I hate nothing more

than when the kids are sick.

Tabitha and Angus were so obviously unwell today, runny noses, coughing, red cheeks, just generally crappy. Lexi was not. She sounded as though she was getty a little husky but I was glad she wasn't as sick as the others. Until they went to bed. And now Lexi is much sicker than they are. She is waking up breathless, coughing, spluttering, freaking out because she can't breathe properly. And I am powerless to help her. I have put vicks on her chest and feet, have a sudoclear plugged in, and she is presently sleeping, sounding as though she is Darth Vader's long lost daughter. It is horrendous. And when she wakes again, which she will, but not fully, she will freak out again. And it is scary. And makes me cry. She screams and coughs and struggles for air and kicks and pulls my hair and I literally have to squeeze her close to my body and tell her that it's okay, that I am there, and she needs to calm down and breathe.

I don't think I have ever felt quite so helpless as right this very moment.

And my "ideal" lifestyle of living in the country with no neighbours far from the city but close enough to commute is losing appeal. The closest hospital is 30 odd kilometres away. And in an emergency that is just too far away.

I am very happy with the choice I made for us and where our new place is located. Still not next door to a hospital, but much closer, and with neighbours, and friends, close by.

Sometimes what we think we want we want only because we haven't seen what the future holds for us, or the little curveballs that might pop up, and although we may end up in a place that we think is not perfect, in many instances that place, the place that is not our ideal but is a decent substitute, is, for all intents and purposes at that moment in your life, the place that you need to be.

Sometimes, not always, I think things happen for a reason.