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Being Mom and keeping mum

They tell you your life will change when you have kids, and you think, I know.  Dumbass, that's the whole point.  You know it will, but you simply can't anticipate how.  The major ways are easy to imagine.  It's the minor ones that sneak up on you.

One thing I didn't realize, back before Ben and Charlie, was how my attitude about blogging would change.  As an infertility blogger, I found it much easier to write about my life than I did to actually live it.  Talking about it here gave me an opportunity to process it, an avenue for converting it from horror show to sitcom.  The remove was a relief.

As a parent, the opposite's true.  I sit with Charlie at the breakfast table, listening to him judiciously conclude that the big black birds on our snowy lawn must be penguins, and I don't know how to write about it.  Ben gamely takes to his belly, lifts his arms and legs, and makes as if to swim the English Channel, and I tell him how fine and strong he is, but find no words to tell you.

It's not that I have nothing left to say about becoming or being a parent.  It's more that my time is limited; my need to communicate is less urgent; and my fluency is, these days, weirdly impaired.  When I do sit down to write I go totally blank.  Happiness — normalcy — has left me mostly dumbfounded.

This is, of course, the kind of problem you want to have.  But it's not so great for a blog.

When I go awhile without posting, if it occurs to you to wonder, just assume I'm busy explaining why those are probably crows, not penguins.  And feeling quiet.  And feeling happy.