So…here’s the thing. When I started writing a blog a couple of years ago, I made a pretty thing in my first post about not wanting my blog to be too personal, to turn into an online, public diary of sorts. It’s not that I have anything against blogs that function in such a way, it’s just that I didn’t want to make clattering bones function in that way. Besides that, I have a tendency to ramble (and ramble. . . and ramble), and I didn’t want to run into a situation where I’d write four paragraphs about mostly nothing. I mean, really – who wants to read four paragraphs of me rambling about nothing?
In the last few months, however, this resolve has been particularly difficult, and has resulted in. . . well, silence. It’s been a strange few months, and I’m only now starting to find a center in the midst of a lot of transition in my life. I recently likened my life to the experience of walking through a green smoothie: I know I’m surrounded by stuff that’s good and good for me; but, I can’t make sense of much of it. This makes it particularly difficult to try and write something coherent.
The thing is, my partner and I are expecting our first baby in November. (We had an ultrasound a couple of weeks ago and, based on what I can see, it kind of looks like Emperor Palpatine is growing in my partner’s belly.) I’ve spent the first few months in this sort of “holy smokes, we’re having a baby – is this for real?!” space which has in the last few weeks turned into an elated anticipation for the child we’re getting ready to meet.
Part of my reticence to writing has been largely due to the fact that much of my mental energy lately has been spent trying to make sense of the life we are preparing for. It has in many ways become the touchstone for how I look at the world these days. Part of that. . . the part that has resulted in me painting our radiator covers and re-wiring electrical outlets. . . is due to an awareness that very soon we will have an infant in the world (who won’t know that the radiator cover is not something to be chewed on, and that chipped paint and crackers are different things). The other part, however . . . the part that finds myself acutely frustrated with all of the tension going on in the world around race and gender, marriage and voting rights. . . is rooted in a desire to raise a child who knows that they are loved, and who is able to someday understand who they are in the world in a way that enables them to live with empathy and compassion. I want to be a good parent, and to model for my child the kind of behavior that might help to make the world a better place.
Having said that, I realize that writing is a good way for me to make sense of the world, and that parenting is definitely something I’m trying to make sense of. It’s nice to be back.