Days ticking by and it's time again for an update, but when I sit down to write nothing stands out as noteworthy or memorable. I wish I did more daily journaling, because then at least I'd have some notes to look back on and remember the funny little things that do happen each day. They just get forgotten and swept up with the dry leaves that blow in from outside.
As much as I love being a full-time (stay at home, unemployed, housewife, etc - choose the least offensive label) mom, after weeks going by in which the longest stretch of time I have to myself is three hours I start to get a little burnt out. Maybe this would be different if I were more extroverted and didn't need solitude to recharge, or maybe it would be worse, but in any case it can be hard to make sure everyone's needs are being met in a family. I've been thinking about taking a night or two out and going here, by myself.
This post sounds like I'm depressed or something, and I'm really not, which kind of makes me doubt myself and question whether or not I really need to spend the money and take time away from other things (like thesis writing) to sit in the woods by myself. I mean, I'm generally happy at home. I just haven't spent longer than 12 hours away from Beatrice since she was born. Two years ago.
In many ways I feel like I'm floating in a small boat in the calm before a storm. Things are easy enough now, but they are going to get a lot more difficult in six months. That's not a bad thing, and I knew what I was signing up for and did so gladly, but a little voice inside my head says, "take a little time out for yourself now, while you can really relax and enjoy it." Sitting in an ancient forest beside the sea sounds just about perfect.