It’s late.
I’m sitting at my desk, an old sweatshirt over my flannel pajamas. Cider in my cup. The good candle flickering. And my old, trusty laptop buzzing.
The TV is on. Cardinal baseball.
My husband is sleeping with his glasses on. Remote in his hand, of course.
Our sweet baby boy sleeps in his bassinette at the foot of our bed. I can hear him breathing.
Every once in a while he stirs–smiling in his sleep.
We’re so happy he’s ours.
. . .
The urge—it’s back. The urge to write finally hit me tonight.
We dipped pizza in ranch at our kitchen table. I looked up at my hubby holding our son—and with tears in my eyes I let myself go there. Happy, happy tears.
I am a mama. I have a son. I am a wannabe, no more. And I want to tell you all about it.
. . .
I want to keep writing–to get my thoughts out of my head and onto this old laptop’s screen. But this blog—just like my life–is veering in a new direction. It won’t be all infertility. It won’t be all adoption. And it won’t be all motherhood.
It will be a little bit of all these–mixed with a little bit of all the other things in my life that make me–me. And a happy mama.
. . .
I hope you’ll keep stopping by.