Hair versus life

I am a person that moves very fast through the day.  Why exactly, it is hard to explain.  I think that I do it so that at the end of the day I can have a moment to sit down and not move at all.  It hardly ever happens though:  I find stuff to do for the NEXT day as well.

In light of the fact that my time is so tightly managed, that I try to squeeze so much out of every given second, I have recently discovered that curling my hair takes me six minutes.  The other day, I was walking with two friends, both of which have naturally curly hair, and I asked them whether it is worth the six minutes to get glamorous curls in my hair, or whether simply tying my otherwise flat and limp hair in a bun (which is a ten second procedure) would look just as good.  They said that it is an odd question for them to answer, since it takes them a second to run four fingers through their hair in the mornings to be ready to go.  Curly hair apparently does not even need brushing. Who knew :)

I wish I had naturally curly hair, but since I got older, I don't waste too much time wishing for things that are impossible.  Again, it has to do with time management.  If it gives results in keeping with the time and effort spent, then it stays.  Wishing for impossible things does not, so therefore I am not giving it any time slots in the busy schedule.

What I had forgotten to say about my hair is that it also needs washing daily.  If I dry it by blow drying, that adds another eight minutes.  Total time spent on hair daily: 16 minutes.  Lately, I simply tie it in a bun while wet and away I go.  What that leads to is hair that is even more limp than the walking dead. However, during the gained 16 minutes, I get to swim 750 meters, and although I have shitty hair, my front crawl became faster in the past two weeks.

What can I say, it is hair versus life.

TTCB (trying to come back)

I have not forgotten about this blog.  In fact, I think about it several times a week.  I miss my blogging days dearly, probably because I love to write, and I especially love to write when I know that someone else is reading my ramblings.  The question is, why did I stop?  Is it really lack of time?  

It is never lack of time.  I make time to teach Emma her reading, and to run.  I make time for the important things in life, and for the things I love to do.  What I think happened is that, gradually, the focus of the blog changed from conception and babies to life after infertility, which perhaps is not as interesting, given that we all have a life to live and there is not much extraordinary going on in mine as compared to the neighbour's.  I sometimes feel like the focus of the blog has changed so much, that I almost need to start another blog.  I am confused about what I am doing here, so I keep waiting for clarity.  It is starting to come in bits and pieces. 

I know now that I don't feel like starting another blog.  This blog is a diary of sorts, a place for me to vent ideas and feelings, so there is no need to separate it into several diaries, since it is all part of one unified life.  

Yes, in the end, the truth is that I am not really a blogger.  I am a diary writer.  Someone once commented that my writing is self absorbed, and indeed, it is supposed to be.  Diaries are unidimensional lenses that scrutinize life from a single perspective:  that of the writer.   Recognizing this limitation, I should not have felt offended, but I did.  It inhibited me from writing.  Being told that I should be more thankful for my life implied that the thankfulness is not coming out in my writing.  It might not be.  A diary is not always a reflection of my entire being, of all my feelings.  It is simply a snapshot of what ails me the most that day, or of what caught my mind's eye at that moment.  

Anyway, this writing is precious to me, and so I would like to continue.  I need to give it a regular time in my life, and that time is likely to be on the weekends.  One day, I am hoping that my kids will read it, and learn to know their mother and their beginnings from a different perspective.  That might be valuable to them.  I certainly like to see how my life evolves and changes, and reading back posts gives me that perspective.  And there is always the chance that someone is battling with similar situations in life as I have in the past (or present) and that my writing is giving them companionship, which is probably the biggest bonus of them all.   

So many reasons to write, so little time...

January 2, remembering Adrian

Today is the day when I remember Adrian, my first born child.  He would have been seven if he had lived.  I am no longer spending the day feeling miserable, but I allow myself to feel some of the sadness.  If I really dig deep into it, it becomes as overwhelming as it was seven years ago.  It is a big, black hole of despair that could engulf me.  Except that I now have my two living kids, and dwelling in such feelings is short lived, if it happens at all.  Emma and Daniel would not allow me to spend too much time in the past, because they live in the present and need me to provide for them in the present.

I had a good day, a day in which I connected with my husband and with my children.  With all of my children.  Adrian, my love, you have given me the first feeling of being a mom, the first feeling of overwhelming love and protection so big that I myself disappear and become the feeling itself.  Your sister and brother know about you, and think about you often.  You and I are separated by the physical laws, but you are only a thought away.  In the blink of an eye, I can be back with you.  Do you remember how I said I would live my life fully, for both of us?  I am doing that, my son, and I hope to be able to do it until the day I die and meet you.

Your loving mother remembering you on this special day.