In that moment I felt completely at peace. Brooklyn Meadow in my arms, gently resting on my growing, 19-week belly. The guest bedroom dimly lit by the cheap, plastic nightlight positioned in the corner of the room.
Nuzzling her head into my neck, she began to twirl the loose strands of hair that had managed to escape from my messy, everyday “mama” bun. I have never before felt more content. It was during this hour that I fully knew I would never be able to put the pen down. Literally. My forever inspiration blossomed from my absolute need to remember every last detail. I needed to write to survive. To understand. To live.
Her breath became heavy. Placing her in her crib, I made my way for the door.
In just a few short weeks, I would come to find myself missing this far-off, in the middle-of-nowhere home on Sunset. I just never realized how much…