The novel that has been rewritten so very many times that it bears no resemblance to the novel I started in 2010?

I wrote “The End.”

Like all first drafts, it sucks. It needs work. It needs bridging scenes. It needs detail. It needs more/better dialogue. It needs help.

But it’s a finished draft, and that is nice.

I was going to complain about how long it’s taken me to write, and how it was ever so much longer than, say, the time I spent on the waiting list for Pea to get into the daycare at M’s work.

Except daycare took longer than this by about a month. (Yes. We were on the waiting list for daycare before we got pregnant. Yes.)