Starting Over...

Once upon a time I had a blog. 

I started it in my mid-twenties and used it to vent about the ever so important things that happen when you're still working to mainly support your weekend drinking activities. It was a great outlet in a time when trivial things seemed like the end of the world and my job only kept me busy about three hours a day. It saw me through my engagement, my wedding, buying a house, and the birth of our my two children. Although if I'm honest, the posts were scarce at best after my son was born. It was always a security blanket though, something that I could cozy up with when things started going South.

I've been called back to writing quite a few times lately. Not usually hitting the post button, but always getting down my thoughts. It wasn't until my bad ass cousin released her new website promoting her book that she wrote (see? I told you she was bad ass) and her blog that I realized I missed it so much. I read her words and yearned for them to be my own. I was jealous that she was doing something with writing and I wasn't.

Then I realized I didn't have to be jealous. I just had to get off my ass and do something about it. Which leads me here.

I find that I go through a bit of a transitional period after I have my kids, as I'm sure every woman does. I am nowhere near the same woman that I was before my son. It's almost as if the gestational period is a metaphorical chrysalis where I emerge as a completely different being postpartum. I'm not sure if it's just my survival instinct kicking in to keep me from losing myself, or if it really just changes you, but I knew the signs this time around before there was too much damage.

After I had my son I felt like I was drowning. I emerged from the hazy newborn days. I had found my footing as a Mother. I was getting more sleep, we had a routine, and I was no longer essential personnel to the every day things. We had all become so comfortable with life that my husband, son, and I were able to go through our day to day with little disruption. I could leave knowing that my husband had everything 100% under control and my son barely knew I was gone. I always felt like I had to be present, that missing anything was being a bad mother, but now I knew that wasn't true.

With this new found freedom, I looked at myself and didn't recognize anything that I saw. I still had most of my baby weight (even though it had been the better part of a year later), I barely talked to my friends (who has the time when you're doing everything yourself), and I was bored senseless at my job (but was thankful for a supportive boss and the monotony when I was trying to figure out how to be a working mom). So, I got off my ass, lost the baby weight (and then some), started making plans with my friends a couple times a month, and changed jobs. More importantly, I found myself, for the first time in my entire life. 

I'm in a similar position now. Slightly. The baby weight is still there (though it's much earlier that I'm trying to get rid of it), I still don't see my friends that much, but I'm trying (the babe IS still a tiny one), and I just started a new job before I went on maternity leave (so I really don't know what I'm going back to or how it will be with two kids). I haven't had a whole lot of time to myself though. My sweet girl will be 10 weeks in two days and I've spent 99.99% of that with her (except for three hours that we left for our anniversary dinner). While I don't regret a single second of that (and I know every second I am away from her I will miss her like crazy), I do know that you can't pour from an empty cup and a happy Mama makes a happy family.

So here I am. Starting over. The old blog had too much history. I wrote too much for other people. Thinking too much about what I was writing. How I was writing it. Was I following all of the rules? Would someone think I was annoying? Would someone think I was a bad writer? Would I offend someone? But honestly, I just don't fucking care anymore. I'm just here for me. And if someone, somewhere shares a giggle, or identifies with some shit show story that I tell, then that's just a little icing on the cake. 

So here's my stories, of life, and love, and raising these crazy Petruski babes...