One hundred.

One hundred reflections.

One hundred afternoons.

One hundred emotions.

One hundred blog posts.

Some gave me joy while others made me want to cry.

I have this weird and sometimes annoying habit of quantifying the already quantified with unrelated and unnecessary quantifiers.


One hundred pairs of underwear.

One hundred episodes of Arthur for my child who just knows when Momma is writing.

One hundred (million) hours of editing photographs and writing, rewriting and deleting.

One hundred cups of coffee, glasses of wine or pots of tea.

One hundred chances to talk to all of you.


My favorite posts:

Runaway Mommy.
The time E turned 3 and I bawled.
Ten ways motherhood is like running.

Happy Friday!


6 thoughts on “One hundred.

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