70 Days Later

Scrambled-eggs brain, second baby, and too much cringe.

It’s been 70 days since the last time I wrote and not for a lack of trying. My brain feels like scrambled eggs and a lot of the words I used to know seem to have escaped, crawling out through my ear and leaving behind a gap in my speech, or word doc, a literal blank of what I’d be trying to say. I’d be mid-sentence then pouf, gone! A sudden nothingness, zapped like in Men in Black, and no matter how hard I’d try to pull at the threads of my mind, willing the word I’m looking for to materialize, it just doesn’t.

I’m not even sure what I am trying to say, anyway. I guess I should write about how things have been?

Things have been great. And long. And sometimes hard. And filled with kisses and laughter and sticky milk and sticky sweat and diapers and cousins and sunscreen and baby cooing and baby smiles and hair grabbing and two little bodies asleep between us and occasional nights out and pumping and spilling and not fitting into clothes and shopping and pastries, lots of pastries, and a constant craving for sugar and desserts and Spanish lattes and stealing moments to myself and never wanting to be alone and reading and waking and sleeping in and not sleeping at all and living in pjs and random, guttural tears and meeting myself again and adding layers onto who I am now and discovering those layers and slow days, endless days, and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it days and moving houses and boxesboxesboxes, 6 years worth of stuff stuffed into boxes, 6 years worth of memories to say goodbye to and unpacking and resettling and turning a house into a home, bit by bit, room by room, and sitting on the balcony and feeling the breeze beat my skin in the best way, and watching sunsets and sunrises, and just pausing, waiting, thinking, feeling. And writing. Finally writing.

I’m not even sure what I am trying to say. I guess I should write about what it’s like going from one to two kids?

That’s the question everyone asks me first. Well, it’s more. Everything seems to expand. Your heart, being the first. Your capacity for love just multiplies and you’re able to spill the overflow right onto this new human you’ve brought into the world. I can’t imagine life without him now that he’s here. He’s brought so much light and lightness with him and we’re all different for it. Including Imad. He’s also expanded to fit into his role as big brother and although he’s still young, he feels so big to me now. Of course some days are harder than others but you just get through them. You know things are only this way for a little and soon you’ll move onto the next phase, so the things that used to phase you just don’t anymore. It’s like, okay this is what’s happening, cool let’s roll with it. We’ll get through it. We know we will. And that’s the magic of having a second child, I guess. It’s not a do-over, it’s a chance to do better. And know better. And feel better in the process. Like you’re healing parts of yourself, or parenting, you didn’t like the first time around, so your children also get the better version of you.

So yeah, I’m not sure what I am trying to say, anyway. I guess I should write about some random things that have crossed my mind lately?

I just finished reading a book called The Conditions of Will by Jessa Hastings that finally got me out of my reading slump. I missed getting sucked into another world and attached to the characters that live there.
There’s a part that says, “The idea that it ends - that it all ends - that everything you spend your life doing and building toward one day amounts to actually nothing the second you take your last breath. It’s why people have children. To exist beyond their existence.” Maybe, but that’s quite egotistical. There are other ways to leave a legacy than in actual human form. Like rambling on here.

For others, it could be their Tiktok videos. My brain is so rotten that the trending sounds have been playing on a loop, driving me mad but I never skip a video if it comes up. Dame un grr. Akhjfbhbshbfbsf. Yes, I’m a masochist. It’s so cringe, I feel it in my bones. It’s what I call a full-body cringe, but I secretly love it. Why? What’s the science behind cringe? Apparently, it’s tied to our brain’s empathy response. When we see something awkward, we feel discomfort because we imagine ourselves in that situation. It’s a survival instinct. But the more you experience cringe, the more you get used to it. Eventually, it becomes a weird comfort. So basically, we have no option but to embrace the cringe.

I’m not sure what I am trying to say but these are the words I have for now. Until next time!