I’ve been taking a bit of a break from blogging this summer. I haven’t totally abandoned it – I’ve tried to throw out a few sensory or craft ideas here and there, but most anything of substance is sitting half-written in my “drafts” section.
It wasn’t a conscious decision, at least not at first. At first, it was mostly due to a time crunch. Having Ryan home with me all day (preschool starts back up in less than six weeks, not that I’m counting!) at a time when my freelance writing business has picked up steam has proven to leave me maxed out at the end of most days.
I’m tired, guys. Not in a I-just-need-a-couple-extra-hours-of-sleep sort of way but in a bone-tired-brain-fried sort of way. I don’t have the energy at the end of the day to sit down and write anything of substance for myself, not if I want it to make any sense. I don’t mean that as a whine, simply as a fact. I love what I do at home — both with Ryan and with keeping my career alive. But it takes stamina, and things must be prioritized.
It’s not just that, though. I find that the older Ryan gets, the more carefully I’m choosing my words. My friend Kate said it perfectly in her “goodbye, blogging” post — it’s like the stories are no longer mine to tell. I’ve blogged about Ryan since I was pregnant with him. But those posts were really about me. Posts from when he was a sick baby, a silly toddler, even a tenacious three-year-old still seemed like they were more about me, about how I handled each new stage of baby/toddlerhood, reaching out to others for reassurance that we’ve been there and this is normal and omg, me too. I get to choose what I share about myself, what I leave out and what I gloss over.
While Ryan has always technically been his own person, the depth of that truth hits me more and more each day. I find myself stepping into his shoes more often. How would I have felt if my own mom had written about her adventures as a new mom? My god, I would have loved to read that.
But how would I feel reading about my own mom’s struggles parenting me as I reached an age where I finally needed real parenting? The point where Keep The Baby Alive And Call It A Good Day turns into Dear God She’s Moody And I Hate Age 3. Furthermore, how would I like for it to be permanently recorded on the internet for all my future teenage friends to find and use against me? Yeah, no.
This isn’t to say I’m not going to blog anymore. I love the creative outlet, I love the community. But I need to figure out a way to turn the lens back on myself. It probably means posting less often about more thoughtful topics.
Which brings me back to my above-mentioned point re: lack of brain power.
So, who knows.
While I figure it out, shall we look at some cute photos of my kid sleeping? Cuz, apparently, the more tired I get, the more pictures I take of him getting the rest I crave.
That yellow blanket you see wrapped around him in almost every photo? That’s Jigga-Jigga Blankie. Ryan named it that and we have no idea why, but it is his absolute favorite thing In The World and must be protected At All Costs.
(I hope he doesn’t get teased for that one day … but I had to say it.)