Follow on Bloglovin
Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
Read Monica Here Too:
Search The Girl Who

Act Three

I don't know if it's writer's block or a slow retreat from personal blogging, but I'm having a hard time writing here. Maybe because I'm trying to redefine this space in my head? For the longest time I had Things To Say. I was a newlywed, trying to find my way in New York City, a recovering Mormon still pissed at the church, mad about this thing or that thing. I also spent years passive-aggressively blogging at Serge's ex-girlfriend who I now adore more than many of my childhood friends. Like, it's three-in-the-morning-are-you-there-I-need-to-talk, is how I feel about her. She's fantastic. So I was right to be jealous of her for all those years, is what I'm saying. That's right, I have found some way to vindicate being an asshole for the duration of that scenario - her fabulousness justified my jealousy and shitty behavior. She and Serge have also reconnected. I mean, just Facebook friends and stuff, but it makes me feel good. I caused a lot of unnecessary bad feelings for those two and I'm glad to see it evaporate.

Despite being labeled a "mommyblogger" I've never really viewed this space as such. I write about my kids occasionally but not in any significant way. This space has always been more about me... And my marriage. Maybe that's why I'm struggling. As our marriage approaches the ten year mark I'm having a difficult time defining it as well. Maybe it isn't the marriage I'm having trouble defining, but me.

Go ahead, whisper "mid-life crisis" or "pregnancy hormones" through your judgmental lips if you like. But it doesn't feel like that. I'm not ruling it out, I mean, can we ever really know what we're experiencing while we're experiencing it? Usually it takes the 20/20 perspective hindsight affords us. That thought freezes me up when it comes to making heavy duty decisions. How can you make a decision when you know damn well that you aren't seeing the big picture, that you're flapping around in act three and there are two more acts to go before this play is over...

I don't know.

33 weeks. That's what we're rolling up on over here. And when I say "rolling" I mean it. Mama be rotund. I feel big as hell but I've actually gained less weight with this guy than Violet and Henry. I'm totally jonesing to go to the gym, though. Or just walk down the street without my bones creaking beneath the forty extra pounds I'm sporting these days. I've got my eye on 37 weeks, which occurs the first week of February, I think. They say you're full term then and my midwife says if I go into labor at any point after that we're all good to welcome the little dude to the world right here at home, in the same ancient parsonage that has likely been witness to more than a few births.

We've started hypnobirthing classes, which NO, it isn't Serge waving a gold pocketwatch in front of me telling me I'm getting verrrry sleeeepy, but it is similar in that you can convince your mind of lots of things and those things can have an actual physiological result on your body. And it's not even convincing your mind of an untruth, more like disabusing yourself of the notions society has fed us about childbirth for the last fifty years or so.

More on that later. I found it all very Zen and seems to tie into a lot of Buddhist truths I've learned over the past couple years. Also, if I can reprogram my brain from Mormon doctrine I can certainly re-learn childbirth as it's meant to happen. Right? RIGHT? Dammit. Someone in Colorado ship me some weed already.

Hey. Yo. Let's do a roll call. We haven't done one in a couple years or so. Who are you? How long have you been hanging around? Why? What's your story? How do you feel about the whole personal blogging thing?

Lessons Learned

I'm not one for resolutions but I plan to write here again come 2014, I swear. It's been an...interesting year. In the meantime, please to enjoy photos from 2013 with some colorful Serge commentary.


30 Down, 10 To Go


12 Reasons You'll Regret Getting Married

"Chances are good that you are somewhere between 40-65% more selfish and self-centered than you think you are. It's okay though, because this applies to just about every human being on Earth. See, it's the part of our genetic makeup that allows us to survive. Literally. But what our selfish ways amount to in terms of survival also tend to work against us when we decide to share life with another person, who, incidentally, is pretty selfish themselves."

Click here to keep reading.

Finding My Way

A lot of the time I want to reach up with both hands, curl my fingers around a handful of collar bone and just start ripping. Calmly tear my body wide open until you can see my heart pumping violently, the smooth, white xylophone of rib cage, miles of glistening intestine, the giant wad of panic forever lodged in my esophagus. Don't look away. Here it is: the blood and guts of humanity. It's great and it's terrible and awesome and unspeakably tragic. Look at it.

I wrote that paragraph a year or so ago and I find it's one of maybe five specific word groupings I've ever written that comes back to me again and again.

It's been a black week. Not in a run of the mill depression kind of way. There have been pin pricks of extraordinary light shining through the darkness only an intense audit of one's life can bring.

Am I where I should be?

Am I doing the right thing?

Am I being fair to those I love the most?

Am I valuing the important things?

Am I on autopilot?

If the answer to any of the above strays into negative territory and you really care about leading a life worth living... A paralyzing blackness descends as you contemplate your next move. And finding your way in the dark is difficult, at best.

I am feeling too much and I don't want all this emotion. It's strangling me. Autopilot is so much more comfortable.

I realize all this is very vague and if you're still reading here you may find that annoying but, frankly, I ain't writing this for you. Or you. But maybe you.

Blogs are weird things and mine is no exception. It has meant many things to me over the years but I no longer have any illusions about any of it. I could disappear tomorrow and that would be fine. Maybe that's what keeps me coming back; the notion that a few keystrokes could end the whole thing. It's a very liberating thought. That and the fact that I actually feel like I'm writing in a journal when I come here now. That's a nice feeling too.

Sometimes I find myself thinking about all the things I "need." A new bed for the kids, a stool for the art deco vanity I bought off Craigslist, a new car... Except I don't need them, I just want them. It's easy to confuse the two. Or convince yourself that a want is a need. It's also a slippery slope into focusing on the tangible things you "need" in lieu of the spiritual stuff you really need.

I lost my way for a while. Actually, I don't know if I ever really knew the way. Regardless, I'm trying to find my way now. The hard part is figuring out what I want vs. what I really need and combining that with what's best for the people I love the most. Is it even possible? I don't know.