I am at once anxious and excited to return to this blog. I fear my hiatus has morphed into a cessation and I've forgotten how to write. Which of course is absurd. I start with one word. Then another. Until I've formed a coherent thought.
It isn't really that I fear the words won't come. I have words. (And see, I've already made a paragraph). It's that I fear what I write in this first post must be extraordinarily worthy of being read. It must be Profound. Poetic. Perhaps even Prophetic. We are on the cusp of a new year, after all. Wouldn't it be a grand time for some distilled wisdom?
But if I wait for that wisdom to come, to share, I should never start this blog again. And I so want to write. To record a life lived, to remember.
The momentum inside has changed. Though I am entrenched in child rearing, in diapers, in 4am feedings, this is not what I want to write about. I hope I am not read a braggart if I say that I can change a diaper in the middle of the night with my eyes closed. Sleep is a necessity. My daughter may or may not eat her broccoli. That no longer seems the marker of my parenting (or my self) as it did with my first. I can talk about it, of course, but I don't wish to write about it.
In my hiatus, I did indeed gestate. A baby, but also a question.
Who am I?
I will never again hold a baby in my womb. I know I've said that before, but I mean it this time. We cannot reverse what we have done to make it so. (I say "we" because I was part of the decision, though not the procedure). My cycles will return when I am nearly finished feeding - but for naught. Or perhaps to remind me of who I once was. Remember when you were young? they'll say. Now they'll serve no purpose, except perhaps to remind me of the question I am gestating:
Who am I now?
I am disorganized on this eve of the New Year. I have no word-of-the-year. My list of resolutions is scattered, not finished. My stomach is sagging, and though I wish it health tomorrow, it's likely I'll have toast with my eggs.
Perhaps this is finally what adulting feels like (finally, at 42!) Knowing that a new year is coming and though everything could change - it is more likely that nothing will change. But perhaps it is in sitting with this moment, contemplating "content" and "enough" that I realize I am okay with things as they are (yes, even the sagging belly).
A good friend recently gave me a shirt that says "Start Somewhere." Isn't that all we can do? One word after another. One healthy breakfast then the next. One downward dog followed by another. One "thank you" or "I'm grateful for you" or "I love you" ... and repeat.
Here's to starting somewhere in 2018. Happy New Year!