I’m really busy these days.
It hits me when I lay down at night & my hips ache so badly & I wonder why I’m so tired. I’m busy.
& I feel like I’m losing out on life.
Dramatic much? But I spend 9 hours a day behind a computer, trying to make sense of my project manager & the boss man’s travel schedule. I spend 2-3 hours per day in my car, trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I get home & throw on dinner, try to soak up time with Harrison, but the moment he is in pajamas I am back the the grind of taking out trash, picking up toys, & making the house presentable just in case they schedule a showing. Just in case.
My one outlet, writing & sharing my thoughts & capturing them on film (albeit roughly), feels bone dry & I can’t help but fear if my lack of inspiration comes from lack of living. My friend Nish often describes her blog as the spill-over of life & I’ve always felt the same – my blog holds all of the emotions & thought processes that I cannot keep to myself. But these days, I feel like I’m on autopilot.
We race out the door every morning; my hair is flying & 75% of the time I have forgotten makeup, so I have yet to capture my attempt at growing my style.
The sun is down when I get home, so every night is a game of chase through the living room or vrooming cars around my ankles while I cook.
We did not take a winter long weekend to the mountains this year due to finances.
I see my friends grow & inspire & be viral & I shake my head at the emptiness of my own journal notes. I’m being left behind.
I have no idea what’s happening with Zooey Dash-a-whatever or the other Kar-dash-a-whatever’s because I don’t have cable. I have now been demoted to Former Pop Culture Princess.
I order clothes & Christmas presents & hell, even groceries online.
Some mothers ache for more interaction & more rigid schedule, but I long for days of a lazier pace & more sunshine with my tiny guy.
I just don’t know how to find it quite yet.



When my son was 13 weeks old, I slipped back into a black pencil skirt & three-inch stilettos to take my place in the corporate world once more. Every day for the next year, I tearfully kissed my little boy goodbye & bitterly plowed through paperwork & client calls. I hated being a working mother. I was wracked with jealousy over my stay-at-home-mom friends when they held play dates & lunches. I struggled with finding balance between work, marriage, motherhood, home, & myself. News articles hounded home that the children of working mothers were fatter, sicker, & worse off than children of mothers who stayed home. & it didn’t matter if Charlie Sheen himself wrote the study, I believed that I was failing my child by working.














