Let the writing commence

I’m grabbing the bull by the horns, and putting pen to paper, as it were. DH has been banging on at me for the last year about ‘writing that bloody book’, but I’ve always found an excuse not to. It’s quite an impressive feat given that I spent the end of last year housebound by both snow and SPD in what was possibly the most miserable period of my life, whilst someone else looked after the Pocket Dictator and I spent a vast amount of time online shopping, writing my birth plan and writing my will (I’ll come back to that at some point no doubt). Perhaps I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for writing a book about childcare at that point, since I was having troubles carrying the baby as it was, and those troubles meant that I couldn’t look after the child I already had by myself. Not exactly best qualified to ease other’s childrearing pains.

In fairness to my beloved husband, I have been mumbling something about writing a book for the last few years. It all stems from my former ‘career’ as a nanny and maternity nurse. I say career. I always think that implies deliberation in choices, but it would be much more accurate to say that I fell into childcare inadvertantly, not that I didn’t enjoy most of it. That I am still in touch with quite a few of the families I worked for makes me think that I did a reasonable job. The fact that friends, and friends of friends, seek me out to ask my advice makes me think that the advice I do give is reasonable, well-received, and could be of benefit to others. Ultimately, I am never going to have any more children, nor am I ever going to have such a good opportunity to sit down and write about what I know best. I do need to capitalise on my experiences whilst they are still reasonably fresh in my mind, but I also need to make myself write. I’ve had this blog for more than two years now and, whilst I love writing it, whilst I wish I had more time to devote to it, my life keeps getting in the way. There was an incident where I offended someone close to us and almost gave up the blog, and the times when I really lost my blogging mojo. And then there were the babies. My precious girls, who blow my mind every day with the new skills they learn, seemingly overnight; my girls, who make me swoon with love and explode with frustration. They are a source of so many blog posts and the reason I never quite get around to writing them down.  I have no idea whether or not anything I do write will be worth reading, whether or not it will be worth my time, and whether or not I shall even finish. But I do know that I would probably regret it if I don’t even try.