Too Busy to Blog or Have I Made Peace with Motherhood?

I can't look my blog in the eye these days. I don't need to either - I know she's got her arms crossed,  shaking her head and tut-tut-ing me because I hear the rhythm of it in my head. It's been precisely a month since I last posted, and she is not pleased. I haven't been this delayed since 2008 when I was juggling my return to work after maternity leave, my masters, and the agonizing transition to daycare (for me and my babe). And while I might have excuses that could rationalize my silence, I'm not going to let myself make them.

I'm simply not one of "those" bloggers who starts a blog and lets it fizzle. When I start something, I take it seriously. My blog's only getting bigger and better has been my intention. But I'd be lying if I say I wasn't worried. Because something's missing.

For three years, I felt this rabid compulsion to write. As I wrote in a blog post "I Write Because I have To" last year:

"I write because I have to,
There is no choice about it,
Just a pull from within me
Urging me, calling me, pestering me...
They don't understand that it eats at me
if I don't comply
It consumes me until I can
no longer ignore it"

I can only liken it to an addiction, a need I had to fulfill. I scoffed at people who said they had writer's block, not even considering how it could be possible. Even though I'd been a writer with writer's block before, I conceitedly thought I'd overcome it.

More than just writing though was this need to express motherhood. I needed to bear witness to my experience, to dissect its newness in written word, to cry over the keyboard as I admitted my feelings. I needed to release my words into the ether in the dire hopes it would reach someone, anyone, who could tell me - you're not alone.

But now it's gone. I feel no drive to rant over motherhood anymore, to need to confess my bad mommy moments or to observe my son's developing grasp on reality. I'm not saying I won't ever do it again, but at this moment, the well is dry and I'm not thirsty enough to replenish it.

Does that mean I've got it now? Have I solved the dilemma that motherhood presented me? Have I accepted that the endless push and pull is just my reality forever? Am I finally able to let go of the anger, shock, and disillusionment that propelled me to start blogging in the first place? Am I really okay with letting moments of wonder go by unrecorded?

It seems that way. That perhaps, dare I say it, I've made peace with motherhood. That maybe, just maybe, I've figured out how to be both Liesl and Mama without feeling like I'm compromising one or the other all of the time. Not that I've lowered my expectations but I've let go of some of the need to control it all and do it all and be it all.

And if that's why I'm struggling with writing, because I've reached some peace, then that's okay, right? And instead of worry about it, I should actually celebrate it.

Because sooner or later, and likely sooner rather than later, life will call me again. And I'll feel that pull to create again, that need to sort through the latest dilemma or mark the newest experience. And then I'll crave for this space of quiet, where the urge does not pull me from my sleep to my laptop, and wonder why I complained about it in the first place?