Tegan,
I don’t believe I have writers block, but I find myself unable to write. For example: this newsletter, as well as songs, emails, and even short text messages. At first, I thought it was new parent fatigue. Not the kind caused by lack of sleep, as we’re all sleeping fine. “Existential fatigue” might seem exaggerated, but it accurately describes it. Like someone newly in love, my thoughts drift between memories and thoughts of Sid all day long. At night, I find myself dreaming unspeakable events befalling him. Parenthood is a joy, but it is also a gravity blanket. Sometimes, I jot down thoughts about him on my phone. A recent one, is so over the top I hesitate to share it here, but, then again, it captures my state of mind quite well.
“Baby as God-like. The way the devoted don’t just think about God in church but think about Him everywhere. And they see Him in everything. He becomes bigger than a person. He is an idea, rules, a compass.”
As these thoughts of him (Him?) make their way to the surface, I can’t help but write them down. At least I’m writing.
Sara
Here is Sid singing his first *song* :)
There's a Brandi Carlile song I love that begins, "Welcome to the end of being alone inside your mind." It came out right after I had my second son, and it was one of those lyrics that knocked all the breath out of me the first time I heard it. My kids are 6 and 10 now, and they are still taking up most of my brain real estate.
Love it! He’s so sweet. The emotional weight of parenthood is so real. Mine are 16 and 18 now and it’s hard not to take their stuff on. You absorb their moods. You worry about them. You’re always thinking about them. The amount of hours I’ve spent awake just thinking about them and worrying about them (even though they are fairly easy kids) is amazing (also thank you 46 year old hormones and anxieties. You worry if they’re happy. You worry you’re enough. You worry about the things you might not know. It’s wild. Yet so so so worth it. Now I get why my mom used to say she could not sleep until she knew I was home. I’d respond with a snarky “are your feet tired? Would you like me to sit down?” What an ass I was. Sorry mom.