It’s been too long since I’ve written and my fingers and brain feel a little cranky for being out of practice.
Let me take a moment to crack these mental and physical knuckles a moment to get warmed up.
First off, the apologies:
Dear blog, and readers who still come along here for an amuse bouche (I watch too much FoodTV) of whimsy or mischief, or spontaneous poetry, or photos of whatnot, I apologize. I could say that I’ve been overwhelmed with new motherhood and that’d be mostly true.
I’ve felt a real restriction of freedom of late that is multi-part.
- Freedom of Time : There hasn’t felt like much time that I have to myself to clear my head, collect and articulate my thoughts.
- Freedom of Physical Movement: While I might feel somewhat less productive than I’ve been in the past, I’m usually handling the baby with at least one arm which makes typing pretty tedious and slow.
- Freedom of Energy: When I have my hands free and some time to myself I’m usually trying to manage sleep deficit which is not unlike the current national debt, from what it feels like.
Which makes the entire exercise of trying to write at 5:45 AM (at this moment) even more amusing. Because I am tired, but for whatever reason restless. The baby is at my left in the crib, gurgling and occasionally sharting in her sleep. My husband is snoring while diagonally splayed across the bed. I’m in the middle feeling absolutely disheveled – wearing my highschool PE shirt, silently scolding myself for having chewed, haggard fingernails and knowing I need to pluck my eyebrows while my legs and ankles weep and cry for proper lotion massage treatment. I can’t be bothered right now to wake the baby to change her diaper or punch/rollover the husband to his side of the bed.
Second: The Pedantics.
And so here I am writing again.
I used to write more frequently. Exhaustedly involved narratives on my musings of miso soup, on my adventures of the day. I’d write as if my interaction with the produce staff regarding the invention of the nectarine in southern california by a Korean farmer was somehow extraordinarily important and required sharing. On things that were so small and yet felt so significant.
These days, of late, I’ve lost a bit of that gusto.
Part of it might be blog fatigue. Afterall, I’ve been blogging for 10+ years now.
Part of it might be real fatigue. Afterall, I’m a new mother.
Part of it may be that I just feel like nothing that I could say could really be that significant.
Personal navel-gazing and extrapolated meditations on the minutia of myself seem so — well, pretty puerile and unimportant these days. At least when compared with taking care of my daughter.
She’s become my sole focus and it stuns me that I’m her world – meals, educator, caretaker, protector, chauffeur, entertainment, stylist, custodian, and occasional mattress.
And I haven’t quite sunk into my skin and felt confident about being a mommyblogger as yet.
I suppose that confessing that here falls into the navelgazing/minutia category again.
There’s blogposts that I’ve been meaning to write:
- On breastfeeding
- On working on Amelia’s Baek-Il (100 day festivities)
- On post-modern feminism and being a stay-at-home mom.
- On NomNomMom.com a blog project that I want to start up about parenting and food. (And yes, the URL NomNomMom.com was reserved and purchased for this specific purpose a while back and has yet to be started)
- On how twitter is driving the death of blogposts => making the statement TLDNR all the more frequent an experience whether it’s articulate or not.
And yet I haven’t.
And maybe I won’t get to it but I want to.
I miss writing.
There. I’ve said it. At least writing it out in public makes me feel a teeeeeny bit better and maybe that simple act will free me from whatever self-doubt I’ve had about putting thoughts to pixel.
Have you missed reading?
