I think I’ve been in a fog for the last 18 months or so.
It’d be easy to state that I’ve been in the ‘numb’ state of grief and / or depression, and well, maybe I have been. But ‘fog’ seems like a more accurate way of stating it. At the time, I didn’t see it. Suddenly now I’m looking all around me and seeing things again though, and in doing so, realising just how much I didn’t see before.
I’ve been wanting to post something – actually, a variety of somethings, just musings as they happen – here for a couple weeks now, but it seems really odd to suddenly start blogging on a blog that’s been silent for over a year. Starting anew – at a new host, or even just new title / address – doesn’t seem fitting either. I want my journey out there for people to read, even if it’s only a very small handful. Starting somewhere else at this point would feel like a denial of the past.
Tonight, obviously, I’m sitting down and writing a blog. But in doing so I re-read the past few posts. Always helps to see where one’s been. And this ever so much highlights everything.
Because nothing’s really there. No posts since February of last year.
In fact in my last post I lamented not being pregnant and not having a job. Well… I’m currently not pregnant, and am still unemployed.
But a whole life has been created in between, and I have a gorgeous, perfect, delight of a five month old girl to show for it.
Yet throughout her pregnancy I didn’t say a thing. Which in a way isn’t that atypical as I’ve only ever been a sporadic blogger at best. But I still see it as a telling symptom. I white-knuckled my way through the entire pregnancy. It wasn’t until I was holding a confused and possibly a little pissed off, goopy baby on my chest that I really truly believed I’d get my wish.
In my previous births, writing the birth story – often sharing it quite publicly – has been a key part of the postnatal process. This time I was always ‘going to get around to it’, but still haven’t. This despite the fact I’ve typed it out via instant messenger and facebook and various forums so many times I may as well have just copy / pasted it, and told it as many times (undoubtedly sometimes multiple times to the same people) that it’s not for lack of knowing the birth story, or for lack of wanting to share.
But there is, perhaps, a good amount of denial. Because at one of the crucial points of labour I was solidly convinced that this baby would be stolen from me too.
She wasn’t. She was making all and sundry dance around guessing will she, won’t she, how will she, when will she… but she made it here, in precisely her own style, as babies are wont to do. Now each day I’m greeted by a brimming, giggling smile that looks as if she’s sharing a joke, and as I resign to the fact my sleep has indeed ended for the night, I can’t help but feel SO thankful for the priceless wee wish that has been granted to me.
She is my sunshine, and is burning off the fog.