I have 19 posts saved in drafts.
These are incredible, witty, brilliant ideas that I have written down. Some I have almost completed, I am just not pleased with a couple areas. Most are one or two sentences to remind me what I was thinking.
I like writing. I like getting stuff out of my head and out somewhere. It feels good.
Apparently, 7 month old children do not understand a mother's need for catharsis. Pants is the most difficult he has ever been. He naps less. He is figuring out that his voice gets him stuff, and spends hours a day using it. He does not forget when he wants things now. If I hide a forbidden object, instead of being happily distracted by a mommy-approved object, he yells at me. Yells. I get absolutely nothing done in a day. Its terrible. And I still do not get a full nights sleep ever. Getting closer. But not there yet.
Wow, I sound whiny. This is a wonderful time also. He is hilarious. He laughs. Its this wonderful, cute little noise. It sounds like he can't catch his breath sometimes. He follows the dogs around, he loves them. I can see the little hamster running in his head as he figures something out. He is so smart. He has this cute little fuzzy-duckling hair that stands straight up.
Its an interesting time. Its hard/fun/scary/fulfilling.
I am trying to write. I am. My boss says no.
(P.S. My boss had his doctor check-up last week. He was 18 lbs and 26 3/4 inches tall. Big man.)
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