Hubbykins greeted me this morning with, "Happy 1 year Due-Date-iversary!" I've spent an entire year saying, "One year ago today, I was just finishing morning sickness, feeling him kick, big as a submarine, etc." I won't be able to say that much longer.
I greeted the Pea with a kiss on that little spot above his nose that God designed for baby kisses. One year ago today, I wasn't super happy with him. He took his time sweet time waiting to come out.
Looking back on my pregnancy, I can't say that I enjoyed it. I worried. I reveled. I loved. But I didn't just sit back and enjoy. There were some extraneous complicating factors out of my control involved, but it still makes me sad looking back. Just a twinge of regret. The Pea will always be my first child, and my WIP will always be my first novel.
I don't want to look back on these early days of writing--carrying a notebook around to scribble picture book ideas, breathing a sigh of relief when a scene gels, staying up until midnight in a frenzy of creativity--and regret. I want to enjoy this process. I will let myself enjoy this process.