With an accelerated heart rate and an inability to produce one singular, clear thought, my fingers remained poised over the keyboard as I set out to write my first column…ever.
I was schooled by seasoned industry professionals who ferociously wagged their fingers at us yearning students, warning us of the looming journalistic woes that awaited us should we ever inject such blasphemous terms such as ‘I think’, ‘me’ or ‘in my opinion’ into our copy or even threatened to dip our toes in the pool of first-person narrative.
Cautious of this forbidden fruit, my mind wanders: what can I write about that can possible engage Eagle readers without compromising my perusal for objectivity?
If you read my articles and find yourself uncertain of my slant, I can surmise that I’m not sacrificing my journalistic integrity for the sake of a monthly rotating column.
Cynics are now permitted to scoff at the term journalistic integrity. As long as it’s not at my expense.
And mama, you got it. After 10 months of maternity leave to spend time with my 10-month-old son, Finn, the time has arrived for me to take the opportunity to share with our readers, many of whom are fellow mamas and papas themselves, some of what my mommyhood journey has revealed – about the humbling experiences that can only be summed up as parenthood.
All those hours logged on an elliptical, fighting to get back what may never be, scouring through articles and mentally logging the prose of other, better writers. All those daydreams about the fantastic, funny rants I would scrawl about (OK, type) when I got back into the office.
All those texts and drop-ins with my fellow co-workers, to make sure I stayed in the loop, avoiding the awkwardness of returning to work with the humans. Not the little ones, the big ones.
It has all culminated right here and now. It can all be summed up with the disappointment in the diaper genie, the realization that not all strollers are created equal and that you need a veritable degree in child restraints to make sure your car seat is fastened in properly.
I am learning that as social as I have been in my own life, making friends with other moms for the sake of future play dates can be awkward and even daunting, that I never have enough time to do anything and there has hardly been as heavenly a word as bedtime.
I have also realized that the cliché slogan, ‘time flies,’ is so true, I can’t imagine my life without my son and stepdaughter, and I really hope my mother knows how much I appreciate her.
So, if you will humour me, I will write about my mommyhood experiences when musical chairs leaves me wearing the columnist’s hat.
And if you promise not to throw things at my soccer mom ride or mail me a hate letter laced with ricin, I promise not to write about poop or vomit from here on out.
Or cyclists.
