There’s this weird thing going on, where I simultaneously feel like the baby inside me is sucking out all my creativity and exponentially growing it at the same time. I can’t stop thinking thinking thinking and dreaming dreaming dreaming. And yet? I, the writer, am having a very hard time writing.
It seems as though the pregnancy brain combined with the heat has made me lackluster in the “pen”, but I wish for what’s inside my heart to be able to come out and splay across the screen and be more than just words for you all.
I am keeping cool and trying not to lose my sanity (yet) and wondering how my age got so high when my soul feels still infant-stage. I wonder if I will finally get to know what it’s like to parent a girl and I long for moments of silence just to enjoy these kung-fu kicks.
These THOUGHTS. There are so many.
I read poets and imagine the greater deepness and wonder why more people around me don’t understand me. Do you ever have these existential mini-crisis? Or is it just the heat and me and my wacked brain doing this?
I don’t have more to share today than this: it’s summer and being a creative and growing a baby is this huge personal growth thing that I don’t want to ever end. At the same time, my hip hurts and my feet hurt and I’m swollen and ready to be done in a few short months. The mother’s paradigm.