This is 33

Last month, this little turkey turned two. Yesterday, I turned thirty-three. And of course, today is Thanksgiving. Lots of occasions for reflection. It’s easy to say that what I’m most thankful for is her — because it’s true. Like any toddler, she does cry and whine on occasion, but on the whole, she’s such a joyful little creature. And now she can talk, she can sing, she can draw, she can imagine. She fills us with awe every day.

This is 33: Holding my daughter in my arms at the end of each night, telling her “just one more minute,” and then counting to 100 instead of 60, because sometimes I just want to savor the moment a little bit longer.

She’s in full-time daycare now, and while I miss her terribly when she’s away, I also revel in having my whole day back. I love the quiet of the house while the sun is shining through the windows. I appreciate the ease of running errands, scheduling appointments, and doing all the other tedious things adults have to do, without worrying about how to bring her along. Even though I am honored by my role as a mother, I enjoy feeling like my own person for a few hours. I live for sitting at the table with my journal and my pen and actually writing again.

This is 33: Returning to my roots, just a girl with some time and some blank pages, and stories simmering inside her. 

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