I think about posting, but my interest and energy wane. I’ve nothing insightful to share. Every day is full, not a minute idly spent. Claire changes daily. I do the same tasks daily. Husband has been in bed sick with The Crud since Saturday. My throat is sore. Please, may I be spared?

I’d like to write about the intimacy of motherhood — how the amount of time spent gazing into this little person’s eyes, touching and interacting with her hundreds of times a day — pulls at the center of my being, how primal and wild and physical it feels. In my infancy I was on the other side of the relationship, but I don’t have a conscious memory of it. Yet I’m tired, and have only precious few hours to myself before I must sleep — after I fold the laundry, refill the cat’s food bowl, prepare the coffee maker for tomorrow, pick up the toys, take out the garbage, load the dishwasher, etc….

I’ve been having intense pregnancy dreams. These dreams are joyful. I awoke this morning with a wishful pang and an urge to purchase a home-pregnancy kit. I know it’s not the case; I’m not pregnant. (I’m not convinced my body could handle such a big project again anyway.) The dreams might be due to the fact that two dear friends recently announced that each is pregnant; their babies are due late September to October.

Is it possible, however, that I want to try again? In Internet parlance, WTF?!

I’m so busy living I don’t have time to navel-gaze about it. It’s refreshing, but it leads to a dearth of blog posts.

Explore posts in the same categories: Journal, Motherhood, Nature

One Comment on “Quiet”

  1. Joyce Says:

    Wow! What an amazing instinct, this desire to have children is…..