As I snuck into bed next to my lovely warm sleeping husband the other night I realised two things.
Wind the clock back eighteen months and these occurrences would never have happened.
Eighteen months ago I was the one that started thinking about bed at 8.45pm,first yawn at 9.15pm,made my excuses by 9.45pm and tucked in with my minty fresh breath by 10.00pm ready for an episode of Criminal Minds. Sometimes with The Boy beside me, but often with him finishing off a game of football on the PS3 downstairs or reading a ‘Top Ten Cool Gadgets You Can’t Afford Anymore ‘Cause You’ve Got Kids’ article in Stuff.
But that was Before. Before I started writing.
You see, not to sound too sad or knobby but my life has changed since I started writing. Not in a ‘I’ve got a regular features column and have given up my day job’-type of change. But it fills every minute of my free time. Fills my head all of the time. It occupies my mind. It niggles me.
And, like anything, I now can’t remember what my brain did Before.
It’s like when you’re wedding planning, every conversation is about ‘it’, everyone asks about ‘it’. You think about it night and day. Or babies. Whether it’s when you’re desperately trying to make one or desperately trying to stop one crying. And houses in my experience are the worst of all. Selling, looking, buying or moving, houses can take over your life, your sanity and your bowels.
When you’re in the midst of any of these things you can’t imagine being without that focus. What did we even think about before? Can we please try and not speak about ‘it’ for a whole day?
That’s what I feel like with writing. I can’t remember what I used to do with my spare time before blogging, tweeting, my shiny laptop.
I started out wanting to write a book, an easy to read real-life non-fiction book about how in hell you’re supposed to cope with a second baby. I researched. I wrote a draft chapter. I sent it to about seven publishers. I waited.
I started this blog. And it’s taken me down a new road. I took an unknown detour and learnt about a whole lifestyle I hadn’t known existed. I’ve found the blogging world inclusive and encouraging, always opinionated and sometimes a bit much. It’s given me new contacts, made me some money and most importantly I’ve made some friends. Before Blogging that would have sounded insane. The Boy still thinks it is insane.
Online friends = Loser.
Not so for me. Most are people I’d say I ‘know’ but there are a handful who I’d call my friends. I chat with them, know what’s happening in their lives, say hi, check they’re doing ok and I’d certainly get in touch if I ever needed their help. Yes I’ve never met them but that no longer seems to be a prerequisite of my friendships. Call me trusting but I’m pretty sure they’re real people and not someone called Dave who’s sitting in a cellar in rubber shorts stroking his ginger beard and howling at the sky.
So I don’t know where this’ll end, or should that be where this’ll begin? It could be with me taking a leap of self belief and changing my career. Equally I could lose interest, find another hobby.
Actually I’m not usually one for hobbies, I’ve never stuck at much come to think about it. Apart from collecting cool Hello Kitty-type stickers when we lived abroad. I found them a few years ago and still couldn’t bare to throw them out.
Or maybe neither and I’ll just stick with trying to juggle Scribbling Mum with my real life truly.
Who knows. But I for one am impressed that I can now stay up past midnight on a school night.