Life Comes At You Fast. And Then Your Kids Start Throwing Up.

Yeah, I'm definitely not going to finish NaNoWriMo this year.

Good morning, esteemed friends.

I guess the title and subtitle really tells you all you need to know. I had grand plans on October 31 to launch dramatically into a whirlwind month of intense productivity and the writing of at least 1,667 words per day, but alas and alack— a stomach bug came to town. It is now Thanksgiving week, and we are all well again, and I shall spare you the gory details of the sickness, but my manuscript is sitting pretty at 8,000-ish words. Not a fair prospect. Not pretty enough, I grant you.

(Sorry. I’ve been thinking a lot about Pride and Prejudice— more than my usual allotment— as I’m trying to write a somewhat thoughtful essay about why I don’t think it can be perfectly translated to film, and quotes from the BBC miniseries are dancing like visions of sugarplums in my head. Oooh, sugarplums. It’s nearly Christmas. HOW.)

Anyway! At first I planned to write 50,000 words in November, and then I quickly realized that wasn’t going to be possible with my two adorable little minions, so I reduced my goal to 30,000 (one k per day and all that) but as aforementioned my children became ill, and I also fell ill, and then my husband did, and as aforementioned my pen shall draw a veil over the innards (and outwards) of THAT scene. I have not even written “a little bit every day” this November, as I did last year. I feel kind of bad about that. But I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now.

Just kidding. I look back all the time. I am a purveyor of nostalgia and sentimentality.

So when I look back on this time, I suppose I will see it as that constant tightrope dance to which early parenthood has often been compared. Trying to cherish the good moments and soak up every second that I can while my children are still so small-- because, so quickly, they are ceasing to be so small-- and also trying to keep my irons in the fire and not lose sight of my own self and my own mind in the fog of motherhood. It's astonishing, really, how quickly a whole day can slip by with a constant flurry of activity and care and then before I know it, I'm cleaning up the kitchen at 10 pm and haven't written a word all day except a few scattered tidbits on Twitter.

What a chaotic thing life is, and what a special gift it is to have it. That’s all I really have to say, I guess. I am very overwhelmed and sleep deprived these days, but I am very happy and thankful to be where I am, and I wish I had more time to read all the good books that there are in the world and maybe write one of my own, but for now I will just appreciate the moments I can snatch.

Like this.

This time last year, I was drowning in early-pregnancy nausea, new-house chaos, the stress of balancing school with caring for a toddler who was not adjusting well to our recent move, and I felt like I was barely keeping it together. I wrote optimistically about doing what I could with the time that I had but even just that was a struggle. This year, in many ways I have more on my plate (and certainly less sleep) but I’m coping so much better. Some of this may be due to another year’s maturity, and some may simply be the fact that I’m not miserably pregnant anymore (I love my babies but the process of bringing them into the world is The Worst), and in all honesty? It’s probably the meds.

Because sometimes science needs to step in, and for that I will give thanks.

In April of this year I began seeing a therapist for prenatal depression, and in July I saw a women’s health psychiatrist and officially got an anxiety disorder diagnosis, and in August I began taking an anti-anxiety medication (that is safe for nursing moms; the internet can judge all it likes about meds in general but I do want to be clear that I’m not putting my baby at risk!) that has done wonders for my mental health. I resisted medication for a long time, but finally taking that step has made a world of difference in my emotional and even physical well-being. Circumstances may be a little tough right now with two small and very needy, very mom-dependent children, but when my mind is calmer my body is too. (And when I do get the chance to sleep, I actually sleep instead of lying awake with a frantic mind that won’t let me rest.)

Sorry if that was a little more personal than what you were expecting— but this newsletter isn’t called “something true” for nothing. The fact that the best-laid plans of writers and women are often doomed to fail is not sending me off the deep end right now, and I hope that by sharing why I’m having an easier time with not meeting my goals might be an encouragement to someone else who has been struggling. Help is available, and there’s no shame in it.

I’ll check in again in December, but in the meantime I just want to thank all of the new subscribers who have signed up for my emails recently! It’s a little disconcerting to think how little I am offering right now, but I’m very grateful that so many of you have decided to hit “follow.” One of my goals for 2024 is to set up a more regular outline and schedule for these emails, and to focus more on essays rather than just rambling about what I’ve been up to. (But I’ll keep that in here too.)

For now, I hope you’re enjoying what you have, where you are, to the best of your ability, and that if you have attempted NaNoWriMo, that you are making better progress than I.

And that if you choose to order orange juice at a dining establishment, you will be better treated than my husband was last week.

Until next time,

Amy