At seven months pregnant I was struck with the urge to document life. Everything was going to change in such a short span of time and I felt compelled to produce something tangible – as tangible as an internet space can be – to keep record. I thought that my nesting instinct would carry over into the digital domain and that I would be a prolific blogger (and crafter) up until birth, and then my computer stopped turning on and I gave up, thinking my memory would serve me. Sleep deprivation has stripped me of many things: a sense of being alert, resilient skin, a strong internal clock. The worst thing it has taken is my memory.
So here I am, on the other side of birth – this massively surreal life event – and three months into life with a child. A being whose existence is dependent on me and the care that I provide. And with each ticking day, each new hair on his head and dimple of fat around the wrist and gurgle or coo, I feel like I’m losing more of the ability to retain these discoveries. Time is incredibly limited now that I’m back at work and the few hours we have together during the week are so much more precious.
I want to share the wonder and curiosity of these early days here as best I can. I want to show the snail’s pace at which I now knit, how I can’t properly measure gauge anymore and have to rip out a sweater three times before it’s right, how I’ve left the serger my husband bought me two years ago in its box and want to take a class to figure it out. I want to share the recipe for our favorite vegan cookies, often baked at 9 PM when one of us is holding a sleeping baby on our chest and watching dark television shows (lately, Fargo). There are dark, pillowy bags under my eyes these days and yet I carve out time before the house wakes to knit a couple of stitches while I eat my oatmeal and play with the cat at my feet. This is important. This is the identity that I don’t want to lose now that I carry a new one: mother.