An Enigmatic Fruit

This post is only a piece of what I want(ed) to write, but I'm posting it anyway. I'm not sure when I'll get to finish my thoughts because I'm still developing them.

Friday, September 6th

I had an eye appointment this morning. The nurse that does the preliminary stuff with you before the doc comes in brightened and immediately inquired about Eliza. Apparently she and her husband are trying to get pregnant. One would think that would explain the drooling and gushing over Eliza, but I tend to think that Eliza just plain has that effect on people.

The nurse asked me if I loved it--being a mom. It's interesting how often people ask that question. I answered sincerely and without hesitation.

"Yeah, I really do love it. It's been quite the adjustment to be home with her all of the time, but I love it."
"Yeah? How has it been an adjustment? You know, besides the logistics of having a baby instead of being a couple."

I didn't know how to explain what I meant.

---

I've had a really hard time writing anything substantive since Eliza was born--anything that requires a piece of me but still manages to feed me. Actually, I've had a hard time writing at all; I just haven't had anything to say. Usually when I hit this kind of writing block, it generally means that I'm an internal wreck. But I'm fine; I go through my days doing the things I should be and need to be doing, and I'm happy. But a lot of the time I just feel... hollow? Empty? {Note to self:  Insert the perfect word here once I figure it out.}

That place inside me that's usually full of life-juice just waiting to be tasted, guzzled, written, and shared has felt more full of space than anything. Being tired has a lot to do with that, I'm sure, but I do get quite a bit of sleep these days. (Thank you, Eliza!)

This stage of life is like nothing I've ever experienced before, and although I am transitioning, it's a very slow go. I'm trying to sort it all out and find how and where I fit in this new life. I know I'm not alone in this, and I'm sure I'll continue to gradually--line upon line--figure it out. But this elusive understanding can be so maddening. It's like there's a fruit dangling in front of my face, but I can't see it, taste it, touch it, or smell it. I can just feel that there's a fruit there. And I'm dying for the moment I can sink my teeth into it.

In the meantime,
I keep reading.
I keep making dinner.
I keep meal planning.
I keep bathing Eliza (and myself).
I keep spiffing up the apartment.
I keep organizing.
I keep getting the mail.
I keep meeting new people.
I keep learning. I keep setting goals.
I keep reaching out, searching in, and looking up.

I guess one way of putting it is that I keep going. I will keep moving forward until I not only taste the fruit, but can express the fruit in any medium I choose because I know it so well. Expect paintings, musical compositions, novels, free verse poetry, and sculptures of this fruit.

If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to figure this out.