Sanguine I am

Earlier this week, I let loose the URL of my blog for the first time.  Albeit to only a select few; namely, people who I know on twitter, but still–a major leap.  Now I have proof that my words are being read in my site stats.  I sure hope this doesn’t subliminally temper my inner voice.

I was so hesitant to start a blog because everyone starts one when they’re at a crossroads, right?  How else do you justify a new beginning?  Was it a big deal to anyone else to start writing in a new journal in days long past?  I felt like each notebook needed a new journey or major life experience to justify marring the virgin pages with my own mundane observations.  So as a result, I have about 30 different books I’ve amassed over the years.   Often I’d start new ones on January 1.  One for a trip to California to meet my father’s father for the first and only time when I was 16.  Others for my years abroad.  Another following a break up.  Still another for a move to a new apartment.   Now a digital journal for motherhood.

I’ve always had the sense, even from a very young age, that it is necessary to capture my thoughts throughout the years.  No one knows what is going to happen tomorrow, and as much as I want to be there for my offspring–physically and emotionally–we never really know what the future holds.  That’s why we have life insurance, and why it is suggested that new parents write wills (still have to do that one!).  Each picture I see of myself now, I look at with different eyes now that I have a son.  What if that was one of only a handful of images he has of me for the rest of his life?  Do I look maternal?  Would he think I’m pretty?

I’m so lucky one of the most pervasive images we have of my father, Dr. John W. Duckworth III,  is this one.  Isn’t he so dignified looking??  I don’t keep pictures of him around because they make me too sad and reflective.  Maybe I should work on that, I don’t know.  I actually had to just take a picture of that picture to get it online, I haven’t looked at it in months.  For the first time I’m seeing aspects of my son in my father!  How amazing.

Motherhood is such a ride.  AS USUAL I intended to write about something completely different from where I ended up.  I meant to address something one of my friends told me after sharing my blog that I “seem to have it so together” (paraphrase, sorry L, twitter seems to have deleted that portion of our message).

While I do have it together much of the time, now its just the important parts.  Like, I had this big meeting to facilitate last week, and I was able to get just enough sleep the night before to pull it off in order to look and act professionally.  But the day before?? I was a mess! This evening?  I took a nap from 4-5:30 out of sheer exhaustion. In my tights, in my bed!  Napping is something I used to consider a part of my life I had totally in order.  I had appropriately scented sheets, the right curtains to accommodate a nap whenever it was needed, even a live pug to cuddle with!  But today I broke all my rules–slept with jewelery on, door ajar, blinds open, phone not switched to airplane.  Totally un-hygenic sleep, and so against everything I ever believed naps should be.  A quaint example. But truly: I have only the most important things together.  I’ve learned in the last 6 months or so that its not necessary to fold every bit of laundry before going to bed at night.  And its totally acceptable to eat dinner in bed if you’ve had a long day, (or if you just feel like it).  I’m maybe not as productive as I used to be, but I’m more interesting, approachable and relatable than I’ve ever been.  So it seems there are some payoffs to being transparent and (seemingly) stable!

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