remember that time I started a blog?

I have a one year old. The last year of my life has changed me. Is changing me. This soft, warm, rosy little girl has burst into my otherwise pretty carefully managed life and, well, replaced it. Motherhood has softened me and humbled me and confused what I thought certain in ways I am only superficially aware of. Also? I spent the two years before my pregnancy and her birth in divinity school, having my certainties and spirit challenged and nurtured in ways different from motherhood but equally life-altering. While I have perceived these changes and shifts, my ability to process and be fully knowledgeable of what is happening to me may never catch up. So I am a little slow to speak these days. Or at least to hit publish. Because what am I even talking about?

I remember a highly effective commercial from my childhood. One of the reasons I know it was highly effective is that I remember it. A quick googling just told me that it aired in 1987. I was five. A man stands at a counter with a frying pan and a whole egg. "This is your brain." He cracks the egg into the hot pan and the egg immediately fries. "This is your brain on drugs."

"...Any questions?"

And y'all. No questions. Because what a great commercial. I was thinking about that commercial in light of this year and the way I feel myself being swept along in a gentle current of change and sleep deprivation. In my commercial, I stand at the counter with a whole egg which represents my brain, of course. Then I crack the egg into a pan, add some milk, a fistfull of cheerios, and a piece of smashed banana that I pick off of my shirt, and make a fluffy omelette. This is my brain on infant. And I am loving it. But often I come up a little short in the conversation department.

I have this amazing friend named Beth. She is the only reader here besides my husband. Hey you two. ;) When we get a much needed chance to sit down over a cup of coffee and share about life, she is articulate and passionate and hilarious. I feel fully engaged and alive and refreshed listening to her share. Then the conversation turns my way, at which point I blow a few raspberries, twirl my hair and then do an unexplained headstand. Then we go home. Yet she keeps agreeing to get together. Bless her. Date night with my husband takes a similar direction, except there is more babbling on my part about how to wash cloth diapers or something. But he's so understanding. Love him.

And that's why I came back here and have decided that I want to keep coming back here. Because even though I'm not sure what it is they see in me, I know they will come back here too. And I want to show up to do my headstand.