Blending a family is difficult. It requires all kinds of compromise. It requires all kinds of trust.
The kidlets and I are moving to Melbourne and, due to financial constraints, straight into a new life with the Most Amazing Man In The Universe.
It’s an entirely terrifying, confronting-ly overwhelming, highly ambitious plan of action. And, me being the way I am, I’m hoping to swing it into action at some point during the next month or so.
The thought of packing up my house is… difficult. The thought of moving so far away from my mum, even with her blessing, is heartbreaking.
I’m trying not to think so much about how hard this will be for my kids. About how potentially selfish I’m being. About how I’m ripping them away again, from the life they know and love. Sacrificing their comfort for my own.
I tell myself that, should I hate it, it’s only really a matter of moving back. Nothing will be the same as what it is now, and what we’ve got now is good.
I’m hoping for better.
Melbourne’s always felt like home to me. I’m hoping, with time and intense patience, it will feel like home for my kids, too.