I write this in the midst of one of the strangest and happiest times of my life.
I feel guilty that I haven’t blogged in so long. Back in the days of Xanga I had so much to say, so much I didn’t care if anyone knew.
Now – it’s different. I’m not hiding anything. It’s just as though I am without interesting things to say. I miss the therapeutic calm I used to get from spilling my feelings to a huge, crowded Internetverse.
I stay at home these days. I stay home and try to coax giggles out of my infant, try to coax pureed vegetables into her. I watch her struggle to crawl (she’s totally almost there), and we watch episode after episode of Yo Gabba Gabba! together while she cackles and gazes.
I didn’t stay home with my other kids. It was out of the question financially and I got bored super quickly.
I don’t know why I’m not bored this time. I’ve found parts of myself I didn’t know existed. I live for waking up in the mornings and bagging up lunches, writing surprise notes sometimes to fold inside baggies, and then snuggling up with a roly bald baby who looks just like her dad.
I am grateful that Josh is okay with my being at home. I don’t know how I’d cope with leaving Lucy. She seems so much smaller than the other two ever did. She seems to need me more, I don’t know.
I’ve also discovered a love of working out. Sounds insane, and people who have known me for any length of time are probably setting out to investigate as to who is actually writing this.
But it’s so true. I run, I do yoga, I am trying to teach myself karate. It’s not like I’m losing weight – I’m not. But somehow that doesn’t really matter to me. I just enjoy feeling that I’ve accomplished something.
I suppose I’m getting to know myself better. After 30 years inside this body and brain you’d think if I knew anyone I should know myself. That’s not true at all. Not to say that I know anyone else either. I’ve discovered lately that the people I thought I knew best are the most able to surprise me.