It’s official: I have finally begun work on writing my ‘memoir’. I feel so hoity-toity even calling it that though. The working title, for now, is Tales of a Terrorist Cervix…and Beyond. (I’m open to suggestions. The work will include such highlights as our wedding night (woah, that sounds steamy to those of you who may not know what went down on our wedding night. Sorry, you’ll just have to buy a copy of the award-winning, best selling memoir). It will also be my take on the whole pregnancy with a girl but then having a boy thing, bed rest, postpartum depression, therapy and kids in general. I know you’ll just be on the edge of your seats until I’m published. The good news for you, my dedicated readers (family and friends) is that you’ve got the inside scoop – you’ve got the 411 – you’re in the KNOW. (And since some of what I write will be with the help of looking back through my 271 pages single-space Blog, some of it will be recognizable material).
Since I’m not rolling around in piles of free time (I wonder what that would look like…), I’ve got to squeeze in my writing time – as always – wherever I can get it. This is extra tricky as Zach is an early bird. On the rare occasion that he doesn’t beat us out of bed, I find myself tip-toeing through the house and trying to make no sudden movements lest I bump something and create a ruckus. But the biggest issue is that, like a cat responds to the sound of the can opener, Zach could be in the deepest sleep of his life, but once he hears that cereal hitting the bowl, he’s by your side in the kitchen in 2.2 seconds flat. And guess what? He’s now proving my point. This morning, to get ‘me time’ in, I was up at 5:30, went for a run, haven’t showered yet, so I could squeeze in some writing time, even sat here doing a peepee dance to make the most of my cherished writing time, and now I hear him walking down the hall. And what did I accomplish?! These two paragraphs. This memoir-writing business could take me a LONG time. I just hope, in the time it takes me to write my memoir, I don’t add to my already-well-stocked plethora of material; I’ve already got more than enough to choose from.