Meep. Nothing to say.


Jon said to me as we got into bed last night “I have an idea if you’re so bored – why don’t you carry on writing your book?” To which I replied with a grunt. Never one to give up, he said “but you have so much to say and talk about, why are you not blogging at least?” and the thing is, I don’t know. I think I’m so grateful that this child is still inside me that I am afraid to jinks it. I think I’m so shocked at how cool marriage is, that if I write about it, things will change. I’m amazed that my loved ones are all healthy and alive and that we haven’t had a tragedy in so many years, that if I write about how good life is – life won’t be.

I suppose it’s an awful way to live – in fear like this. But I can’t help it. At least I know it’s mixed of equal parts fear, wonderment and gratitude.

So I don’t want to write things down for fear of jinksing them. I am also lazy as hell right now, my brain is officially on maternity leave. I can’t even muster up a strategic thought for where I want the baby monitor to be placed in the nursery – it all feels like just too much adulting, and right now I’m ballooned in a little bubble of protection, in hiding from the world and all the dangers out in it.

I think I’m just in a place where we’ve had to make such huge, serious decisions about life and love and housing and baby that if I’m forced to make decisions now, I’d rather just not, thanks. Jon says he feels the same way. So when I suggested that the next big decision we had to make would be outsourced to a more adultier adult, he sniggered. And then when coin-toss was my next suggestion, he giggled and quietly told me that no matter what happened, as long as he and I made the decisions together, we’d be ok in his eyes.

And I melted into a puddle all over the floor, because even though everything is okay, life is hard, man. But I know that I’ll do and face anything as long as he’s next to me.