In a Year

My son turned one this week. That’s right, I’ve been a parent for over a year. I still don’t really think of myself as a mom. Not the way I think of other people who are moms. I mean, they obviously know what they are doing and I am totally just winging it. Some days I feel like I’m doing pretty well. Other days…well…at least he’s still alive and relatively healthy. 

I thought finding time to write was going to be really hard once the Bitty was born. It is. But also, surprise surprise, I’ve been a lot more committed to it. Like now that I only have half an hour (or much less) in a day to give to writing, I had better make the most of it. I also have a lot more time to think about my stories while I’m not at the computer (for instance, while holding a sleeping baby who still refuses to nap in his own bed) so I’m more prepared to write when it comes time for the actual writing. I’m nearly (only nearly) as excited by where my book has gone over this last year as I am by how much my baby has grown, and I can’t wait to see what happens next for both of them.

 

The Wee Tiny when his eyes could barely even see what the world had to offer him.

  

Wee Tiny now, able to walk and make the whole world his playground.

  

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