writing for me

I have always been a writer, but I have never been a journaller. (yes, that’s now a word) I remember having diaries as a teenager. They were a pink patent leather and had the chintzy, but “ultra-secure” lock on the opening. I would pick up journaling for short periods of time, but never really got in a groove that made it part of my lifestyle. Looking back, I think the struggle for me was that I felt a responsibility to turn my journal into something it should be. It needed to have a certain form and flow with grammatically correct sentences, daily entries and complete recaps of the events of the day. And, I felt I needed to wrap up all my feelings, thoughts, deepest desires and fears into the entries, too. It was overwhelming and I just couldn’t step on board with both feet.

When Beckett was a wee one, around 8 weeks old, we began struggling with fitful eating episodes and generally cantankerous demeanor from our newborn. I had never spent extended periods of time with a newborn, so I wasn’t sure if her behavior was normal. My hunch told me it wasn’t. I began keeping a daily journal of everything I ate, when Beckett ate, how she ate, how she acted after eating, how she slept, what her moods were, how her body reacted to sleeping and eating and what her poop looked like. After meeting with a lactation consultant and her pediatrician and putting the pieces of the journal together – we came to the conclusion (and correct one, I might add) that she was struggling with acid reflux. Prescription meds and an altered nursing method transformed her into a happy, content and pleased baby. And, by her four-month birthday she was off the meds.

I look back on that journal and it’s a wonderful read down memory lane. There was no form and it’s only function was to chronicle daily life, all the ins and outs, as a new mother. My days are filled with memory making material. Beckett spouts off insightful philosophies and endearing questions. Camden is growing and moving through babyhood faster than the speed of light. Between my random blog postings that cover our daily life, the oddball contributions to my facebook status that involve bizarre occurrences, adorable utterings and major milestones – I see that there is no cohesive string to this flow.

So, I’ve decided to journal again. No pink patent leather and no words under lock and key. It’s for me. The narrator is me and I’m telling the story. It’s not written with the intention that my children must read it. The sentences might not always be complete and the entries are sporadic, but reasonably regular. Most entries end with bullet-points or notes for next time because my eyes get heavy before I’m done writing. It’s easy, it’s groovy and it’s a way to remember the memories. The days go by so fast, the kids grow so quickly and the emotions, feelings and love are overwhelming in the bestest of ways. I am hoping the journal will serve as a place to pull together the blog postings, the status updates, the twitter tweets, the pinterest boards and all the other big and small and everything in between of daily life.

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