 A real juxtaposition. Ha. This is going to sound odd, probably. But I was putting together my office this afternoon and I was trying to remember what I was like before I had Margot. She's almost four now, and she pretty much took over my life from the moment she was born. Four years is a long time. Apparently enough time to forget yourself. I started digging through my old things, trying to remember what I used to do with my time. I added some old keepsakes to my bulletin board, but they were, like old. I had some cool buttons but they were so dirty! They'd been sitting in a box for years. And I thought, I must be missing something. I put up some school stuff, and then I'd taken out this painting my mom did when I was trying to come up with the cover of Meet You There. I originally wanted a hand with string around the wrist, like from the ceremony near the end of the book. And I looked at it propped up on the wall and I thought - oh, fuck - I'm an author! And I thought more about that, and started to remember just how much of my life and identity was about reading and writing and yummy words. Those things just were not compatible with having a baby. And I guess I just forgot about them. I have been in a writing group that meets weekly (kinda) and I have been working on a book for the past five years. But I haven't felt like a writer since I became a mom. That's what was missing. So, anyway. I thought I'd just start getting some thoughts down regularly and see how that feels. (Spoiler: It will feel good.)  So dirty!
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