WEEK 52: new year, same me


I completely underestimated the commitment required to successfully complete my “2015 project”—you know, the one where I post a photo plus a 250-word mini-essay each week during 2015—um, yeah, that one.

So here we are. The last week of the year. The last day of the year, actually. I’m furiously writing this final blog post, hoping to get it posted before midnight tonight.

But I have nothing to say.

Nothing new, anyway. Nothing that hasn’t been said a thousand times already on every parenting website or mommy blog out there. Nothing pithy and brilliant to ring in the new year…

Sam and I were just discussing how, remarkably, we both feel like the same non-parent people we used to be. We’ve obviously added a giant responsibility (plus minor sleep deprivation) to our lives, but we still feel the same. Did we think that by becoming parents we would suddenly become wiser and more respectable? We look at other parents and think, “Now, they look like parents. We don’t look like parents. We’re the same as before.”

But of course we look like parents. And of course we aren’t the same.

My 2015 project crashed and burned—but not because the project itself was complicated or overwrought. It’s because being a mom is tough (and finding 45 quiet, consecutive minutes to write has been nearly impossible in these first few months). Parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I like to think it’s hard because I’m doing it right.

New Year’s Eve used to hold such magical appeal. It was a new beginning with new surprises. I have distinct memories—okay, okay, some less distinct than others—from so many New Year’s Eve celebrations. More than from most other holidays. I think because it’s a hopeful holiday: everyone seems to want to be a willing participant in becoming their best, true self.

This year, I don’t want surprises. I don’t want anything new. In fact, I want something old. My hope for the new year is to dig out the old part of me who’s been buried under hours of pumping, the sweet-sticky smell of spit-up, and lost sleep—the artist, the writer, the wife.

{Above: Remnants of last night’s incredible firework display. On view from our kitchen windows.}


One thought on “WEEK 52: new year, same me

  1. Karen says:

    I’ve missed you…but, knew why you haven’t had time to blog.

    I’m looking forward to many fun ‘reads’ in 2016 of NEW
    Adventures…ala Holden…as well as rediscovery of old pastimes
    …that are somewhat altered as a result of same😄❤️

    Much love, Karen
    Sent from my iPad

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