So, what ever happened to that St. Baldrick's follow-up, anyway?*

Well, I'll give it to you straight: I was spent.

Completely and utterly drained; physically from all the nights of lost sleep, mentally from the challenge of writing after laying dormant for so long, and emotionally from, well, I'm sure you can figure that one out. In order to find some closure, I had to open up a part of the past that I'd thought would be easier to examine after sixteen years.  I was wrong.

I've been in a bit of a funk ever since, but not from reliving the past; even more so from the ending of my project!

Other stay-at-home moms will certainly understand. Choosing to take on parenting as a full-time job (and YES, I realize how lucky I am to be able to make that choice, and not be forced to work by my circumstances) yanks you abruptly from any sort of perceptions you had about the world, and into a completely alternative reality. This was a particularly difficult transition for me.

Throughout college, I'd worked in the service industry – first waiting tables, then bartending, and then, even after earning my degree, managing in brewpubs. I loved to be surrounded by throngs of people, noise, and the fast, fast pace of our do-it-now culture. After work, I was on the fun side of the bar, surrounded by friends. Or at a concert in a packed theater -- or a concert in the middle of nowhere surrounded by tents and thousands of like-minded people. In a coffee shop getting into some great debate that in that moment carried the weight of the world, or hiking up a mountain, with a clear goal of getting to the top of a trail with an amazing view.

And then suddenly, there I was, in a strange new city listening to the clock tick in a silent apartment while Little Bee slept, watching for endless hours while other people lived out their lives on our tiny
television screen. My goals for the day were getting dressed, getting fed, and getting sleep. Each goal had a prerequisite – i.e. getting laundry done, going shopping, and getting a much smaller and much louder person to sleep. These tasks were never complete. Not for lack of trying.

I felt that I had no one to call – my old friends were thousands of miles away, still had day jobs, and/or could in no way relate to the challenges of caring for a baby. My new friends, with babies, were trying desperately to meet the same challenges, and I hated to interrupt, in case they were finding the secrets to success – at least for that day. I found it nearly impossible to go out into the world with my tiny charge in the inadequate spaces between naps and feedings, lest he (or I) fall apart publicly.

Although I can see it as ridiculous now, I was even dealing with some pretty extreme guilt about choosing to stay at home. For the first time in my life since my junior year of high school, I wasn't self-reliant. Not even a little bit. I had no job, and therefore was bringing in no income. I felt guilty about every penny I spent that wasn't “mine.” I shopped as little as possible, and thrifted, and couponed, and craigslisted, and consigned. And how was it in any way fair that I go and sit outdoors at the playground, while hubby slaved away at the office?

All in all, I became I bit of a shut-in.

Things have changed, and now with Little Bee a preschooler and Bubba fully in the throes of toddlerhood, there is no more quiet space or idle time. I'm coming to terms with the work never being done, and with letting it go. But despite always having at least one kiddo around, as well as having learned to schedule in some mama-time with friends on a pretty regular basis, loneliness dominates my days. Maybe not loneliness... detachment? A separation from the rest of society, except for on a drop-in basis.

And then... there was my blog and fundraising for St. Baldrick's. Suddenly, I had an Important Meaningful Purpose outside of the home again. One that would Help Others, and Make A Difference. Not only that, I had a Goal. With a Deadline. I had a self-imposed Schedule, and High Expectations, and an Audience who I was aware of and surrounded by at all times, even when I wasn't writing, and even though there weren't any physical bodies present. I was, for a short while, once again part of the World.

I heard the echoes of that extroverted, type-A person that I was so many years ago. A person who I'm glad has mellowed out a bit over the years, but a person who had a lot more excitement and satisfaction in the day-to-day than I do now. I found that I'm still just as driven as ever, but that I'd just been lacking focus and direction.

And now we're here, just a month after the great culmination, the apex, that crowning moment of shaving my head... I'm sitting back where I started. Changing diapers, wiping noses, coming up with novel ways to win arguments with stubborn small people.  Trying desperately to think of something interesting to say, as I muddle through my every day.

I promise – as soon as I settle back in the latest version of my same-old, same-old life, I'll get back to the story of the St. Baldrick's event.

Basking in the warm glow of my corner office.

*Yes, I realize that this isn't so optimistic, but I'm hopeful that tomorrow's post will be brighter? Maybe the “up” today is that I had time to write at all?