For quite a while I didn’t really feel like writing. I had things that I wanted to write about ‘some other time’, and I filed them away, as I often do, but I was letting the current of fresh parenthood take me where it would, and that wasn’t to this page.
Then I started wanting to write, but finding the time, and simultaneously the mental energy, required, seemed an insurmountable obstacle. Indeed, I started this post several days ago, and whether I will make it to ‘publish’ today is questionable.
Because, much like with my unfinished knitting projects, every time I think I have time to sit down and give this a go, something occurs. A pained cry or a leaky nappy. A visitor, or an appointment that snuck up on me. And laundry is much more important than blogging when you’re trying to work with 12 cloth nappies, a baby that can go through 10 nappies a night, and a town that is almost perpetually in the shadow of rain clouds.
Things are evening out now, despite the complications of stitches gone awry, anti-biotics, thrush, colic and scary baby breathing problems. Life is starting to seem like a bit less of a faff, even if I spent more time last night holding Malachi to stop him crying than actually sleeping.
So I’m starting to find time, here and there, to click-clack on my pretty Spectre. And I’m starting to regain some mental acuity, too, I think. I don’t do my best work in bouts of 5 minutes, but I’ll try to work anyway. The point of this was always the endeavour, after all.