(This babelet is six weeks old! She smiled her first unmistakable, gappy, dimpled grin today. Cockles, be warmed.)
I miss writing. I still write in my head but am struggling to find the moments to commit pen to paper (sadly, 'fingers to keyboard' just has no romance.) Oh lordy, life is busy busy. But I am lucky enough to be hurled into the whirlwind of mothering three kids under five after a hideous bastard of a year.
Context is everything.
A little sleep deprivation and back pain? A pair of squabbling tinies and a chaotic messy house? BAH! Nothing compared to the displaced pelvis of my third trimester. Or the panicky, exhausted depression of my disrupted thyroid. Or, in the most painful truth of all, the heartbreak that my brother and sister-in-law suffered through when they lost baby Autumn just last June.
I am feeling so much better than I did that I can only feel relieved and grateful for the parting of the clouds. The Mogantosh ranch, as spring unfurls, is a busy, crazy joint. Small people are underfoot in every corner, potties are kicked over, the washing basket overflows, and yesterdays craft competes for space with the washing up.
I am grateful for every tender, ramshackle moment.