I wrote two posts on the plane ride home.

They are both wordy and long and not-so-much with the publishable. This whole writing gig…it’s fantastic, it saves me. But it also burdens me sometimes when the thoughts are there, the sentiment is real and the words are elusive, inspiration is run dry.

Because the thoughts are there. I’ve been trying for weeks to find a nice way to tell you that Joel’s labor story won’t be told here. I guess that’s as nice as it gets, here you go: I won’t be telling Joel’s labor and birth story.

Getting married and then realizing we have to LIVE TOGETHER? Ack! There is a very funny story there, but I can’t seem to wrangle it into form. It’s like me getting into my pre-baby jeans right now. I can do it, but nobody wants to hear about it.

I’m pinpointing my hope problem. It’s the day to day that I struggle with, kind of like DiaperDiaries and the big picture/day-to-day gratitude. Yep, like that only she’s written about it very well and I, alas, have not. And PS: the day to day thing is coming back, I’d like to write about that too, I did on the plane, but the snoring of the man next to me as I wedged into a middle seat on a full flight told me what I already knew, it was a snooze. I had that weightless heart joyful feeling when I sang in worship at a new-to-us church on Sunday. I can’t remember the last time I had that, the hope it is returning kids.

And this new-to-us church? It rocked. I met a lady there who asked me to pray for her grandson, I need to introduce you to him….when the words show up. Also, this rockin’ preacher did a good job reminding me that my big picture hope is what really matters and I need to share it. Cuz heaven is for everybody, and don’t all of you want to spend eternity with my kid? I KNOW, right?

How about Sally, another babyloss mama who has struggled and written and inspired so many of us. Sally has a beautiful new son today. Perhaps I am speechless in honor of Angus today. That would be totally ok with me. If I could find some eloquent way to tell you.

I’m not calling it writers block. I’m calling it overwhelmed, underwhelmed, makin’ my way back to me, overweight, uninspired, too much to say, not enough hours in the day, plans to make, absentee husband, working on grief, lovin’ me some Jesus, missin’ me some Joel, bouncing around the country, can’t get my head straight, writer’s fumble. I can write, but I fumble.

This is my punt. Heh.