Almost. But didn't happen. Or haven't happened yet. I've just been made aware that if they had all happened, they would've shaped my life a little bit further, or set me on a different path or direction than I anticipated.
But here I am. And everything is still the same.
I nearly went to Greenland and Jordan this month.
Two massively interesting places that most people don't go to. Ever. One freezing cold; one boiling hot. Both would've covered the same kind of work project, and I would've pilgrimaged through both of them.
But didn't. Things came up, and schedules got bumped, and shifted around. Then in the middle of it all, I was sent to Madrid. (Which was nice, of course.)
I am on country number 49. And Christ, is it difficult (now with child) to get to my half century. Jordan would've put me there.
Greenland, strictly speaking, wouldn't have. It's a "crown state" of Denmark ( < --- wtf is that anyway?) Going to either of these places would've been completely insane and amazing to see. Such vast, crazy landscapes, both shrouded in mystery. Jordan ever-so-slightly almost dangerous, as it's surrounded by an ISIS hotbed. (er, all the very scary extremist countries.) Greenland, not dangerous in terrorist terms, but perhaps I could've put my leg through an ice cap. Or been eaten by a rabid sleigh dog. Or dry humped by a frisky Eskimo.
I am meeting a mum who has also lost a twin, face-to-face for the first time.
While all the forums, groups and other screen-related support channels have been useful and a bit heartbreaking (if I'm honest), meeting an actual mum, here in London, face-to-face, who has also lost a twin is going to be...well, also heartbreaking and helpful.
A mutual mum friend has put us in touch, and having lost on of her twins, we already have so much to talk about and commiserate together. We are going for coffee this week with our survivors in tow.
It'll be good to really see how another person actually copes, what she thinks of day-to-day, how she shapes her thoughts around the whole thing, what her plans are.
I've only ever communicated with others who have lost a twin via email, a group or by phone. So sitting somewhere with someone else who has gone through it too - well, I can't wait, to be honest.
It's going to be extremely emotional to hear her story. But I know she will also really hear mine.
We have a working garden.
It is a patch of spring, green grass, bordered by thick railway sleepers, and a sandpit craved into the flower beds, for Sebastian.
We spent the whole of Sunday out there, weeding, potting, watering, mowing and digging, while Sebastian played with the wet soil, ate a little, put rocks in his mouth, got grubby and dirty, laughed and crawled everywhere, just exploring.
Sebby's sandpit.We ate out there, had cups of tea and just marvelled in the fact that a garden - however small - really is food for the soul.
It's been a long, arduous slog getting the concrete out, finding more concrete underneath that concrete, then more concrete underneath that concrete, endless digging and raking, bagging the rubble, dragging it away, collecting top soil, then reselling the top soil, making it flat, and laying patches of lawn, fertilising it and watering it so that it would 'take.'
My husband did 90% of the above, and his hard work has really paid off.
Now if it could just be sunny a lot over the next few months, that would be great. I'd really like to make the most of what we have this summer.