It was almost the end of a balmy Australian summer, and I had just had the most exhausting week of my life. I sat in the cool of my lounge room, holding my son. He was a little over a week old, and he had been born after 30 hours of labour and an eventual c-section. I was knackered.
Whether it was a tiredness induced mirage, or the kind of daydreaming that comes by the way of divine inspiration I will never know. I suspect I’d had pizza the night before or something.
This is what I do know. As I held that beautiful boy, I had a vision for his future. I could see the kind of man, I wanted to raise….
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