Back to the Urinal

Okay, it’s time to write again. 

I just kinda need to.

And I enjoy it.

And, to be honest, it’s been a great way to document my kid’s baby and toddler years. Nate and Sam love to go back to PBU and peer at their old selves. 

The Ninja Turtle years. 

The temper tantrum years. 

The totally illogical and nonsensical conversation years. 

They’re at the age when they see the humor in all of that. 

And it jogs our collective Greenhalgh memories.

“Remember that time Nate wouldn’t take his medicine?”

“Remember when Sam said his penis was big? In church?”

“Remember Lotion Robot?”

And I love all that. It’s fun to reflect on those silly stories and recall others 

But sometimes I re-read a story myself and wonder: “Ew, why did I write that sentence like that?” 

Or “why did I pick that word?” or “why did I think that was funny or notable?”

Even though the stories are about my kids, they’re actually more revealing about ME.

Erin.

In that time.

In that phase of my life.

Which was a struggle.

Which was why I wrote.

It makes much more sense to me now, almost eight years after I originally started blogging: I needed to write because I was so lonely. 

I was suddenly in a new city. 

I had quit my job to move across the country and stay home with my toddler and newborn and in doing so, I lost my sense of purpose. 

I lost the self-actualization I had reached by coaching and teaching and regularly spending time with the family and friends that I loved.

I had reached the top of Maslow’s pyramid and jumped off. 

And at the bottom, spread eagle on the ground, I was a shattered mess and I didn’t know how to pick myself up and start climbing again. 

And the postpartum hormones didn’t help.

[If anyone wants details on my messiness at the time, ask me. I’m happy to share. Just know that I never wanted to hurt myself or anyone else, it wasn’t like that. I was just lonely.]

So writing was my bridge back, my connection to people and to myself. It was therapy. 

I saw the absurdity and the comedy in it all and I needed to write about it. 

To process it and to share it. 

Nate went through a phase where he insisted on wearing socks on his hands. That’s funny. What a weirdo.

Sam morphing from an infant into a toddler was quite the transition. Even once he became verbal and quite articulate, he couldn’t get a word in because Nate never stopped talking. Still hasn’t, actually. So Sam just emerged as this silent, quirky figure, conducting his own scientific experiments in the background. 

And Tess. Tess’s toddler years were tough to document because so much of her personality is just disdain. I mean, I don't think she actually feels the amount of disdain she gives off. I think she just has resting bitch face. She gives people the side eye like it’s her job. 

Ask her whether she’d like to go to Disney World for a week and she’ll give you the same apathetic response as she would if you’d just asked her whether she’d like to eat a pound of raw broccoli. 

She’d probably love to go to Disney World and she’d hate the broccoli, but you’d never know it to look at her. She’d just scowl.

And then each week after sharing my blog, I would get high on the positive, supportive comments that rolled in from friends and family members.

It was a reminder that people love me. I’m funny and intelligent and I have value and purpose.

And so mad props to the internet, social media, and cell phones. They all get a bad rap for all their negative functions and dysfunctions, but they saved me. They were a means of connection and positivity when I was at my lowest. 

So thank you, Al Gore, for inventing the internet. 

Lou’s baby and toddler years have been less documented. I’m not lonely in the same way anymore. I’m not as desperate for therapy and connection. I have friends and people I enjoy chatting with and a greater sense of purpose again.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still climbing back on top of Maslow’s hierarchy and I’ve a ways to go still, but I’m getting there. 

To reach the peak twice in a lifetime is no small feat. 

Who knows, maybe I’ll even find myself at the bottom again and have to reach the summit a third or even fourth time. 

But in the meantime, I’m going to write again. Both professionally and as a hobby.