On Starting Again

This blog has been more stop than go. 

It's so hard to start again. I've never stopped thinking about this blog and I've never stopped wanting to write. But the days turn to weeks, to months, to years. Every day passes by without me writing and life continues on. The sun rises and sets, apartment leases are signed, bills are paid, babies are born...

It's been three years since you heard from me on this blog, and I'm now a mother. 

Becoming a mother has been the most transformative, harrowing, beautiful, important thing I've ever done. It's a dream come true. It's hard as hell. It's like taking a drug. It's all-consuming, brain-changing, has severe highs and lows; and you want all of your friends to try it. 

It's love beyond words. It's a level of anxiety you never knew existed. It's needing to say sorry to your Mom for all the times you broke her heart or made her worry. 

It's wondering where You went. You- the You before this stunning, perfect baby. The You before the c-section scar. The You that took selfies, the You that spent time with your friends, the You that wrote in a blog. 

It's mourning Her and wanting Her back all at once. 

A few weeks ago, I needed a photo of myself for something. I scrolled through my phone and realized I didn't have any recent photos of me. "Have I disappeared into motherhood?" I wondered. 

Here's the answer- When I started writing tonight, I had no intention of writing about motherhood.

But on the other hand- here I am, writing again. Instead of picking up toys, folding toddler clothes, or wiping down a high chair, I am writing my first blog post since 2020. 

I'm starting again.