When I was eight years old I was convinced I had some terminal illness.  Sixteen... I thought... just let me live till I'm sixteen.  A number so big that surely by the time I reach it, I should be tired of living...

Then when I was twenty eight years old, alone, on my own, with no romantic prospect for miles in sight, I thought just give me a glimpse of the future, let me see if I end up with a family...

Here I am, thirty eight.  No longer alone, no longer on my own.  I have two babies and a man that does his very best to take care of each and every one of us everyday.

It is charmed life, I would say.