KP and I are writing again. We pulled out our script from last year, and are sprucing up a scene or two to make it sparkle more. That’s actually what I’m supposed to be working on at this coffee shop right now. Man, writing with a spouse is hard. Writing with 3 young kids is hard too.
There are more thoughts in my head than I have time to think about. To write out. To acknowledge. To make matter.
I’m stuck in my own world, in my own head, pondering. Feeling. Watching. Hoping.
Caught in this moment. This brief moment. Of all time. Of all existence.
My baby’s growing. I’m getting older. Years will pass. What is modern becomes what is outdated.
Everyone who came before me: I will soon be like you.
Everyone who comes after me: You will soon be like me.
Sure, they mention the sleep deprivation. They mention the symptoms of postpartum depression that you’re supposed to contact your care provider if you start experiencing. They may even mention where to get breastfeeding support if you need it.
But it’s more than that. So much more than that.