Mothering right now is like watching birds hatch from a nest, like seeing a new butterfly unflap two wet wings. The girl speaks! She says dear, dear things. She sings a song she invented herself. mama,dada,mama,dada,bop,bop,bop!
Yet, I am like a person who has eaten too much of one thing and needs another. Something wonderful, something different. I need perhaps a rock, a sunny one, and a case of wine. To drink with a best friend. To drink with my best friend.
To feel different than I do now, because I am only ambiguous. To write and write, but to not know where to put it. I dream a big dream for myself. I imagine to create something wonderful. But then I step right back, re-think, re-think, re-worry, edit. Edit it down, down to the point of not happening.
So, I'm going to get out of the head. And just write a little more. More doing, less worrying. And I know this feeling is just a whole lot of February. And it's not here to stay.