Half Way There

I've made it to the half way point. **praise hands** A part of me feels like the baby will be here in no time, but I also feel like 20 weeks seems so far away. I mean, we still have Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine's Day, and St. Patrick's Day to get through. The leaves still have to fall from the trees and Charlotte's one snowfall in the winter needs to blanket the grass until it all melts away in the afternoon sun. Flowers will be blooming again before my due date rolls around and daylight savings will have already graced us with her sunny presence. Still so far away, right?

To tear or not to tear?!

Here we go again

I can't believe the last time I posted was back in June. I didn't think it'd be like that, but the summer just got away, I got pregnant, I got really, really tired, and my writing was set on the back burner. I even wrote a post back in April promising myself I wouldn't do that again. I guess you could say I jinxed myself. Since realizing I went on an involuntary hiatus I've slowly started writing again. I have a few pieces in the works and maybe they'll make it to the blog, maybe they won't. I'm having trouble starting a piece and not finishing it. The trend recently has been I lose interest in that piece or I have another idea that pops in my mind and I have to get it down on paper or I'll lose it. Either way, I did finish this small thought below so I'll share it with you, plus there's a bumpdate following it. I contemplated whether I'd even do a bumpdate this time around because, you know, it's my third, but the more I thought about it the more I said, "yeah, this is my third, and he/she is just as important as my other two." So here we go again!

Something Greater

The day I decided I didn’t like fishing was the day my dad took me fishing for the first time. I was three years old. I was so excited to be going on this special trip, just he and I. I can’t remember where we went or whose boat we borrowed. All I know is we were at a lake surrounded by the tallest of trees that offered a nice reprieve from the summer sun beating down on the water. (Not that my little three-year-old self cared about such things. I was of the age when the heat would plaster my ringlets to my face, sweat dripping in my eyes, and I wouldn’t mind one bit.) I remember looking down at the boat from the dock. It was small, just your typical rowboat. I stood on the dock waiting for my dad to put all the fishing gear onto our tiny boat. After settling everything in its spot he took me into his arms and placed me on the wooden seat across from him. I mustered all my strength to hold on to one side of the boat as he rowed away from the shore, my body engulfed by my life preserver. But I didn’t mind, the anticipation of catching my first fish was killing me. I had no idea though that most of fishing is waiting.

My Reclaimed Hobby

It was December 29th, the end of another year gone by. In just a few days I would fly out to California for a sisters trip with Stefanie and Emily where we would visit Joshua Tree, hike to the Hollywood sign, stand On Top of the World in Laguna Beach, and ride a wooden roller coaster on the Santa Monica Pier. In the days leading up to 2016, I was beginning to feel the itch for something new. I had become a sort of serial hobbyist bouncing from one interest to the next as soon as the first sign of boredom set in.

But writing has always stayed with me. I've been writing stories ever since I was little. I began this blog a few years ago because I wanted to share my stories. It's just never been a hobby I've really invested money in like I've done with all those come and go hobbies. Thankfully you really don't need to invest money into writing, unless you want to take a class or attend a conference. Just your time. But because I never felt confident in calling myself a "writer" I never pursued taking it further. I'd write for a bit, blog for a bit, leave it for a bit, but I've always come back. It's never left me like the other hobbies.