…the writer in me just won’t go away. Not that I actually did any writing. But I’ve felt like it, certainly felt compelled to actually start something. If there’s one truth in becoming a parent, it jumbles up your brain and all your priorities and even when you get a free moment – like in that two hour span from 8 PM to 10 PM when he’s asleep in his crib all cozy and happy – you would rather spend your time dozing on the couch or finishing up that last wee bit of laundry you’ve been putting off. Sometimes, I’ve sat down to journal a bit about him, about his teething and the endless days of crankiness or that first horrific cut on his arm. Last weekend, I managed to write a few things into his baby book, like the dates that his tusks teeth emerged. But in general, I feel so much less motivated to do the things I used to, or want to do.

I tried going to bed early last night (well, 10:30) in attempts to sleep – uninterrupted – for a good 6 or 7 hours. Alas, I woke at 1:30 and 3:30 and then 5, when Elliot woke up. Sometime around 3:42 AM, when the garbage truck comes to take away the bin at the Children and Family services facility behind our house (don’t ask, I don’t know), I got the ridiculous urge to attack the back yard. There are leaves that need to be bagged and raked. There is grass that needs mowing. I wanted to clean off the patio furniture so we can sit outside and chat, now that it’s nice out. And it’s too bad that I can’t do that stuff in the dead of night. And I certainly can’t do it during the day because I’m either at work and taking care of a small child who pretty much needs constant attention. Ok, that’s not entirely true but it’s still tough to get out and do that on weekends.

By the way, it’s Tuesday and I hate Tuesday. I’d like to stab Tuesday with a spoon. Why a spoon? Because it’s hurt more!

Yeah, I’m at a stand-still in terms of this entry. So I leave you before you die of boredom.