After a few months of hemming and hawing and flat out procrastination, I'm done with my first book. Granted, it's not the first book I started; the one that'll take years to finish.
But it's a good one. It's a book for (and based on) my sweet Ladybug.
She is so much like me, so much like her daddy, but so so much her own person.
My Ladybug is the kind of gal who demands pink fingernail polish, only to ruin her new manicure while digging in the dirt. She's the kind of gal who puts babydoll dresses on her dinosaurs. She's the kind of gal who marches around the house in clacking high heels and a hard-hat.
That's my Ladybug, and that's what her book is about.
And, for now, that's all I want to divulge. My husband is probably more excited (and maybe more impatient- if that's possible) than I am. My mom is tickled that I've actually finished something. I'm just glad to be done with it, and anxious to being waiting. Yep.