H is for hiatus

I took a six month hiatus; purposefully. Because it has always been my personal policy to not delete my blogposts, after the fact. This six months have been a crazy roller coaster of emotions — who knows what i would have said in my haze of sleeplessness, overprotectiveness and hypersensitivity. Giving birth was the easy part.

Hormones, get your act together already, damnit! It’s been six months and I am neither regulated nor settled. Could it be all the progesterone I took throughout the pregnancy? I do not know. Hot flushes, bloatedness, irritability — everyday. Could I be projecting all these ills on hormones when it could really just be a lack of sleep? or seperation anxiety from the forev-boyf who is based now in the great big US of A?

Anyway, I am resigned to looking 3 months pregnant ( I am not! Hold on to your galloping underpants! ) and have finally signed up for gym. (Yoga, specifically)

Some mornings are better than others.

My cheerful heartsong, however, wakes up in a completely different mood than mine. Excuse my voice. It’s a special pitch reserved just for E. She is, clearly the better part of me. sometimes i wonder if that means i am running on deficit.

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F is for Fragment 

4am thoughts are unkind to the soul, especially when the bed is empty and work stress creeps in. I know parenthood is supposed to be this wonderful new phase of life, but this night I wonder if somewhere along the lines I lost myself in the melee.     Art by kurt Halsey

I sometimes joke that E is the new and improved versions of D and I. She has the best of both of us– mainly she takes after her father, and bless him, he is the most patient person. E is gentle and settled, secured and cheerful– and sometimes I wish I had those qualities too.  Parenthood brings out the best in us, and the worst of us — and both have surprised me. Heights and depths, I wonder how much of it is a natural process and how much is me. D tells me, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s happening and we deal with it accordingly.

I hope being a parent makes me a better person.

I met an old friend recently, and thought back on the person I was when we were close– and i ask myself, how do I go back to that? Then I think, what does that mean? Do I like my younger self more, or do I just not like the me I have become?

And while this all sounds juvenile (and trust me, I am way past the “who am I?” Age) I wonder if this is what we call the human condition.  I babble, because my mind whirls with a million thought processes at the same time.

Long day tomorrow– I hate long weekends; they make the Monday (metaphorically speaking) blues that much worse.