On why I don’t write as often as I want to/should/would like to

Two months ago I had pretentiously started writing a post on why motherhood becomes easier with time (like there is any such thing as easy when it comes to being a mother). I had portrayed myself as the warrior mom who emerges from a haze of sleep deprivation and endless nursing sessions with her sanity and hair still intact. I had tactfully doled out practical advice to other women like me who look up to the infinite wisdom of Dr. Google at the slightest spark of doubt in their mind.

Of course that was before the six month sleep regression, before the trip to India, and that nasty cold that reached her stomach, and definitely before she started teething.

Now I am glad there is such a thing as procrastination and extremely glad I didn’t publish that post or else I would have had to wolf down the entire humble pie.

Then, two weeks ago, I started writing a more realistic version of the post. Something in the lines of Motherhood: Reality Check. I had just started getting into the meat of the post, talking about how motherhood is NOT easy, not for the lazy and definitely not for anyone who isn’t willing to commit to a lifetime of anxiety, when I came across this website called STFU, Parents. Which is when I decided to STFU about how difficult motherhood is. Although I don’t agree to everything that the blog prescribes, I do find most of the posts hilarious and right on point. One of the things I realized while going through the posts is hey, I signed up for this. I knew what was coming my way (well, not exactly but I had a fair amount of idea, that got debunked in the first week itself) and now that my life is nothing like it used to be (for better and yes, sometimes even for worse) I can’t complain about how my life is nothing like it used to be.

So down went that post too. Which got me thinking, so what do I really write about? For a whole five minutes I contemplated documenting my search for the perfect wardrobe, detailing how I am trying to discover my individual style, and about championing my inner diva on this blog, but I laughed it away even before the post started. That is so not me, I thought. Which is when I remembered how a friend of mine had used the words “paranoid fashionista” to describe me. But that was before. Now dressing like a slob doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world because you know, who cares how you look when you’ve got this cutest thing strapped to your chest? So I gave up the idea of starting a series of posts on rediscovering fashion. Not remotely interesting enough. Neither is how I am planning my daughter’s first birthday (don’t you dare remind me that I started a whole blog with the intention of writing about how I was planning my wedding). That leaves music, which can right now be summed up in one sentence: Spotify playlists rock, specially for people who are too lazy (like my husband) or don’t have time (like me) to scour the wickedly wide web for perfect music. As for books, my Goodreads profile should suffice, which reminds me of this brilliant thing I realized the other day that I wanted to put up as my Facebook update that I eventually didn’t: Your Goodreads profile tells me everything I need to know about you, and if I am stalking you on Goodreads, and adding your read books to my “to read” list, know that I like you very, very much.

Which leaves me with… Nothing. Seriously, I’ve got nothing! Which is ironic since the inside of my mind currently looks something like Revolution 9 by Beatles would, if it were a room instead of a song. So yeah, it really needs some sorting out and fine tuning but spring cleaning will have to wait. And when that day comes, and I have something coherent and meaningful to add to this already overloaded space called the internet, I will kindly shut my trap and not pretend my thoughts are pearls that need to be documented immediately. Let’s just accept that sometimes our thoughts just need to pass by without leaving any mark.

But then again, one of these days, I just might be passionately excited about something and a post will start writing itself and before I know it I will have shared it on my blog. Which will then it turn nullify this whole post of mine. Oh, well.

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