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Leah Ferguson

Time Travel, Blog Style

I was going through some of my One Vignette archives (truth: I was on Facebook and the essay popped up as one my “memories.” Guilty as charged, your honor) and found a post from two years ago. I’ve posted the link below, because I just have to re-share it with you. It was just two years ago: so much has changed since then. I miss so badly that state of being the new mom with the baby: I knew I was in the thick of it, I knew I was still learning–and how neccessary it was to forgive myself or be forgiven because of that–and as exhausted as I was and tired and overwhelmed, I also knew, in the very back reaches of my head (the parts that hadn’t been affected yet by the sleep deprivation, I mean) that the time is so precious and fast. However. I don’t miss the breastfeeding. Do I miss the quiet and the bonding and the time to myself? Oh, Lordy, yes. But I don’t miss the breastfeeding. I don’t miss the nursing tank tops or the…

Sliding Around On Our Bottoms is More Fun, Anyway

You may have heard me talk about this son of ours. His name, as you know, is Cian. Cian is two and a half. Cian lives a much different life than his sisters did when they were his age. He doesn’t go to Music Together class. He hasn’t been signed up for MyGym. We hardly ever, ever go to the library, but that’s mainly because I never remember to take back the books on time and we keep racking up overdue fees (role model up in HERE!). His last playdate was two months ago. Want to know what Cian does? Cian plays while Mommy flails about on her computer in the mornings. I type a little of this, a little of that, then erase it all to wail and gnash my teeth and go write a blog post like this instead. So, Cian plays. And maybe watches Little Einsteins. And poops, then asks for a snack (every. single. day, just like that. Happy to share). We eat lunch together, then tidy up (sometimes), then traipse off to pick his sisters up from school. Every day. It has to be so boring for him. I…

And It’ll Free Your Soul

As I type this, my mental to-do list is running through my head in a constant stream, like those fast-rolling credits that fly past your eyes at the end of syndicated TV shows. There are chocolate-covered pretzels to dip, about 90 of them or so (hahahaSOB), and errands to run, and three Halloween parties to either plan or attend (costumes! gifts! decorations, oh my!) in the next couple of days. There are emails between other homeroom moms that I am sort of keeping track of through my phone. My house is a disaster. The laundry is a disaster. (My hair is still a disaster.) I’m totally in the zone with this book I’m working on (it’s either crap or awesome. In another couple of thousand words I’ll send the first chapters to my agent. It’s taken me months to get to this point, a mere 15,000 words of awesome. Or crap. It could go either way. Months and months of dancing around this new book, and Agent Katie will be able to tell me in an instant if she’s still glad she signed me…