Peanut was about 10 months old when I started this blog. He had finally settled into a predictable routine. I was settling into my role as a stay at home mom while the fog of his early infancy had cleared leaving me with the mental need for an outlet and the time to devote to it.
Three years later, Pumpkin is in his tenth month (yes, I’m in denial at how quickly that 11 month mark is approaching since the big bad first birthday is quick on its heels. Sniff.). He’s finally settling into his little routines. School’s back in and I have found a little mental breathing room in my life again.
As a result, I find my head is in constant action as a variety of thoughts, ideas, plans ricochet their way through my brain. I can’t turn it off. Some of these ideas downright inspire me. Some scare the crap out of me. Some require more rumination and research. All demand more physical time than I seem to be able to conjure up and that, my friends, frustrates me no end. The time I *found* when Peanut was this age just doesn’t exist this time around with an older child’s demands.
My brain desperately wants to latch onto one of these thoughts/ideas/plans and dig in, get dirty in the execution/research/completion. Unfortunately, my physical self can’t commit.
Am I rushing into it? Attempting to add more to my plate than my stomach can hold? Or am I afraid? Afraid of starting something I may love, something challenging, something time consuming that may make my short term uncomfortable but could pay off in the long term mama happiness bank?
I wish I knew. Unfortunately, Curious George is almost over and, therefore, so is my break time. One of these days I’ll have it figured out. Won’t I?