Since I had P nearly 20 months ago (who the what the frick), my blogging mojo has packed its bags, shit on my bed, and written a "Dear Pru" letter in blood. I get really excited about a blog post idea, but then complacency and my baby-lobotomised half-brain set in and I give up, instead choosing to curl up and watch television of varying quality. The inspiration is there, it just doesn't translate to actually sitting down at the laptop and typing. Even now I'm pausing between words, hazily trying to recall the mere gist of what I was trying to say. Fucking brains.
I had grand plans of a thoughtful post on the NHS, or the post I've been dying to do for months on the appalling gender stereotyping which pops up in the media. I have been stockpiling material for this post, but if I wrote it now it would sound like a ninth-grader's ruminations on her burgeoning feminism. That is to say, cliche and melodramatic. Brain, come back! All is forgiven. You know your weird desire to convince me that I genuinely love Beyonce? Swept under the rug. Beyonce who? Just come back and work for me again. I think even P has a bigger vocabulary than I do. It's probably quite telling that I spend far too much of my day saying "poop".
I need something. Some kind of pill, a stiff drink. Any suggestions as to rid yourself of fuzzy, post-baby brain? Wasn't this to fade after pregnancy? Fuck.