Pre-baby reminiscences

I just finished reading "The Fault in Our Stars" by John Green.
It is a beautiful book. I'm so jealous at John Green's cleverness and wit. It was funny and moving and heart-breaking.

It made me want to write.

If only I had something to write about.

If only I could write something beautiful. Or meaningful. Or insightful. Or even just slightly humorous.

I would settle for slightly humorous.

My creativity has been crowded out of my mind; there's no room for it now, what with all the space being taken up by baby sleeping schedules and baby eating habits and baby finger food lists and baby board books to read and baby age appropriate activities.

 I love my baby girl to the end of time and back, but I do miss my pre-baby mind. Post-baby brain feels like day-old oatmeal.

I'm told that I'll get my old brain back someday. And that it will be even better, sharper, and broader for the experience of motherhood.

I hope that's true but I suspect it's just something we new mothers say to each other to keep the constant demands of motherhood from crushing our morale.

And that's all I have to write about. I'm unsatisfied with it, but I suppose it's not nothing.