Day One ... Again

The thing is, I'm a horrible perfectionist. It's agonizing, really. I can sit and stare at what I want to do, paralyzed with fear to start because I don't want it to be awful. And if my past is any sign of my future (thank you, John Mayer) it probably will be. At least the first time.

But the thing is, the quicker I get the first time over and done with, the quicker I can just move on and get on with everything. So that's what I'm going to try to do. For the first time. And probably not the last.

Tonight I tucked Evie into bed the way she likes, with her little muslin blanket with the elephants on it right up against her face. It's a hazard, I think, but after many sleepless nights I've concluded that she's rather good at keeping it from smothering her. She fell asleep first in my arms, then as I put her in her little bassinet she woke up a little, smiled at me, and closed her eyes again. I'll be sad when she grows out of that.

I could type all kinds of hyperbole but nothing would do. She is simply exactly what I need her to be. 

 

I love you, Evie Heart.