It’s been a while. Again. I had a baby in January—he’s beautiful and growing like crazy and I love him more than anything else in the world. He’s also eating up all of my time and my motivation. The shawl pattern got placed on the backburner in favor of moving and a new job, and then due to disinterest during the surprise pregnancy. Now it’s put away, waiting for my motivation to grow back… maybe when he’s in school.
I am trying to get back to my writing now though; it’s easier to sneak in some typing on the netbook during his short naps than it is to haul out the yarn bowl and make hand notations in the pattern as I go. My difficulty is focusing on something to write about. I come up with all sorts of topics while I’m out on the porch, smoking and enjoying momentary silence, but as soon as I come in to attend to baby’s various needs, all of those ideas evaporate.
Thank goodness we have an enclosed porch. Winter has been cold and windy this year, and I’m glad that I don’t have to actually stand out in it to go outside and try to settle my hormones and reign in my mind. I like to stare out the screen door and monitor the weather. Snow, sleet, rain. Wind hard enough to shake the windows. Sunny with a ninety percent chance of birds.
There’s a name stamped into the concrete walkway up to the door: E.R. Thompson. I searched the name online and found only one reference related to the town I live in. He was a treasurer secretary in 1912 for the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, and that’s all I know about him other than the fact that he used to own this house. I find myself standing at the door wondering who he was, did he always go by ‘E.R.’, what was his real name? Edwin, Eugene, or Eustace? I’m not even sure that he was a he. Why not Elizabeth, Elaine, or Eloise? How much of the house I’m living in was here when he (or she) lived here? I have no way of knowing, but I wonder anyway.
I’m trying to ease myself back into writing so that I might be able to help my husband support us and still be able to stay home and take care of my son. I filled out my W-9 today to work for an online content company. Here’s hoping the baby lets me get some work done—I’m surprised that he’s let me get this much writing, but oh, he’s stirring. Time to change a diaper, fill his belly, or just reassure him that yes, I’m still here.