August 5th 2 am

I'm new to the blogging world and this is my first post. I've hesitated to blog about the experience of being a new mother; there's something vaguely exploitative about such blogs, in my view. For one thing, I'm not posting a picture of my five-month-old son because, well, he has no say in the matter. For another--why should I describe some of his most intimate experiences online? How he's eating, sleeping, pooping and farting? No thanks. If I'm going to blog about being a new mom--and, yes, for a few different reasons I feel compelled to do so--it's going to be more of a study of what's happening to me, as I go through this--at a rather advanced age.

I became a mother at 44. That simple fact brings with it a host of complications, which I plan to explore in the days to come. For example: I've started a local group for older new moms (first-time mothers in their late 30s and 40s), and one of the members has had someone tell her, "You're too old to be a mom!" Another person has been asked if she's the grandmother of her own child. (More on this in later postings.) I've been spared those kinds of comments so far, but I know that it could have been me easily enough. So I'll ruminate here on what it feels like to be an older mom, and hopefully provide some kind of support for other women who've taken this step later in life.

The other reason to write this is simply to boost my own morale. I've written all my life, but recently (i.e. ever since the arrival of my beautiful son, about five months ago) the flow of writing has dried up to a trickle. Not that this drought matters a whit to anyone but me--but it matters deeply to me, and affects my life in various ways. I'm a grumpier person overall, I think, when I don't write. Somehow I need to spew out my thoughts in this way, need it almost as much as I need to breathe.

Finally--I have this weird ambition to take my son to someplace new in the world, or more specifically, to someplace new in San Francisco (where we live) and surrounding cities--every single day, and then, to write about our excursion in some small way. I'm a big believer in "traveling in place," which to me means, finding the new in the familiar; unearthing the unexpected in the predictable. This is the die-hard surrealist in me, perhaps. So that will also be one of my "goals" here, if any goal is needed.

It's 2:30 am...I've written for an entire half-hour, for perhaps the first time since my son was born five months ago. Being a new mom (at any age) means, in part, losing oneself in this new task of caring for another living being, and then struggling to find oneself again, at odd moments. This has been the case for me, certainly. I can't begin to describe how wonderful, how exhausting, how frustrating and how exciting it's been...but all that waxing rhapsodic will have to wait for another posting because I also need to sleep right now, somewhat desperately.