I like it too well to forget it.

There are too many things that have happened in the last six years that I wish I could recall in better detail than my memory allows me, and the reason I can't is my own fault. I used to write more. About everything. And even though I love so much that I can look back to things that happened before I moved to New York and remember just how I felt when they happened, I'm really quite disappointed that I allowed all the forks and turning points in my more recent years to fade away behind them.

So I've decided to start writing again, and there are a couple of reasons why. One is because I miss it. I miss translating all my jumbled thoughts into words that make sense outside of my head. I miss over-thinking and backspacing, and I miss the satisfaction of finding the perfect word. The other reason, the more important one, is that quite soon I'm expecting to be the mother of a baby boy named Brixton. I'm a little over eight months pregnant and have found that I'm really quite different from who I was just eight months ago. The food I eat, the things that annoy me, the people I confide in and what I care about most have all changed in the matter of months. I have never been more excited and anxious about anything in my entire life, and I can't wait to remember that six years from now.