Becoming a granny!

Yeah, you guessed it right! I have become a granny .... but lets start at the beginning.


I always said to my daughter to oh please not make a granny of me before I was 40 ... and after I turned 40? I asked her ever so often when I was going to become a granny.

Patience paid off,  Waiting for 9 months to welcome little baby into the world ... and before my 44th birthday, a little girl was born. I was so over the moon with happiness at this little wonder that joined the family.

Rickey and Gareth named her Julie-Ann. My heart was bursting, just thinking about this little girl that was born in her own bedroom, in a water birth pool. The first little gurgle that she made after birth sounded like she was happy to finally meet mom and dad. No tears, no screaming. Just a little gurgle that sounded like a giggle.

A very tired Rickey shortly after the birth took the role of mommy as if she was born to be a mom. Long nights peeped at both her and Gareth, and not to forget little Julie-Ann. Her precious life had just begun. Do all granny's wonder if their child is mature enough to become a parent? I did, and Rickey proved that not only was she mature enough, she was brilliant at being a mom.


Now, lil Bug is a year old, and once again, I am amazed at how quickly the time had passed for all of us. In a short period of 12 months, Bug has grown from a tiny little baby into an amazing one year old!

How I wish that I could be around her more often ... How I miss her and Rickey ... But when I am around, I make the most the time I have with them.

Lil Bug ....

The Invitation.

Written by Oriah Mountain Dreamer.

The Invitation.

It does not interest me what you do for a living.  I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your hearts longing.  It does not interest me how old you are.  I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.  It does not interest me what planets are squaring your moon.  I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.  I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. 

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It does not interest me if the story you are telling is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.  If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul, if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it is not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.  I want to know if you can live with failure, yours or mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver moon, “Yes!”

It does not interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.  I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It does not interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the fire with me and not shrink back.

It does not interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.