I need to get started on my blog again. But it is always hard to get started after taking such a long hiatus. I keep stalling, figuring I would come up with the right thing to say or the right post topic. If I’m being honest, I think I was just waiting for something to magically come to me. Which I recognize is a silly way to write. And which I also recognize is a problem in my life in more areas than just blogging. Here’s to not waiting any more.
Obviously in the time I was away from the internet the Peanut was born. Here is where most bloggers would tell you all the dirty details of the delivery. I went into labor with a “birth plan” which listed five things I wanted to happen that were supposed “nonnegotiables.” Five things. That’s it. And one of them was “healthy Peanut.” But as labor wore on, and more complications arose, I began to realize that “healthy Peanut” might be the only thing on my list that was going to happen. The Peanut was not an easy pregnancy; I’m not sure why I thought she would be an easy delivery. After it was all over, I told my dad, “I don’t want to become the crazy lady in Target telling all the pregnant women her horrible labor and delivery story.” So, let’s just leave it at “It happened, it was horrible, and, when it was all over, they let us take the Peanut home. The End.”
The first month of my maternity leave, I just worked on feeling like a human being again. I’m still working on performing some basic human functions like “remember to pet your dog” and “bathe once every 24 hours.” I recognize that the word “rested” has taken a sabbatical from my vocabulary and has no plans for immediate return. Otherwise, by the end of that first month I felt . . . functional.
The second month of my maternity leave I just enjoyed being with the Peanut all day. I read. A lot. A lot a lot. I participated in NPR’s 3 minute fiction contest (see here), but did not get my entry submitted because I lost track of what day it was. (Note, I did not say I lost track of what day it was due. I lost track of what day I was actually living. Side story: This is also around the time that I insisted, inSISted, to D that he did not have to go get that crying baby because I was already holding her in my arms. Poor D had to fight with me for a while before I woke up enough to realize that what I was actually holding was my pillow. I am not ashamed. See “rested,” above.) I did a lot of sewing and way more laundry than any human being should ever be expected to endure.
So maybe I haven’t been writing much because I haven’t been doing much that would be of anyone’s interest. As my third and final month of maternity leave gets under way, I’ve started to get . . . I don’t know, itchy. Not itchy to get back to work. Psh, don’t be silly. But itchy to be doing something more with my days. I’m just not sure what. Gah. I’m probably just waiting for it to magically come to me. I thought we were stopping that nonsense. . .