Sadly, I haven't blogged in weeks, but I'm happy to be back just in time for another post for the Insecure Writer's Support Group.

While I've been neglecting my blog over the past few weeks, something very exciting happened...I became an aunt to an adorably sweet baby boy.
I love babies. And since I'm done having anymore of my own, nieces and nephews are the next best thing. For seven long years, I've been anxiously awaiting this moment...
So, last year when my sister-in-law whispered in my ear they were trying for a baby, I was elated.
And when she announced her pregnancy last June, I was overjoyed.
But then in October as she revealed baby's gender, I found myself faking a smile as I swallowed something bitter and acidic that burned it's way down my throat and twisted through my gut.
Jealousy. I was jealous because she was having a son and I never will.
Crazy, I know. There are lots of moms out there who would love to have a daughter—and I am blessed with two of them. There are lots of moms out there who would give anything to have a child, and my heart breaks for them. So what was I doing turning green over something so petty?
For me it went a tad deeper. You see, both of my pregnancies were plagued with issues, from personal to health problems, they were nine long months of stress and anxiety. And then there were the years of fertility struggles and the painful miscarriage that separates them. And I'm not even going to get into that whole labor and delivery part. For my sister-in-law, pregnancy was easy and joyous. She wanted to get pregnant, she did. She wanted a girl, she got one. She wanted a boy...well you get the point.
And so there I was, last October, comparing my hard path to having children to her easy one. And the insecurities came...Why does she get it so easy? Is it because I'm not as good a mother, or I'm not as healthy as her, or I'm not deserving...
This happens to me in writing too. There I am struggling along with novel attempt #137, when out of the woodwork somebody lands an agent and major book deal on their first try. And although at first I'm overjoyed and inspired by their success, those jealous insecurities like to force there way out...and then I find myself crying Hey wait, no fair! Why do they get all the breaks?
But deep down I know that just because somebody else's road seems like it was easier, it doesn't mean it was. And just because mine seems harder, it doesn't mean I'm any less than somebody else. Our journeys are just different.
And so on that one October night last year, I had to remind myself of that. To stop comparing and enjoy the road I'm on—the one filled with Disney princesses, sisterly chats, baby dolls, iCarly, Justin Bieber, and lots of pink. And yeah, I'm loving it, every moment of it.
Because once I remember and appreciate the uniquess of my path, I can get back to the stuff that really matters.
Such as being truly happy for the new parents...
And being truly happy for the writer who just sold their book....
And being a mother to two awesome girls...
And an aunt to one adorable little boy and his proud big sister...
And being the writer of that one story that only I can tell.