I honestly don’t know how I’d get through the day without ‘Google Search.’ I love writing, but didn’t know anything about blogging. After days of research, courtesy of good friend Google, I’m finally ready to give it a go.
It’s harder than writing a book, with its convenient characters. With this blogging business, I have to write as myself, with nowhere to hide! I quite like to hide, incidentally, and often don’t answer both the phone and the door.
OK, so in this first blog I thought I’d simply introduce you to my little world. Since February that has been a babbling, bouncing, beautiful bundle of baby. She is our first, and for about the first twelve weeks of her life we thought she might be our only! You know that saying – nothing can prepare you for a baby – whoa! True, and then some.
Caring for baby is a rollercoaster of intensity and extremity. It’s all things at once - the hardest, most terrifying, most exhausting, most relentless, most meaningful and most wonderful thing I have ever done. Like I said, all things at once.
None of the pregnancy books I read warned me that I might sometimes wonder why on earth I had wanted a baby. That really there is no point to her actually wearing a nappy when poo-gate strikes, and that it goes everywhere! That when she got her first cold I’d worry myself to a whole new level. And that I’d massacre my fingernails from the fear and responsibility.
But neither did they warn me that her smile would become my reason for getting up in the morning. That I’d do anything to hear that mad little giggle – cue demented dancing. Who needs the gym? That I’d love her so much I’d happily hack to pieces anyone who ever threatened to hurt her - strong words from a woman who avoids stepping on ants and rescues insects from her water fountain. She’s gorgeous and perfect and so sweet. I love her beyond measure.
When they did my c-section they confirmed I have endometriosis. So its not lost on me how very lucky I am. Endo-what? - hello Google.
Baby’s father co-habits with us. He’s a good’un. He hasn’t read ‘Automaton’ yet, although I finished writing it years ago. The other night I tried to sit on his knee, but he made space on the sofa beside him instead. The next night I made it onto his knee, and he announced, “I think you weigh more than me now.”
I often get more conversation from the baby than I do her Daddy - I accused him of never listening to a single syllable I say, and his defence was, after I’d repeated myself, of course, “most men are like that.”
Wow - he doesn’t come out well on paper.
But we love him very much.
It’s time to feed the bundle. I guess I’m going to hold my breath and ‘publish.’ It feels likes sending part of my soul into cyberspace. Is that the right word?