Challenging Times

The challenge, naturally, sets out to be, well, challenging. Every day in May, (although slightly truncated by dint of the club meeting on the 4th), we are required (ok "required" might be stretching it, it's a challenge not a directive), to put words to paper. 

I'm often struck, in my professional life, by people coming to me and telling me, on being assigned a writing task, that they're "not a writer". I smile, then, because despite near on 25 years of being paid to put words onto paper (although scant few missives from me actually land on dead trees these days), I don't know that I consider myself one either. 

I have friends who make a living, writing books. Actual books, with titles and blurbs and pages and plotlines. I've always thought of them as "real" writers, and of me, well, I say "mechanically pretty good, I've got a few chops". 

I've been waiting, you see, for the story to arrive. 

Now, at 40 *cough* years old, I'm starting to wonder if maybe the stories have been walking past, and I just haven't been seeing them. 

 

Aged Pumpkin

I was reminded, just yesterday, by The Pumpkin, on the occasion of his 17th birthday, that this thing exists at all. 

I was struck, last evening, by a challenge from a social group I attend, to write a journal every day of May in 2022. 

These two occurrences, by dint of association, led to this morning's "I wonder what will happen if", during an idle phase, between coffees and during the assessment of the piles of work on one's desk, pondering what will make up the morning's work. 

So, to that end, I wonder what will happen.

At First Sight

Your mother, it should be said, was remarkably composed during this procedure, the first chance we had to get a good look at you.

We'd both been a little apprehensive about this ultrasound, me because your impending arrival still seems a little... esoteric.

Your brother, it shall be noted, looked at you for a total of about 20 seconds before asking if he could have his Nintendo back, so I guess your appeal to him will be greater once you finally arrive in the flesh.

For my money, though, that first glimpse of you, was just magic. You seemed to have some sixth sense of being watched, because as soon as the camera found you, you wriggled over like you were snuggling further into your blankets. This should stand you in good stead amongst members of this family, all of whom have a deep seated affection for our beds.

Speaking of beds, we got some fairly astonishing news not so long ago - you will have a cousin arriving only a week after you - (I've already suggested to your Unky Dave that we ask for a discount at the hospital) - so we have a slight pressure on the accumulated baby ephemera which has, through Abraham, then Samuel and now Thomas, been floating through the family.

With this total failure of scheduling, our careful passing of stuff from one house to the next will have to come to a halt. This in mind, I secured a cot from Freecycle the other day, so at the very least you will have somewhere to sleep when we get you home. I don't know that you'll have anything else, but we'll sort that out soon enough.

We still don't know if you're a boy or a girl, personally I'm convinced you're a boy, which is good because we'll now have an entire forward line for Carlton in about 2025.

What I do know, and what will never change, is that from that first glance at you, from the first time you wriggled, my heart broke all over again, and;

I love you.