Michael and Emily have made a mad dash to the park in between raindrops.
There is a storm brewing in the distance.
Miss I have been up since 5:00AM this morning, and it is now 10:00AM is a little restless today.
As in, she has wiggled and wriggled her way out of her rocker, and face planted over the back of it into the grass as daddy hung out the washing, she has tangled her mobile, head butted the window, run into the dining room chair, and pulled her activity table on to herself. Moreover, most of that was before second breakfast.
The poor little thing is having a topsy terby day. One minute she is happy, the next she is a mess.
On a personal note, I still have not managed to find my way out of my pajamas, or my bed for that matter.
I am so lucky I get to be this mama.
I am buying print/braille books for Little.
I know I have left it a little late for Christmas, but to be honest I have not been inspired.
For some reason it does not feel as if Christmas has a right to be here.
We are too busy trying to wrap our heads around the fact Emily is nine months old.
As in we have totally made it this far.
I have concrete intentions of making ginger bread men, and am harboring a lusty secret clove filled fantasy of making a ginger bread house, but who knows if either of these scenarios are likely to play out.
I feel like shit.
We are doing Michael’s family festivities this weekend, so I really ought to get my crap together.
Daddy kindly took the early shift this morning as I was sailing dangerously close to the edge of a migraine.
Ever since I have stopped breast-feeding, the monster appears to be back – Usually on a Saturday morning about 11:35AM.
Therefore being a Wednesday, this one caught me off guard.
I am still coming to terms with each of these occurrences.
I was really hoping to get her through to twelve months old on the feeding front, but the baby wants what the baby wants.
Apparently, she is a big girl now, and there are too many new and interesting flavor profiles to discover.
By the way, parsley and mint yogurt is completely amazing according to a certain cutie cute cute cute. As is balsamic vinegar, truffle oil, and anything which she finds on the kitchen floor.
I was hoping maybe my body composition had changed enough, the migraines would not return at all.
It is interesting not having that streamline direct suck suck sup supping as a way to connect with her royal cuteness.
I feel as though something very big and important is missing in my world. As though I have fallen, and not so gracefully, I might add, from the beautiful white fluffy cushiony clouds of breast-feeding must be heaven, to the hard damp compact soil of earth.
Since having stopped, I feel so much heavier and clunkier in my body.
I feel more present, but definitely less flowy and blissed out, and more pain and restriction within my physicality.
However, the bonus is, my creativity is also returning. Along with a healthier dose of productivity than I have experienced in a while.
And by a while, we all know I mean since I fell pregnant.
Although who knows what I did before Emily, because whatever it was, it was not busy the way I have come to know busy.
Some days I have no idea where the time goes.
It can be after 2:00PM before I look at the clock. And even then it is for a fleeting second as I calculate how long we have until Little needs to go back down for a sleep, and how many things we have to do between now and then.
However, upon reflection of the last nine months, I wish I had put my ambition down, and entirely entirely dropped into the quiet insulated bubble of baby land without the guilt or feeling conflicted as though I was not enough.
Because the more I think about it, that has been my mantra for my entire life.
I am not enough I am not enough I am not enough!
The mantra stubbornly chugs through my brain like the little engine that could.
Obviously, this is not the legacy I want for baby girl, but it travels far more deeply into the core of my being than I care to imagine. Although something tells me I am about to admit it very very publically.
It intertwines with the shame I carry about being blind.
And holy shit that is something which is deep dark bitter and twisty. However, not in the good chili hot chocolate kind of way.
It used to be a shame I could shift on to others, or so I thought. Now I realize it is like a low-level virus, which is sometimes dormant, and sometimes threatening to erupt like a volcano.
Nevertheless, either way, it drives me. Be it forward, backward, or frozen in time, it is the thieving ugly motivation behind many of my actions.
I take no pride in putting these words to paper.
If anything, it makes me feel ill as I summon all it means to the surface for examination.
There is a metallic taste in my mouth as I reflect back upon everywhere I have allowed this to get the better of me.
Moreover, it is here on the stark white background of the blank page I can see where it has infiltrated my world.
Be it in every opportunity I have been too afraid to take, every intention I have not followed through, every friend I have not made, every project I have left half complete, every word I dare not write, every job I do not apply for, every thought which runs through my mind, every penny I do not have, every kindness I am unable to receive…
Therefore, this is big! Really really big. Moreover, I need to find a way to make proper friends with it, because this cannot be what baby girl remembers when she thinks of me.
Not this sinister shadow lurking on the edges of my world, ruining our lives.
I want her to remember strength, and sunshine, and fabulous shoes.
However, isn’t this what we all want?
Something better for our children than what we ourselves have?
When I first started Blind Mama, I did not really know what I wanted it to be, or where I wanted it to go.
But as I started to migrate The Blunder Weeks posts over to the big girl website last night, and I read those hastily scrawled notes intended as a guide for me to come back to later, I wish I had said more.
Because as I feared, I have forgotten.
Not everything of course, but I have forgotten much of it, just as women before me had said I would.
As I read each post, I was not sure whether I wanted to go back and edit them. Alternatively, whether I should leave it as a legacy to the rough and tumble way I started this project.
Truth be told, I once harbored visions of it being a bestselling book.
However now I have revisited my work, I can see it for what it truly is, total shit.
In fact, I cannot believe I ever thought I would be able to make something more from these scantily clad offerings.
I had this amazing pre-blogging perfect blogging plan involving lots of pictures. The problem is, yeah well we know what the problem is; How does this blind mama manage to execute this vision of grandeur, and have it look amazing?
Up until late last night my biggest question, or so I thought, was should I put the beautifully personal picture of baby girl, bottom up in the air, being weighed on the scales, no more than fifteen minutes after she was born up for all to see, or do I play it safe and find a just as cute, but maybe not as poignant image of the tiny cutie up instead?
Oh God so many decisions, and so many responsibilities.
However as it turns out, this is the least of my problems.
Sure, a picture tells a thousand words, but holy shit, my writing is bad!
I remember writing many of these posts, and worrying I was taking up too much of people’s time with my self-indulgence. Therefore I would spend hours carefully crafting my words, as not to offend, not to say too much, and not to be a burden.
Through the constructing of this post, it has become self-evident, of course I will go back and edit those earlier peaces, but not for the reasons which one may think.
As it is not pride which prompts me to do so, but it is a certain little princess I am always talking about.
Because one day she will ask me what she was like as a baby, or what I was like as her mama, and I will need to provide her an answer.