This post is brought to you by the winning combination of maternity leave and infant slumber.

In the waning days of November 2014, I had a son.  Let’s call him Sprout.  He’s upstairs now, asleep on the very sensitive pressure pad that assures me he’s still breathing by emitting a loud alarm should it not detect movement in 20 seconds.  These days, eardrums and even digital sound monitors are not enough.  Expensive parenting gadgetry is all the rage, though we are trying to keep it to a minimum in this house.

We never had that in my day, says my mother, and you’re still alive.  This is the woman who let me wander the streets of London alone aged oh, ten or so, and who would boot me out of her country abode to go play in grain silos.  That may not have been her precise instruction, but it was the consequence of her attitude.  My parents eschewed wrapping children in cotton wool: their preferred goal was developing independence and self-reliance in their offspring.  Plus a healthy regard for one’s own bodily integrity.  I think it worked, but I also think that in many ways I am lucky to be alive.   We’ve had some interesting conversations lately.  


In the last three days I have had two nights of largely uninterrupted sleep, broken only by me waking up to question why I hadn’t been woken up.  My newfound energy led to an astonishing recollection: I have a blog.

From the dim grey recesses of my mind, I grasped the username and password.  Shortly thereafter I was confronted by a largely unfamiliar user interface.  It turns out that the world doesn’t stand still when one is working, commuting, and lounging about playing Candy Crush while mainlining any available Kardashian programming.  What?  You thought I sat studiously reading War and Peace in my downtime?

I’m going to have to re-learn blogging, and folks, that could be a struggle.  I always enjoyed writing: I just reached the point where the twin inhibitions of there being nothing I could say that others could possibly find interesting, and a considerable lack of time, overtook any impetus I felt to put finger to keypad.

I’m going to give it another shot.  It’s not going to be a mother&baby blog (well, OK, there will be the occasional posts loosely connected to my experiences of child-rearing) and I’m going to throw caution to the wind (except in any way that might cost me my job) and let inspiration take me where it will.  There might be pro-socialism pro-feminism pro-hippie-environmental rants, photo journeys, tales of the extent to which I amuse myself, and general cathartic writing designed to keep me sane.

I’m actually looking forward to it.


9 Responses to “Firstborn”

  1. 1 Jennifer February 5, 2015 at 11:45 am

    Woo hoo! Welcome back! And congratulations and felicitations on Sprout!

    • 2 Nic @ Life, Smudged. February 5, 2015 at 4:52 pm

      Thank you! It’s lovely to hear from you. I must confess I wondered if anyone would still be paying any attention to my little corner of the internet. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, blog-wise, both here and with reading others’ writing. I hope you and the family are well :-)

  2. 3 Stacie February 5, 2015 at 4:47 pm

    Congratulations, and welcome back! I look forward to your posts. Motherhood is an incredible journey, both challenging and rewarding. But I’m sure you already know that.

  3. 5 franinoz February 10, 2015 at 8:37 pm

    This is slightly spooky: having given up checking your blog some months ago, this morning I thought I would add a comment thanking you for all the great reading over the years; since noo-zillun days, and here you are with such great news, Congratulations and I hope you will have time now and again to share your thoughts. Franinoz

  4. 7 Bella Rum February 21, 2015 at 12:38 am

    I was cleaning up my blog roll, and imagine my surprise when I found a recent post. It’s good to see you here again. Now I’m following. Congratulations on Sprout. What happy news.

  5. 9 jennatjugglinglife March 7, 2015 at 3:10 am

    What a very lovely surprise! Congratulations!

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