A beginning, again….

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I’m not gonna lie, Pony.  I have been remiss.  I have been amiss.  I have been adrift.  Of all creative endeavor or thought.  It’s been rough.  2012 was kind of hard on me.  And gloriously abundant.  All at the same time.  Weird.  Parenting is like that.  It was the best of times…it was the worst of times….

I feel emptied out and hollowed out of pithy witty words.  Nothing sparkling comes.  I fear I have lost my touch, my gift of gab, somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, sitting on our new sofa already stained with what were supposed to be washable markers, with the video monitor in one hand, a timer in the other, and my sanity out the door.  I have silently screamed and pulled my hair.  Your Dad has found me secretly sobbing.  I have not known what to do and then known exactly what to do and then forgot and known nothing at all.  I have been erratically consistent.  The desire to pick you up and nurse you, hold you, sing to you, smell you, embrace you, rock you, cajole you, beg you, plead with you when you are crying in the middle of the night for absolutely no apparent reason is unbearable.  It seems I am unable to merely walk in, say a few encouraging words, and leave.  Oh, how I wish I could.  Because just the other night I watched your Dad go in, do just that, and you promptly stopped screaming, laid down, and peacefully went to sleep.  It was kind of magical.  His confidence inspires me.  My anxiety, once again, tortures me.  It is a defect I pray with all my heart does not get passed on to you through me.  That would kill me.  Sometimes you make this stress face, I call it.  Where you tighten all your tiny little muscles in your lower jaw, neck and upper body, tensing everything, even your small perfect hands,  for maybe 20 seconds before quitting and letting go.  I have no idea why or where you got this habit, tic? But apples don’t fall far from trees, do they?  And your father is not an anxious guy.  He can be pouty, lord knows, and he knows, and he knows I know, but he’s not anxious.  He has a cool calm comforting thing going on that you and I respond REALLY well to.  He’s the oak.  We are the quivering leaves.  

I am sorry I have not been inspired to write more.  It is not because there isn’t a plethora of inspiring things going in with you everyday.  It’s just my confidence level in almost every area of my life has taken a small beating in the last few months, especially in November.  That month was not kind to me.  But I survived and am a better person because of it, of that I am sure.  I know some really deep things have recently changed for me.  Want to know how?  Because for my New Year’s Resolutions/Intentions/Whatever I didn’t write a long list of the “things” I wanted: like to lose weight, make more money, save more money, write more, write everyday, meditate (for reals this time), travel somewhere exotic, buy that thing I’ve coveted that I think will make me finally happy, no….I didn’t list any of those.  I finally have realized, in this age teetering on the cusp of 40, that all of that comes when I am more generous and other centered.  That is all I want this year.  I want to be less self-obsessed and self-centered.  Wow.  I can honestly say I have never wanted that before.  Yes, the times they are a changing.  

2013.

Here we come.  I hope pray wish I can be an example to you of all the things I hope you to be. Kind. Considerate. Loving. Gentle. Accepting. Tolerant. Unconditional. Forgiving. Generous. Empathetic. 

I just need a lot of help getting there.  That is why I rely on Him. 

I won’t preach to you about God.  I promise you that.  I have a Grandmother, your Great Grandmother, and she is a fundamentalist Mormon.  Someday you’ll know exactly what that means and why I won’t do what she did.  But I will share with you my love of Love and The Mystery and you can call it what you will.  Maybe it’s Ebee, maybe it’s Bear.  As long as it’s yours and you can talk to it.  My job is done.

I love you little monkey.  I love your spastic smile, your crazy laugh, your quirky sense of humor, and your goofy vibe.  You truly are our child.  

Our “Love” Child. 

Love, 

Mom.

 

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