A few days ago as I was looking through some old thumb drives, I stumbled across a story I had started working on.   Although I knew time was a hot commodity in my life and sitting back to re-read some of my hopeless work wasn’t exactly budgeted, I still found myself ignoring phone calls and emails just to get a glimpse of what I was writing.  And I have to say…I was impressed.  I mean I’m not Dean Koontz or Nelson DeMille, heck I’m not even Stephenie Meyers (which while I’ll admit I read the whole Twilight series, I still don’t think she’s that great of a writer), but I’m good, or I suppose I should say I was good.   So, after reading 25 pages of single spaced type written words that flowed forth from my brain, my heart and my soul, I began to wonder what happened to that aspiring writer?   Then the shatter of glass, also known as my two demonically beautiful children, brought me back to reality…my kids happened to me.

I once started this blog site with a post entitled “My Little Parasite”.   Little did I know then that my children would evolve into more than just the parasitic leeches that sucked me of all my nutrients needed to sustain a healthy pregnancy and lifestyle.   Little did I know back then that they would indeed take more including, but not limited to my sanity, my patience, my energy, my brain cells, and my once toned body (they didn’t take my vanity, by golly!  I still have that!  Take that, you selfish little gems!).

Once upon a time, these slender fingers used to gracefully dance across my laptop.   They felt the flow of energy from my thoughts and emotions as I composed what I thought would become a NY Times Bestseller.   They developed callouses and blisters as I couldn’t stem the ebb and flow of my lifelong dream.   I even managed to maintain that desire, that thrive, that goal to continue on with said dream after having children, well, um, at least after having Davey.   Add an extra child into the mix who’s temperament is exactly like his mother’s (hey, at least I’m willing to admit my flaws) and my desires for writing have vacated as quickly as Hollywood’s one time support of Harvey Weinstein.

My darling little parasites have become more than just needing sustenance to grow and stay alive.  No, these darling little gems have sucked me of my emotions and all of those wonderful thoughts and dreams that used to float around in my heart and mind, and they’ve done it with a vengeance.   Now, hold up!   I know what you’re thinking.   You’re about to jump on that bandwagon of judging moms.   I get it…I’m selfish and I’m emotionally abusive (look at what I’m saying about my children).   Hey, I’m actually ok with that judgment.   I’m exhausted and I’m even sad at times that what once encouraged me, what once was my outlet, what once made me happy, is just one of the many things that my children have taken from me.

So the question is…will I get back that spark or do I just succumb to my children and let them completely devour me and all I have?   Stay tuned…

***on the positive side, at least I’ve written a blog post***