I just checked my book sales for the first time in two months. This is the first time I’ve logged into my own website in nearly three. If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve probably forgotten that you follow me on Twitter. If you’ve worked with me at all for the last few months, you might have noticed that instead of being prompt, responsive and committed to meeting my own high standards, I’ve been juuuuuuust squeaking by.
Sorry, world. It was unavoidable. Something has been sucking the life out of me in a greedy quest to feed its own existence. It’s a baby. And I am, of course, more than willing to let it do so for the next 19 to 25 years. Though I was fully unprepared for how difficult the first trimester would be (the fatigue! the evil, stifling blanket of fatigue!), everything that I am and all that I believe preclude me from blaming my need to temporarily recede from reality on a pregnancy. Oh no. If only that was the only thing.
The same photo has been the wallpaper on my phone for years now. Gunshy in a bow tie was the obvious choice before he died last May, and it never even occurred to me to change it. Until yesterday. I might have gone on gazing on my departed little boy a hundred times a day indefinitely, but another baby boy showed up in my family this week, and everything in the world has changed. When my sister shared a photo of herself and her two-day-old son at home in front of the Christmas tree, my heart exploded, my brain fell out of my head, and all I wanted to do with the rest of my life is stare at that baby.
Surely I’m not the only one contemplating the fall of Rome today. But in an effort to avoid the hyperbolic fray of the government shutdown, I purposefully shifted my thinking from large-scale crises to small. Though I doubt the Washington drama will result in the end of civilization as we know it (fingers crossed! Survivorship skills aren’t top on on my household’s list of talents.), the end of a personal era is definitely upon me. And it’s making me a little itchy.