From last spring, written and never posted:
I feel self-conscious about my writing. Like I'm going to come back later and cringe at what I've written like I do when I look at old photos. But something funny happened. My almost 9 year old requested a rainbow cake for her birthday, the same as she had on her 3rd birthday. When Pinterest was only a fledgling. But as I went back to look at my blog post from that birthday party and read the words, the only thing I felt was grateful.
It was the first thing that has made me feel like blogging or writing again in a really long time. Being able to look back on her birthday, and the others, I fell down the rabbit hole to see more birthdays after that one. Hearing my own voice about my kids when they were so much smaller made me cry.
And it makes me want to write a little more again. At least about Ben. Because this time when they're so tiny passes in such a flash and even though you know you were there and in it, it all just disappears. But then I remember that I can come back and read what I wrote before and that I don't at all care if the photos were good or bad, I just care that they exist. That's where blogging started, isn't it? The form that's basically dead now? I write bits and pieces on Instagram and that has to be enough for now, but there really is something about just sitting down to write out thoughts for the sake of thoughts that doesn't happen for me on my phone.