and we're back

Once upon a time a prolific amount of jazzy stuff spilled from my brain with an effortlessness that anyone would envy. Was it Pulitzer material? Hells no, but it wasn't total crap either. What it was... practice. At least I was writing. I could stand on my soapbox and bellow to my brother that his incredible gift with words was being wasted on procrastination. After all, you can't call yourself a writer if you don't write, right?
Then, I peed on a stick.
Then, I didn't write because I spent more time than I care to admit surfing the internet about what it is to be pregnant, what it will be to be a mom and what I should buy in preparation. I realized two things: one- my brain's capacity to multitask diminished 10 fold, so "baby" was all that computed. two- I am evil with the pregnancy hormones (a story for another monday). Somewhere in the back of my mind I thought that I would have plenty of time once the baby comes. After all, the thing babies do most is sleep, right?
Er... We will take a momentary pause for all the parents to collectively laugh at me right now.
Okay.
Needless to say, it's been almost six months since the beast was born and I have yet to write so much as a few words here and there... Mostly in brief emails sent to family. My soapbox is in storage and hidden behind the cardboard boxes we saved for the carseat, the stroller, the crib, the exersaucer, the playpen and my sanity.
Leaves a gal wondering if her inspiration is sagging as much as her boobs.

We'll see, I suppose.