Something very unexpected, and utterly ironic happened today. This blog has been nominated in the MadBlogAwards Best New Blog category.
I nearly peed myself when that tweet landed this afternoon, and not even for 24-weeks-pregnant reasons. Imagine that! The worst maintained blog in the history of blogs has been nominated for something. So long has it been since I blogged anything that I had issues remembering my login details earlier. I last blogged in January.
And yet a gorgeous person somewhere, it appears, actually went to the trouble of nominating me for an award. Nothing could have surprised me more. Frankly, it is a perpetual surprise that anyone pays the blindest bit of attention to me as I wang on about the completely unoriginal subject of parenting being more than a little challenging at times.
So I reasoned the very least I could do was pop my head above the parapet and explain my absence.
If you read the last blog you’ll know I am up the veritable duff once again, and that things have not been particularly straightforward. At the last count I can list hyperemesis gravidarum, symphysis pubis dysfunction and migraines on my list of pregnancy related quirks. Which essentially translates to feeling like I am constantly on the verge of Noro after not sleeping for 5 days, having been kicked in the crotch with a steel-capped boot, combined with a banging headache and the inability to see out of one eye. It’s been quite the hoot.
It’s left me rather sad. Generally you’d think that being pregnant is a lovely, fluffy, beautiful 9 months. As a woman, when push comes to shove and putting feminism aside for a second, something boils down to the fact you were designed to be able to make and sustain a baby. I know that’s a gross over-simplification for many, for so many reasons, but I can’t get away from this voice in my own head that says ‘this should be the most natural thing you can do.’
And so having the joy ripped out of this time has been hard. I know I am not the first to feel this way and I certainly won’t be the last. Others who have faced a difficult pregnancy, I imagine, will know what I am trying to describe. Having the ability to enjoy these 40 weeks, being challenged at what feels like a fundamental level, has rocked me back.
I remind myself constantly that we are very lucky. There has never been a time that I have regretted our decision to try for a second baby or underestimated our fortune in making one. But there have been and still are days when I have found myself utterly defeated by the hyperemesis. It has been a long, hard six months. With Blake there was this constant bubble beneath the surface as we looked forward to becoming three, a giddy anticipation of what was to come. The absence of that this time around has been crushing. And my mojo for this blog has somewhat disappeared in the midst of it all.
But then came today. Someone somewhere had a little faith in me, for which I am so thankful. I felt the tingle that for me comes with the prospect of dashing some words off and pushing them out into the great unknown. So here we are, a blog/apology of sorts. Perhaps this is a turning point – it certainly feels like a commitment to try and write a little more often. Thanks for reading. Hopefully see (read?) you soon. X