I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and my mind wandered to my first born, my first baby... this blog. And I realized how much I had neglected it. It has been over a month since my last post. Posts are few and far between. And the thought crossed my mind....
What if I just quit?
I started this blog as a just for fun thing. And eventually it grew into a bigger thing, people read my posts, I dreamed of being famous. Then I realized how much work it took to become famous and I was content with not doing that. But I feel I've lost my sense of humor now, or something. I was filled with ideas to write before, and now I'm just not. The last few months, I thought it was because I wasn't working or going to school, so my life was boring. My life most certainly isn't boring now, with a 46 day old small growly lion child.
So what if I just never wrote again?
And I thought of those cheesy pictures on the internet with things like "There will come a day that you pick up your child, and then put them down, only to never pick them up again..." all melancholy and getting you to SEIZE THE DAY and I realized I don't ever want me quitting writing to be a conscious decision.
I always wrote.
I wrote a book in 4th grade about some ghosts. I don't even remember what it was called, there was a family of ghosts and the father was very smart and named Braindy. It was pretty much a cheap plagiarism of "Dial-A-Ghost" by Eva Ibbotson (hey, if anyone knows how to get me in touch with that author, let me know. She was my everything when I was little.) But my mom loved that cheap plagiarism. I wrote poetry. I wrote a poem for the 2002 Olympics.... "You can be a swimmer, when the water is tame. Watch the water glimmer; you can win the game. My metal will so shimmer; I will have the fame. Will the light grow dimmer? No! For I played the game." In 5th grade I was selected to be the head editor for the class publication and it was a great honor.
I loved writing. I don't know where that love for writing went. It's not really that I don't love writing anymore.... it's just.... what do I write about? What do I talk about? What is important enough for me to put to solid word? What is something others will read? Is it even important that others read it? If others don't read it, then what was the point? Why did I write it? See, if others don't read it, then it has to be something VERY important, I think, because I wrote it purely for myself, and these days I'm not in the habit of doing things strictly for myself.
An update on my second child, Small Lion or Youngling or Bug or whatever it is I want to call him for the day. The one who makes me laugh. He still makes me laugh. Yesterday was a hard day, he didn't nap at all and just wanted to be awake and making eye contact all day long. We were rushing to get him ready for church, because somehow we still end up rushing even with 1pm church. And Small Lion picked an inopportune time to throw up on his father. And it made me laugh. I'm so sorry, Joe.
Small Lion is small, he growls, he kicks a lot, he's got a pretty solid scream... but he doesn't do a WHOLE ton as far as people go, and even less as far as people-who-qualify-as-my-best-friends go, but still, somehow, having his tiny warm body in the house, next to me, fills me with comfort and company. And somehow we manage to have a lot of fun together, especially after discovering DubSmash.
I like him a lot, I guess. I like Joe a lot too. It's crazy how much love grows in your heart when you watch the man you love fall in love with a little person you created with him. Parenthood has been.... indescribable.
That's all for now. Maybe y'all can remind me to write more often.