Writer's Block

Dear Bekah,
I know you have harbored a secret hope that this blog will make up for the crisp emptiness that currently exists in your babies' baby books. I know that your favorite part of your own baby book is the back page, where your mother penned exactly three notes under a heading of her own, "Funny Things She Said," and so you decided that you could use this blog to create a similar (and perhaps more robust) record of those kinds of memories for your own kids.

I know that you also love to hear yourself talk write, and something in the motion of your fingers on the keys brings you a sense of peace and energy unlike anything else. I know what a relief it is to turn your hamster-wheel mind to the more or less productive task of composition, and that your best entries were ones you composed in your head. Usually in the shower.

I know that you are harboring guilt over never writing about the Christmas of 2011, and that each passing day lessens the likelihood that you will ever capture Christmas 2012, either. I know that a part of you is okay forgetting a weekend of fighting the world's worst stomach bug while a gathering of family feasted on Greenberg Turkey in the dining room - or the cold Christmas day without power, which will make a neat memory for the kids, I'm sure, but which was nonetheless nothing like you'd hoped it'd be.

I know that you are eager to share the accounts of your children's births, but are not sure if the world is ready to hear them - or really, if you are quite ready to share them yet.

I know that you have imaginary deadlines in your mind - one post a week, perhaps - which serve both to discipline you and to torture you. I know that you know that no one really cares about that, and that your mental state might be a bit healthier if you weren't such a rule-follower. I know, too, that you are working on that.

I know that you have the sweetest little cadre of readers, and that their encouragement means more to you than they will ever know.

And I know that today, you really wish that you were composing posts about your visit to see the Dead Sea Scrolls, or the fun you all had at the Stock Show and Rodeo, or how much Sarah is changing, or maybe even about last Christmas - but that when it really comes down to it, the state of your world right now is less about finite events and experiences and more about a gentle storm of hopes and dreams swirling above the everyday realities of "moatmeal" for breakfast and Wild Kratts in the afternoon.

I just wanted you to know that it's okay.

Fondly,
Future Bekah

PS - I also know that you might not have publicized a message from your imaginary future self if you hadn't let your husband try to explain a confusing episode of Star Trek: Enterprise to you last night. Something about parasites and existing outside of time... anyway, maybe that's not the best show for your and your weird imagination. I'm just sayin'.