Lucia; a young and beautiful woman with her whole life ahead of her was shot dead protecting the biggest secret of her life.
Her three year old daughter, Kiara.
The circumstances of her death remain an unsolved case whilst Kiara is left without a...
Tbh I am still suffering from covid, my smell and taste come and go😂
Anywaysssss, had to spice up my plans for this story to motivate myself to get back into it so... here we go...(My poor attempts at editing her hair ginger lmao)
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Today was my first scan.
As I was growing up I imagined how special this moment would feel over and over in my head.
I'd have nervous butterflies as I squeezed my soulmates hand and maybe shed a few tears at the sight of the white blob on the screen.
The image wouldn't be special, in fact, it would look like every other baby scan in existence.
But I would be so full of hormones and emotions, and combined with the overwhelming love I had for my husband or fiance, I would call it the most beautiful picture ever.
In reality, I wept.
The hormone part played a large role, I'll give myself credit for that, but it was mostly to do with the solid proof from a qualified professional. Proof that there was actually a human life growing inside of me amongst all of the takeaway pancakes I've consumed towards the end of my first trimester.
I can't. Stop. Eating. Pancakes.
But it was about damn time my emotions caught up with me.
I can write as many letters as I want, making humorous digs at you Kian Wiley, and burying my problems under this go-with-the-flow persona, but in that moment it bit me in the arse.
My life is really about to be changed forever.
Will I feel all old and boring once I'm officially a full time mother?
Will I suddenly dance embarrassingly bad and annoy my kid by singing along to their favourite song on the radio?
Or will I still be me. Self acclaimed badass with a wild spirit, constantly finding myself in trouble.
This is classed as trouble, right?
Anyways, my new midwife Abigail was nothing short of an angel. She filled my already inflated ego with encouragement, while wiping dribbling tears and snot from my face.
I don't understand how those mom-fluencers on Instagram make pregnancy look so graceful.
I've turned into one big swollen baby myself, being cleaned up by nurses and throwing up after eating too much.
The poor sod could tell I was falling apart at the seams, rocking up there all on my lonesome, but no matter how many times she squeezed the shit out of my hands, I couldn't help but grieve your absence.
