fizzled fire

I feel deeply overwhelmed by parenting these days. I can't seem to stay connected, to notice as much as A when Ben needs something. Everything is harder, going to the bathroom, meals, nights, days, walks, romance. She says she feels like the primary parent, and I realize now that I am inadvertently letting that happen. I know that it flip flops during different ages and stages, and I know that I am going to be the "fun mom" eventually. A just has a much better developed innate sense of duty, inherited from a long line of "git 'er done" Brits. A remembers things like the litter, and cares about regular dishwashing. Regardless of exhaustion or personal comfort, she just goes on with these tasks. I am more likely to be suddenly whipped into a mad frenzy and reorganize every closet in the house, not stopping to eat or rest until everything is bagged up for Good Will. I am driven by whim and mood. And I am happy to let someone else worry about the daily slog of it all. It doesn't help that I'm back at work part-time, which was compounded by my returning to discover my precious and beloved project's funding had been slashed to smithereens. I felt cut loose, and the raft they were offering just looked a flimsy thing. I could have left. I almost did. Sometimes I still wonder. But then, I love my colleagues, I love being the "wellness" coordinator, and I know that everything changes, including funding.

All this to say that I have been in a sorry state for weeks, and haven't felt like writing. I feel so grateful to you readers for giving me the motivation to keep blogging, however long the time lapse between posts. For being a fiery person, lately, the spark is weak. The depraved consumption of baked goods, total absence of exercise, lack of a single full night's sleep in almost three months, and the wrecking ball of PMS certainly aren't helping! I fantasize about neutralizing my acid/alkaline imbalance, signing up for a spring cleansing yoga intensive, returning to smoothies with green powder, taking tribal style belly dancing... as I nosh on a deeply satisfying hot cross bun. I want my mojo back. I want to walk on hot stones, organize another 90's dance party, eat mangoes naked. Or maybe I'll just take a nap until A asks me to change Ben's diaper. Those inner embers will re-ignite one of these days.

E