I wake up each morning to a life I never imagined, even when I dared to dream for the perfect fairy tale – three daughters, each magnificent and dazzling in her own way, prancing, singing and questing at every turn. A loving husband who looks at me with a mixture of marvel and passion, his hands reaching for mine in the night, at the dinner table and on walks. A house brimming with the kind of electricity born from a life rich with love and memories.

Between morning cuddles, impromptu vocal performances and declarations of love as strong as in our earliest days of courtship, I am blissfully adrift, unable to focus on any one thing, rather alighting on one delicious experience after another.

My laptop sits, slightly dusty and strewn with burp cloths and Lowe’s circulars, an old friend. I long to write, to capture the memories of each day in words that will soothe me as I sit waiting for the girls to return from track meets, dates, and overnights. Right now there isn’t the time, the pull of little hands and sunny days are too strong.

I’ll be back, I promise, but I’ve got hair to tousle, lips to kiss and shoulders to rub.