Before my baby was born, I made promises to myself. So many promises. I've always been fairly good at setting goals for myself and kicking myself in the ass if I didn't meet them, so I thought this would be no different. I even gave myself a 3 month grace period to ignore other life responsibilities (besides work, of course) before I started incorporating other activities back into life. Stop laughing; I really thought this was reasonable.
It's not that I haven't started doing activities again, I'm just not very good at many of them any more. I tried to start exercising, but now that really consists of pushing a stroller while walking the dog. I used to at least drive to different locations for hikes, but the fuss with the car seat and the inevitable screaming from Dexter being put in one, doesn't feel as worth it. I used to speak to adults. In coherent sentences. That's been gone for a while, which is especially problematic when you teach mostly high school seniors. Mine were at least generous enough to help me finish my sentences when they saw my thoughts drift away into the ether. It seems impossible for me to leave a conversation without feeling like I wasn't listening as well, or absorbing what was being said, or responding in a way that wasn't completely awkward and out of synch. Just the other day I had two friends stare at me as they waited for me to answer a simple question. I stared back for a few seconds before one of them asked why I wasn't saying anything. It took her question for me to realize I had only answered them in my head. And sure, I've done stuff since the birth of my baby. I produced a play, I've held down a job, I've seen friends, I've gone to a good amount of social events. But that doesn't eclipse the fact that, for most of that, I felt half there and extraordinarily mediocre.
These types of occurrences are the norm now and they're a brief explanation of why this blog has gone silent for so long. I initially promised myself that I'd start writing again after 3 months...then I gave it 6... then I put my artistic stake in the ground and said a year was long enough to procrastinate. So here I am, slinking in just under a year and a half. I'm not proud of how long this has taken, and honestly I found a lot of really great reasons to avoid it again tonight, but I finally became worried that broken promises become new life ritual.
With the every day off kilter-ness of parenthood it's hard to find time to write and, although I have found the time once in a while, I had a deep seated fear that it wasn't "good". Far from good, I didn't know if it was coherent. While some people enjoy avant garde plays, I didn't know if we were ready for the avant-garde parenting blog.
Over the past 16 months many people have commented on how they used to read what I wrote. How it touched, informed or entertained them or possibly just killed time. But I'm taking away the self-editing qualifier of "good". One thing parenthood has taught me is that I might not take another self-assured step again. And isn't that part of the adventure? Waking up and not knowing if the words you send out to the universe make sense... or if your underwear is on the right direction... or what type of baby liquid ended up on your clothes?
This is an adventure I'm willing to take with you, dear readers. Please forgive me for dangling modifiers and the many other mistakes I'm sure to make along the way.