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Meet me halfway

And suddenly, here we are at the (almost) halfway mark in this pregnancy. Tomorrow we find out whether this wee little one is going to make me more outnumbered, or even things back up a bit.

I am so excited about this appointment – I can’t wait to see if my instincts are correct.

Time has dragged on during these first few months of pregnancy. I’m not busy in the same way I was three years ago. At that point, I was working full-time, going to school full-time, and somehow trying to fit in lots of homework. I don’t even know how I made it through all of that. It’s all I can do right now to stay awake more than four hours at a time.

I think I’m actually looking forward to that energy boost that comes from nesting. I could use it right now.

I could talk about why I haven’t been around much, but it mostly involves a lot of whining about how hard this has been on my body, and how I’ve wasted any thoughts that might develop into a full post by busily twittering and facebooking. So.

Enough of that. Let’s see if I can find something interesting to complain about. I think I’ll have to get back to you on that. But I have done some cool things in the last month or so that I’ll try to dredge out of my brain and onto paper. Ooooh, doesn’t that sound exciting? Wait, where are you going?

My reality

Recently, it feels like I am such a failure at everything. And when you feel that way, it is so hard to write about it. Since that’s all I’ve been talking about lately anyway, it gets pretty old. And if it’s bugging me, it certainly must not be fun for you to read about.

And yet… it is my reality. All I see are the things I haven’t done. Projects I haven’t finished, things I have failed my son and husband in, my messy house, a stack of books I haven’t read, filing and laundry and dishes to be done…

I used to be (and feel) so organized. I was on top of everything most of the time. And now, if it weren’t for automatic billpay, we’d probably be without living quarters or utilities. I just can’t seem to get it together.

It’s hard to admit. Hence, the ongoing silence. What do I say without sounding like I’m just whining? AGAIN? It’s still my reality right now. All I see right now as I look around is everything I haven’t done yet. Every misstep. Every failure.

The invisible woman

penpaper I’ve been a writer for almost as long as I can remember. If you were to look in the back of my closet, you’d see stacks of notebooks and journals that I’ve filled over the years – and many more waiting for my pen. Since having my son 22 months ago, I haven’t written as much. Mostly I’m too tired. And too busy writing other things that help us make a living. By the end of the night, I’m spent. The words swirl around in my head, but my hands are too tired to record. And my journal sits there, quietly accusing me of neglect.

Will my son wonder why I didn’t write as much after he was born? Will he wonder if I had nothing to say about him? As you can see from many posts on this site, that’s not really true. But who knows if this record will even be around by the time he finds my papers?

I’m not even sure, most of the time, why I write. I feel compelled. It is not something I can ignore. I am me, therefore I must write. I process the things in my head by writing. I quiet the tortures, the demons that swirl around and tell me to worry about the things which I cannot control. I quiet the voices that tell me I’m not good enough, not pretty enough, and too lazy to really accomplish anything of worth.

Lately some of those voices have been louder than my pen.

And I wonder what my future family members will think of the gaps in my journals. Will they be able to put together a picture of my life? Will they find me interesting? Sad? Pathetic? I mostly hope they’ll see me as a complete person. Not just mom. Or grandma (someday, hopefully).

I guess I really want to be known as more than just mom because I’ve been feeling like that is really inadequate lately. After my son was born, I became invisible. I’m no longer an interesting person in my own right. I feel fat. Dumpy. Uninteresting. People look right through me.

So I hope that writing pulls that veil back a little bit. Even if it doesn’t make me visible right now, maybe it will later. Maybe not. I write to leave a record. I was here! I may not leave a big impression on the world, and few people may remember me, but I was HERE dammit. I mattered.

Here I am. The invisible woman. I may not change the world, but I hope I can change my world with my pen. Letter by letter, word by word. (Or should that be Bird by Bird?)

image: cohdra from morguefile.com