Do you ever get that sinking feeling when you start something with gusto and then, some months and, well, a modicum of horn-tooting later the zeal starts to fade just a little and you realise that you can't quite keep up with the standards you have set yourself?
Its kinda like posting a picture of you on a dating web site (insert message board, year book, staff gallery [mine] here) looking your very, very, shiniest, sexiest, most coiffed self and then, when the time finally comes to meet that 'special someone' you realise that on almost all other days you bear very little resemblance to that fake you in the picture , and are slightly embarrassed and feel bad about the (perceived) inevitable disappointment?
Its kinda like that with this blog. I'm so enjoying the keeping of it, and the intentionality of reflection that it requires, but I feel like a bit of a shiney photo fraud.
I started with one or two posts, contemplative and reflective, on the deeper aspects of the parenting journey, and got such supportive, 'I hear you sister' type comments that it fuelled my habit and I just kept posting.
Now things have settled down a bit (not that I need your comments you understand, cos I'm obviously, total self actualised. ha.) and I just want to post about our flu, the weather, and the state of my cooking. But god, I feel a little like maybe I'm letting someone down.
Its here that the Marti in my head reminds me that for most of you life will in fact go on and you don't actually live or die by this blog. No kidding.
But still. Sorry for the humdrum. I'll try for the other again soon.
I'm up late writing this (very late. In fact, early.) because I've been procrastinating on marking a pile of student papers for oh, about 3 months now. The deadline is now past here and so obviously I'm blogging. Actually I've marked 7 already tonight, added to the 7 last night leaves me only 3 to go and frankly I need a break from incomplete sentences and boring renditions of psychological theory. Its not as if I'm actually getting a whole lot less sleep than I would be if I were in bed. Noah is waking every 3/4 hours on a good night, and Jamie has been up and down with a blocked nose for the last two. In addition to that, and against all sanity and reason I just seem unable to go to bed early. I crave that few hours of space, quiet.
Tiredness takes on a whole new dimension when you're a parent. We are permanently, clinically sleep deprived. There is no possible way I could pull the all nighters (both academic and, well, less so) of my younger years, but I can make a damn good play-doh tractor and fix a broken zipper, whilst spraying the anti damp stuff on the spark plugs of the car to get it started on less than 3 hours sleep.
Parents of older children have told me that even when they do sleep through the night (and often well into the morning) you still stir at every sound, ready to be awake and alert in an instant if they should need you or lie half awake until they too are safe in bed.
So right now I'm beyond tired, but its quiet, and I need to get back to Vygotsky, Piaget, Bronfenbrenner and Bruce.
Good night. Sleep well.