My sister-in-law, Elana, called this morning to ask how it felt to post my first blog entry. It was not what I had imagined. Somehow I'd envisioned myself at my desk contemplating the best beginning out of all possible beginnings for this story. But as the day slipped by with one breast feeding followed by another, I didn't believe I would meet my deadline. I had picked mother's day for the launch because what day would be more perfect to initiate a blog about my search for a mother than the day glorifying mothers and my first one with my baby.
This mother's day was a long time coming--my fifth pregnancy but my first child born. Friends had led me to believe that this would be an exceptional day, one where I was celebrated above and beyond my wildest dreams. From their accounts, I could almost have envisioned Aaron hiring one of my favorite singers...perhaps Sinead O'Connor or the two lovely sisters from Rising Appalachia to serenade me in the bath which would be full with lilacs, my favorite flower, the one that reminds me most of my mother. Naturally he would have selected the perfect gift and we'd have a wonderful meal out, our first with the baby, and then spend the evening getting reacquainted. I did not expect to pick out my own gift while Aaron sat in the car with the baby, or to wolf down my lunch so that we would have time to feed the baby in the car and grocery shop. And I did not expect that I would write my first blog entry while hooked up to my pump, but this is what happened. I turned on the pump and the computer and got busy.
Don't over think this, my friend Lori, told me, just write whatever comes into your mind. This blog is meant to break my reliance on editing, which is a hard thing to do, as I have been an editor and ghost writer for most of my professional life. This side of me has of late stopped me from just writing. I am overly preoccupied with narrative design, something that I pride myself on, and can't seem to just let the story unfold. I listened to Lori explain the free flow nature of blogs and as much as I understood this and even agreed to it, pushing that publish post button seemed impossible. How was I going to lay out this quest of mine? Could I really just write something and let it go? I was staring at the computer screen with my finger perched above the keys when Aaron walked in. Not exactly the professional at her desk. My shirt was off, revealing the pumps hard at work. "Just do it," he said. "It's your day." As I hit the button, the pump stopped. My breasts were quiet. My mind was not.
So Elana, how do I feel about posting my first blog entry? I guess the word would be terrified. And how do I feel that this next posting was also done while hooked up to the pump? Is a hospital grade pump going to become my crutch? Will I only be able to harness my thoughts if and when I finally empty my breasts? Are my breasts my symbolic link to all things mother? Perhaps this is the new method writing. A half hour on the pump can produce more than future meals for the little one....