Adult Bluey Fans

04/08/2025

The sun was setting… and so was the day.
But before the night tucked everything in, there was this moment.
Soft. Still. Full of something words can’t quite hold.

Two little souls.
No rush. No noise. Just presence.
A pause in the middle of growing up.

And I stood there watching, with a lump in my throat.
Because this—this is the part of parenthood no one warns you about.
The part where they teach *you* how to slow down.
How to feel.
How to just *be.*

We think we’re raising them…
But sometimes, they’re the ones showing us the way.
To love more gently.
To hold life more tenderly.
To stop and feel the warmth—before it fades into memory.

These are the golden moments.
The ones that light your heart long after the sun has set.

💛

04/08/2025

They didn’t need words.

Just a quiet moment, side by side.
Eyes closed. Hearts full.
A pause in the middle of play to simply *be* with one another.

As a parent, it’s moments like this that stop me in my tracks.
Because underneath all the noise, the mess, the chaos of everyday life…
This is what truly matters.

The bond they’re building.
The way they lean on each other without even realizing it.
The comfort they find in simply being close.

One day, they’ll outgrow the slides and playgrounds.
They’ll run faster, dream bigger, stretch further.
But I hope they never outgrow *this.*

That quiet kind of love.
That steady, gentle closeness.
That feeling of “you’re my safe place.”

Because that… that’s forever.

💙

03/08/2025

The toys get packed away.
The sun goes down.
And little hearts soften.

This is the time when they open up —
about their dreams, their worries, their wins from the day.
When the world slows just enough
to remind me how small they still are.

I want to hold onto these moments.
The bedtime giggles.
The sleepy hugs.
The quiet “I love yous” whispered in the dark.

Because one day,
I’ll miss the sound of wooden blocks and bunny cuddles on the porch.
But I’ll never forget how it felt to be their safe place.

Stars above. Love below. Always their home. 🤍

03/08/2025

My kids are growing up with two versions of me.

One got the overwhelmed mum.
Tired eyes, anxious heart, figuring it out as I went.
She was healing, learning, worrying.
Trying to balance everything and be everything.

The other?
She’s steadier. Softer.
A little more sure of herself.
She knows that being there matters more than doing it all.
She trusts her gut now. She lets go of the guilt.

Both versions loved hard.
Both gave everything.
But they weren’t the same.

And that’s what parenting is, isn’t it?
You grow while they do.

I just hope that one day, they’ll see
I was growing for them all along.

Two versions. One heart. Always theirs. 🤍

03/08/2025

I didn’t know how much space my heart had left…
Until I held you.

Tiny fingers. Big feelings.
You didn’t say a word, but you changed everything.

In that moment, I realized—
my job isn’t just to protect you.
It’s to love you so deeply,
that you never question your worth.
To be your calm when the world feels loud.
To show up, again and again, no matter what.

You made me a better man just by being born.

And I’ll spend the rest of my life
making sure you know what love looks like.

You made me a dad. But more than that—
you made me *yours*. 🤍

03/08/2025

I remember this moment like it was yesterday…
Tired eyes. A full heart.
One tiny baby in my arms… and one little one already calling me “Mum.”

I didn’t know how I was going to do it.
How I’d split myself in two, how I’d love them both enough,
how I’d be *everything* they needed.

But somehow, love multiplied.
Even in the exhaustion, even in the overwhelm…
my heart just grew.

I wasn’t perfect.
I was learning, fumbling, growing—right alongside them.
But I showed up. I held them close.
And I loved with everything I had.

That day, I became a mother all over again.
And from that moment on,
my heart stopped belonging just to me.

Two babies. One mama. A lifetime of love beginning in that room. 🤍

03/08/2025

Some moments don’t look big… but they are.
A quiet afternoon. A chat on the playground.
Just a mum and her two pups.

But these are the moments where trust is built.
Where questions get answered.
Where little hearts feel safe.

I don’t always have all the right words.
But I always have time.
And I hope they remember that.

Because it’s in these everyday chats—
under the sun, surrounded by trees—
that love sounds a lot like listening.

Tiny moment. Big love. Always theirs. 🤍

03/08/2025

The bedtime chaos...
One kid asking questions.
One kid needing cuddles.
One parent brushing hair.
One parent unconscious on the floor. 😴

It’s loud. Messy. Sometimes a little wild.
But also — magical.

Because in between the giggles, yawns, and “just one more story”…
are the memories they’ll carry forever.

It doesn’t have to be perfect.
It just has to be *ours*.

This is what love looks like at 7:42pm.

03/08/2025

They tell us, “It’s good for them to see their parents.”
Sometimes that’s true.
Sometimes it’s healing.

But sometimes,
It’s screaming nightmares that last for days.
It’s wet sheets and clenched fists.
It’s stomach aches that don’t have a medical cause.
It’s a silent car ride home with a child who can’t even look at you.

They call it “family time.”
But sometimes it’s just pain on a schedule.

And the part no one talks about…
Is the kid who begs you not to take them next week.
Who says, “Please don’t make me go.”
Who thinks they have no choice.

We take them anyway.
Because the court says so.
Because the plan says so.
Because adults decided this is what’s “best.”

And then we watch these little humans crumble.

We’re told, “Don’t take it personally.”
But how can you not?
How can you not when you’re the one holding them afterward?
When you’re the one rocking them at 2 a.m.
When you’re the one watching their light dim just a little more every week.

Sometimes visits heal.
Sometimes they help.

But sometimes,
We’re sacrificing kids on the altar of “good intentions.”

03/08/2025

There will be moments when doing right by your child means doing what’s unpopular.
Moments when protecting their spirit means disappointing others.
Moments when standing by them means standing alone.

But our job was never to please the world. It was to raise someone who knows their worth — because they watched us honour it first.

Standing up for your child doesn’t mean justifying everything they do.
It doesn’t mean ignoring harm or avoiding accountability.

It means staying close enough to see the full story.
It means advocating for their humanity — even when they’ve made a mistake.
It means being their voice when they don’t yet have the words to explain the storm inside them.
And it means guiding them, with love and truth, toward repair and responsibility.

Because when we defend them, it’s not the behaviour we’re defending. It’s the child underneath it — scared, struggling, or misunderstood.

And when they see us stand beside them through the hard moments, they learn not to abandon themselves in their own.

One day, when the world feels harsh, they’ll remember how it felt to be protected — not excused, but understood.

And they’ll carry that worth like armour. Always. ❤️

03/08/2025

I will teach my child to protect their own worth.

To know their value To speak their truth.To trust their instincts To walk away from anything that doesn’t honour who they are.

So I will build that truth into their bones —not through praise or perfection, but through presence, honesty, and a love that never wavers.

Because children who grow up knowing their worth don’t need to prove it.

They don’t contort themselves to fit.They don’t confuse love with struggle.They don’t stay where they are unseen.

They become the kind of people who protect their peace without apology.Who walk away without losing themselves.Who choose relationships that mirror the love they first felt at home.

And that’s not just confidence…
That’s liberation. ❤️

03/08/2025