Hi, Hello There, Welcome, 2024

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year! I hope that 2024 is full of wonderful days for you, and for the days that are hard, I hope you have enough strength and peace that you are able to get through them.

Beginnings are exciting. I'm good at beginnings. It's the rest of the story that I struggle with.

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Chapter One: The First Day of the Year

It began like every day that came before--with my eyes opening. My baby cried from her crib; not insistently like she was awake enough to recognize she wanted to eat, but not the halfhearted weeping that suggested she'd fall back to sleep on her own. This was the middle cry, the one that said, "I want my binky, and you'd better hurry, because the longer it takes, the more I will wake myself up until it's too late, and we'll start the day now, at 6 AM."

I gave her the binky and she seemed content enough. I thought we might get her to sleep in until 7.

But then my mind starting to whir. Her head, she'd shifted it to the corner of her crib. I watched her from my room via the video monitor, and I tried to determine if how she angled her head was safe. Could she move it if she grew uncomfortable or if she wasn't getting enough air? (Note: 9 times out of 10, she's just fine, and my imagination sucks.)

As I waited to determine if I needed to go adjust her--hesitating because I knew that the moment I touched her, she would wake up yelling--I checked on Emma. The toddler had refused in her two-year-old way to change out of her dress last night, and, in the same vein, had refused to put on any pants. This would not be a problem if she wouldn't kick her covers off, but I could see her bare legs sticking out, blanket on the ground, and went to cover her again before her cold feet woke her up.

Back to the monitor. Back to staring at my baby.

Harper was moving now, away from the corner. But she seemed uncomfortable, if I was translating her constant shifting correctly.

It's her arm, I thought. Harper usually rolls to her stomach to sleep part of the time, and she was there, but her body kept moving like she wanted to roll to her side, but her arm that was sticking out behind her prevented it. If I just shift her arm, she'll be able to roll to her side, and then she'll be comfortable.

She's fine, said the other voice in my head, the logical one. She's going to be nine months old, Ashton. She can push herself into the sitting position. If she wants to get to her side, she'll be able to move her own arm and roll. If you go in there, she's going to wake up.

But then I imagined her lying with her nose and mouth buried in the mattress, getting into that position in the attempts to roll but not succeeding. And for some reason, in my mind, the arm that's sticking out won't work to help push her up. Not safe! I thought.

She will move if something's wrong, Logic reminded me.

What if she doesn't? What if she can't, for some reason? Am I really willing to risk it just because I'm tired and want to go back to sleep? Isn't that selfish? You know what, I'm going in there. I won't even wake her, watch! I will be so gentle and so quiet, she'll stay asleep.

She's not even really asleep now! She's moving too much. If you touch her, that's going to pull her out of her light sleep completely. Leave her alone.

I can't.

6:30 AM, I woke up Harper by moving her because I couldn't trust that all would be well without my intervention. My imagination used to be such a source of joy to me, used to fuel beautiful daydreams and stories, and now it is a primary source of anxiety and dread.

I don't think it will ever not give me some grief. But I wish to bring back the "gift" side of having an active imagination to balance out the "curse" of picturing things so clearly. I just haven't managed to do that yet.

Maybe this year...

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Bless those who look forward to the beginning of the year because they're great about setting goals for the things they want to accomplish that calendar year. I don't know that I have the self-discipline right now.

Admittedly, I've been in survival mode for quite some time. Each day, I just take what it gives me instead of taking charge. I don't know if it's just a personality flaw or the season in life I'm in right now with a toddler and a baby. Either way, I ought to figure out what areas in my life I have more power and learn how to use it.

I feel like a broken record any time I say anything about writing goals because they're never met. I write the goal down with excitement because this is it, this is the time that I meet that goal! And then... Nope. Here's your participation trophy. Better luck next time.

So last night when I wrote in my journal, I didn't make any writing goals. Instead, I said I wanted to make magic for my family this year, to make my home cozy and fun, and to somehow be a light to my loved ones. Obviously, goal-making isn't a New Year's concept. I can do that any day of the year. But when contemplating how I wanted 2024 to look, magical, cozy, fun, and light were the words that came to mind.

But I really do want to resurrect my creative life. It's been a long time that my daydreams have been filled with stories and beautiful ideas rather than intrusive thoughts that take me on a wild emotional rollercoaster ride. As I contemplate my morning, how I kept myself awake fretting over my children until my fretting finally woke one of them up, I feel regret in two ways: one, that I continue to let fear drive my life; and two, that my creativity has dimmed to occasional flickers except when I'm anxious.

Once upon a time, I carried a notebook with me everywhere. I filled it with my ideas, with snippets from series of books I'd one day write, with worlds that I couldn't wait to visit. I love parts of this version of myself, the 31-year-old wife and mother of two, but I do miss some parts of my past self, the one I haven't seen since I was a kid/teenager. The magic-believer, the storyteller, the dreamer.

I don't think she's ever going to come back as the girl she was before, and that's okay. I just want to find her as the woman she can be now. Maybe that's the first step of finding her. I need to allow her to exist, not as she was but as she is.

The magic-believer is busy with her children, but she is also busy making magic for her children.

The storyteller has the privilege of having a home to run and care for, but she does not need to sacrifice her art because she hasn't finished all the tasks on her to-do list. She must learn that she does not have to earn the time to spend on her hobby. She merely has to take it.

The dreamer has a wonderful husband, her teammate, that she can plan and plot with. She's going to need a hype man when she's tired and low, when she doesn't believe in herself anymore, or when she's being mean to herself. (Actually, I was just mean to myself about this blog post, and Erik told me to stop.)

I can do this. I will rock this. I'm an awesome wife and mother. I'm an incredible writer. I don't need to "become" a success because I'm succeeding already. Just watch me.

However you want your year to look, I hope you can make it so. Because you deserve a good year.