Stone Cold Kiwi

Falling in love can be pretty bloody inconvenient.

Let's inventory, shall we?

State of my professional life: Brilliant, if counted in terms of sales of eight Poppy Cantwell children's books starring my often-confused blue hippo, Hazel; the very substantial proceeds from selling my Kiwi Adventures New Zealand glamping business; and any number of glossy magazine articles about my charmed existence. Of course, I couldn't seem to write or draw anymore, but that would pass. Surely.

State of my personal life: Murky. A mysterious siren I was not, in my nursing bra and only-kind-that-fits maternity panties.

My three redheaded children? Good thing. Good, exhausting, frustrating, terrifying, wonderful thing.

My marriage? Living with a failing marriage is like living with a toothache. It's not going to get any better, and eventually, it's going to get heaps worse, but who wants a root canal?

Beginning to fall for the much-too-charming, not-quite-available, stone-cold-beautiful Dr. Matiu Te Mana, on the day he delivered the third of those children on the grass outside Otago General Hospital, a few short minutes before my marriage began its spectacular and very public final implosion?

Possibly tricky.