Motherhood is tricky. It's brutal at times. It strips you down to your skivvies, forces you to run 6 miles on no sleep and leaves you white knuckling the Nutella jar, trying to remember the last time you brushed your teeth. It was yesterday, okay. And even knowing that evokes no desire to put my computer down to go brush them.
I'm in that postpartum funk. I'm happy, don't get me wrong. I'm in love with my new little man. I'm in love with my family life. I'm in love with my husband, who does whatever he can to support me. But the funk can sneak in. The initial "thank God I'm not pregnant anymore" honeymoon has faded into sideway glances in the mirror of hips I want to go down by summer, boobs that are double the size of my newborn's head and a mind that's.....trying. The other day I asked my dog to hand me the remote. I kid you not. My dog.....to hand me the remote.
Needless to say, it's been awhile since I've been able to write. The pregnancy zapped me. It's a big, long whiny story of nausea, insane weight gain, back and pelvic pain and hormones. Nothing that extraordinary, only that we women actually survive it, then go through birth, THEN actually choose to do it again. (By the by, I'm working on my birth story, which started two weeks early with Shep asking why was peeing all over myself.) Oh, here's a pic of my newest boy..
And so here I am again, on my little old blog. I hope I spelled words correctly and did all the "there, they're and theirs" right... It's good to be back.