So I’m beginning – or joining, rather – a project. A journaling project from Sometimes Sweet where I’m issued a weekly prompt, and I write about it. The hope is that it gets the juices flowing, allows for some time to ponder, and gives me a brief few moments each week to get lost in myself. We’ll see where it takes me.
We begin with this week’s prompt (the third in the series, but the first for me):
They say hindsight is 20/20, and with good reason- looking back at something always gives us a better view. We’re often able to really see how our choices and decisions then shaped our today, and examine what we would have done differently given the chance. When looking back though, we often look way back, but for this exercise stay a little closer to present time and look back just 12 months. If you could go back just one year, what would you tell yourself? What advice would you offer about everything you’ve experienced?
March 3, 2013: in my mind, at that time, less than a month away from meeting Mango. In reality, exactly one month until the little man would appear, grasp my finger, coo into my chest, and leave me weak with love. And tired. And rocked. Broken in the best of and the worst of ways. Questioning each move, riding the steepest of steep learning curves, overwhelmed with joy, happiness, tears, a rollercoaster.
I’ve written before that I could sum up 2013 with the words so much. So much love, so much joy, so much exhaustion, excitement, tears, adventure, learning. So much. To date, I cannot think of any other way to describe it. I think it might forever be the year of so much.
So what would I tell myself? With tears in my eyes, I would wrap myself in a hug, pour myself a cup of coffee and then a wine, and say, you have no idea. You have no idea the joy that will come into your world at the very instant this seven pound fourteen ounce wonder takes his first breath. You have no idea how many times you will question yourself, your instincts, your sanity, your very being. You will be shocked at how strong you are, humbled by the man you call your husband, astonished by what you can – and what you struggle to – do. You have no idea what an incredible year it will be.
You have no idea how tired you will be, nor can you fully understand just how good that first sip of coffee in the morning will taste. You will eat obscene amounts of chocolate. It’s okay, chocolate is soul food.
You will forget things. A lot of things. You will wonder where your mind has gone. You will struggle to regain your identity at work, your identity as home, your sense of self. It’s okay. It’ll come back, some parts in a different form than they were before, but you’ll find yourself, and you will adore this new you.
That’s it, that’s all of it: you will adore this new you.