Good Sunday night to you, Reader.  This pregnant lady is bushed.  I spent my morning painting doors in the hallway of my building, lamenting the size of my giant baby belly; it just kept getting in the way of my paint roller.

Then when I came home to make lunch, my dog Hank was right at my feet begging for attention.  I gave him a loveless ear scratch and told him to get lost; he was in the way of my lunch plan.

Then my son woke up from his nap and started hanging on my leg, just as I was starting to work on some song lyrics. I texted my husband to come inside and get him; he was really in the way of my creative spurt.

That's when the guilt kicked in.  

Who do I think I am?  What is this "way" that I keep trying to preserve?  And most importantly, why am I blaming my dog, my son, and my unborn child for interfering with it?

Answer: because I was being a lame and selfish workaholic.

Plans are great and all, but life is subject to change.  So this afternoon, I let it all go.  I let my son get in the way of my songwriting and instead went outside to witness his dad taking him on his first ever tractor ride.  Pretty damn happy I didn't miss it...good thing I didn't get my way after all.

Reader, I hope you have you an awesome week, filled with the spontaneous joys that can come from not getting your way.  I'll see you back here next Sunday. -Em