Twinkle Twinkle is my Jam

I have had great intentions of starting a new blog for a long time. Originally, I wanted to write and document my pregnancy so that I wouldn’t forget the magic and glow that had been promised to me before I conceived. However, I found out pretty quickly that the “glow” is just a lie that people say to pregnant women to make them feel better and prevent tears and/or homicide. “Glow” just sounds nicer than “ You look like a dumptruck”. I didn’t mind being pregnant but I didn’t feel that there was a lot to write about other than my love for maple donuts and naps.

So I decided to delay the pilot of my new blog.

“Okay, I will start writing when my son is born.” I would say

“ Yeah! Great idea! You will have so much time to write when you are on maternity leave! You will probably even have time to train for a half marathon and learn to knit!” I would reply to myself.

If you are a parent, you can probably guess how these goals worked out. I now understand  maternity leave is not a break from work. You are working 24 hours a day with 1 client screaming in your face.

I have always enjoyed writing and most days, I consider myself quite the wordsmith.Several years ago, I wrote a humor blog (I thought it was funny, at least) and accumulated a respectable number of readers. At the time, I was in my early 20s and wrote about my adventures while traveling around the country for work. I wrote about the strangers I met in airports, my plots to touch a bald man’s head and make it look like an accident, and the awkward encounter I had with Dustin DIamond.  Although I loved that blog and the adventures that inspired the words, I eventually grew out of the character. I resigned from my job to finish graduate school, got engaged, and eventually married. Even if had time to keep up with that story, I no longer have the material.  I can no longer write about my ridiculous adventures because they just don’t exist. Five years ago, my Friday night may have started with drinks at a bar and ended with me convincing a man that I was a professional polka instructor. I probably would have given him a free lesson while playing the air accordion. Now, I am 30 with a husband and four month old son and my weekend evenings are spent eating take-out, singing bedtime songs, and googling “ How to get breast milk out of couch cushions”.  

Life has turned into a different flavor of crazy lately and it is fine with me if my days of singing karaoke are over. However, if I do sing karaoke again, I hope Twinkle Twinkle Little Star is on the playlist. I know all of the words.