I struggled valiantly to maintain my two weeks of blogging silence. Seven days into it I succumbed to my addiction. Stuck all alone in my apartment– confined to the couch nonetheless– without Cocktails With Hemingway launches my brain into overdrive. Those thoughts belong here so I can attempt in vain to maintain relaxation mode for my mind. Offers poured in from my church family and shelter friends for company and help around the house….but I desperately needed this time to disengage, decompress, and think quietly. Thank you endlessly to all who offered their friendship and assistance and please don’t take it personally that I declined. Half of my heart is missing and it’s impossible to fill the void.
Bed rest. Sigh. What a love/hate relationship. Have I mentioned yet that I am eagerly anticipating my return to work? I fully realize now that this mandate is imperative for Tatum’s final weeks in the womb and my own health….so I’ve accepted it and try to honor the terms as much as possible. It’s difficult, insanely boring, and– worst of all– I feel crippled when it comes to fighting for Adam. Missing our Friday ritual [due to my hospitalization] was one of the most painful things I’ve experienced in a long time. For a variety of reasons I try to express my anguish only in the vaguest of terms but do you have any idea how hard it is to be relatively silent about something that consumes your every waking moment and even your dreams?
Correct me if I’m wrong but I don’t recall being governed by hormones during my first pregnancy. Round two leaves me feeling as though I am a hormonal mess who is stressed beyond comprehension. And I’m so homesick it physically hurts. Case in point: I read about a Memphis mother who left her 4 year old, 2 year old, and 9 month old in a running car while she went inside to get a manicure. The middle child got a hold of Mommy’s loaded gun and pointed it at a concerned cop performing a welfare check. A search of the vehicle also revealed a big ol’ bag of weed. After finishing the story I burst into tears. Not because of the appalling ‘parenting’ of this woman, not because I was relieved that her kids were in a safe place, not because she went (back) to jail [though of course all those things were true]….but because I wished I was in Memphis. You can only imagine how the floodgates were unleashed once I heard that Mo’ Money Taxes scammed a bunch of people. My heart yearns for my hometown!
[[ Sloane's Note: Memphis is not some vast ghetto wasteland comprised of trashy, ignorant morons. It's a vibrant city rich with history and culture. There are countless incredible individuals doing incredible things for an incredible place. But I was born and raised here so it's okay for me to poke fun. If you diss my city, however, prepare to incur my wrath-- unless of course you're from there too. ]]
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s confession time. Remember when I shared with you that I eliminated my Feedjit tracker? I lied. Not only does the [hidden] tracker remain but I paid for an upgrade so I could pinpoint exactly who’s reading this. I could care less about the innocuous creepers– Hey B! Hi J! Greetings to a certain ex’s entire family!– they don’t bother me. My decision to closely monitor the page views stems from my desire to see who’s paying attention in the county of San Luis Obispo. Don’t think for a second that I don’t know my audience and tailor my posts accordingly.
Do you have Pinterest? I’ve found that it’s a great way to kill time. Because, you know, there simply isn’t enough on the internet to keep the average person entertained with mindless drivel. Apparently most of my friends that I follow are obsessed with weddings, food, and exercise. Interesting combinations. In comparison to most of the folks I follow, I don’t have very many boards. The ones I do have are sparse. I’ll just add that to my never ending list of internet duties, enhancing my Pinterest boards for your viewing pleasure. Warning: it becomes addictive quickly.
I am the queen of detailing my future blogging plans….only to let them fall by the wayside. Whether I forget, run out of time, or a combination of the two, it’s not getting done. So my commitment to you is that within the next few days you will hear about a horrific ordeal that happened to one of my best friends, ‘push presents,’ an example of my crippling anxiety, the monumental decision regarding Tatum’s birth, and my thoughts on the latest Teen Mom 2. Did you really expect any sort of linear thought pattern with this girl?
With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,