specialists intervene or don’t intervene at varying stages.

My girls were were 26 weeks and 4 days when we arrived at hospital with Stage one TTTS and we were advised that it was too dangerous for laser surgery to try and stop the progress of this cruel disease.

So I ask you like I ask myself every single day, are these support groups torture or are they something that we should see as a treasure, a miracle that is life that comes from a high stress situation? I’m still not sure if I should hit the ‘unlike’ button or keep reading these beautiful stories that often break my heart.

Why couldn’t both my little girls be saved?