This should be a long catch up huh?

The household has changed somewhat since I was last here. There are now two adults and 5 children. And two extras every other weekend. 

Mr Fantastic and I are getting divorced from our respective exes – both sets of paperwork have been sent, hurrah! We are in the process of planning our own wedding – so far it consists of “let’s get married and grab two witnesses off the street”. Sounds almost perfect to me.

He moved in, weeks ago now. Furniture and everything. Given up his house. I literally couldn’t be happier. To have him here with me, every day – it’s a dream come true. I get to wake up and see his face, feel his heartbeat next to mine. I never felt so loved before. 

We’re looking to move house. Neither of us want to unless we find somewhere perfect though, so it’s a case of looking and looking and leaving and looking and looking some more.

My girl has moved out. She’s 11 and can’t live with me anymore. She hates it here. It saddens me. She lives with her aunty and uncle and they love having her there and she clearly prefers to be there and it breaks my heart. Every time I hear of them doing stuff with her that I can’t do. Or her having friends round, or going here or there – it kills me a little bit more each time. She doesn’t want to do any of that stuff with me and her brothers and sisters. Because she doesn’t get enough attention. She doesn’t get everything her own way and while I understand that (and I do) it makes it very difficult to not be hard on myself or to feel like I’m not an absolute failure. 

On the plus side, since she moved out, she is much happier. Her aunt and uncle have some help with their baby, my girl is a little star with said baby, she is happy, and the children at home are definitely much more chilled because she’s not here to wind them all up all the time. The atmosphere is so much better, there’s less swearing and fighting and arguing. Its a lot easier – And a huge shame that she can’t be here to enjoy it – even though it would be completely different if she was. It’s so confusing. And hard. So hard. I’m so tired of always feeling like the bad guy. And I do when it comes to her. She actually hates me – she only loves me when she’s not near me. If she’s near me I’m less than nothing to her. Just someone to grind underfoot and take all her frustrations out on. It’s very difficult. I’m hoping as she gets older she will realise that all I’ve ever done is love her and care for her but I suspect her mind is potentially a victims mind and that’s the problem. I refuse to victimise anyone and that includes myself, I have little sympathy for those seeking it. Perhaps that’s my problem and I’ve driven her away. I don’t know. It’s a bloody mess. 

So that’s that, anyway. She’s moved out. Permanently I think. With the aim of her dad having her once he gets a new place. The 17 year old has given up college. He got his level 2 diploma and now is looking for an engineering apprenticeship. It could be worse. The 16 (I have a 16 year old now) asked for a bike for his birthday and is now showering and cleaning and doing his jobs and earning money and generally being much more grown up than he has been in the last few years which although welcome, is inherently scary for me. He’s my baby. 

Mr Fantastic and I are trying for a baby. Well, not trying as such – but not preventing. There is no birth control involved at any rate. If we fall then we do and it’ll be wonderful. If not I’ll be broken-hearted and so, I suspect, will he. Everything crossed though. I’m considered an old woman by baby making standards now, 35 is well past it. However it has only been 16 weeks since we met – we’ve plenty of time yet. I hope. 

So that’s that. We have Mr Fantastics son every other weekend – he slots right right in between Toria and Jack and it’s like he was meant to be here with us. It’s marvellous to see his smiley little face, and Mr Fantastic, although he seems extra stressed, is completely happier – his smile and his laughs seem more, somehow. Not more anything, just more. More him.

Maya comes home every other weekend too. We’ve only had her once since she moved out – and she hated every second and went back early on the Saturday – but with any luck it’ll get better and easier with time. I miss her so much. 

So that’s it. It’s a post of mixed feelings, this. It is however, a happy house. Happy children, happy cats. Happy Mr Fantastic. And a happy me.