It’s happened a few times before within the four years I have had this blog.
That come home, check WordPress feeling.
Of continually wanting to write and express and tell the cyberworld all the things I see in a day.
Like the nailpolish of a- I swear-92 year old woman. There is no way she could have got it done professionally. For in all the blob nation, from cuticles to finger wrinkles, it was like a paintball had exploded on each nail.
I grinned inside and thought inside, ‘ hey, what’s 92 gonna be like without giving nailpolish a try’.
My sons father hasn’t seen his son in one year and three months.
It was a sacrifice he chose. For me. For his son.
I still love the man because he is good. He just wasn’t right for me.
In five days he will meet his son.
Because his son is altogether new. Unfamiliar. Different then the last time.
So yesterday, I got the burst of a new feel.
I am excited to show him our son.
For him to represent my hard work and dedication of over a year.
I am responsible for his manners and his voice. The words he uses and his diaperless bum. I am the reason behind a lot of the good things and of course, some of the bad.
I am excited to show him the being we made and how it is no longer a 7 pound wriggle, but a 31 pound child that hugs hugs-the best I’ve ever had.
He’s my heart beating reason,
and I’m excited to show him that.