It has taken me over a month to put on my big girl pants and finally do this piece. Well,not that I have been too busy to find time,I haven't, and that's the thing.

Before I became pregnant, I was the most creative person I know. Anything was my muse. A newspaper article,a book, a boy crossing the streets, a pregnant woman,art, anything really. Then, I would string sentences and write paragraphs from a single picture. And poetry, God,I loved poetry as though it was air.

Then pregnancy happened. It was the happiest period of my life, I admit. Before it,I always knew I would document that journey like I did everything else. In those nine months however, I only wrote thrice in my phone notebook. And all those times were among the days and nights my baby hadn't kicked. I was so worked up hence needed to do something to distract me from the wait of his kicks,so I settled for writing, which I had not done in all the two trimesters. After writing a few sentences in the third trial,I stopped trying. Deep down,I knew I'd lost it. My creativity. 

When my son turned a year old,I was gifted a book, Woman Beneath Her Feet, by one of my favorite female writers, La Patrona. It's been four months and I haven't finished reading it yet.I haven't even written any review for the stories I've read. If my old self met my current self, I'm sure it'd be wondering where this one came from. I no longer have the thirst for books like I did before. Heck, I can't even read a long Facebook post without feeling suffocated these days. I think I am only grasping on straws. It's like there's something different in me that I can't really explain. 

During my campus days,my roomie Laureen and I used to vow that we'd never fall prey to routine. Well, having a baby had news for me. Everyday is the same,yet it tricks you to see it different. At first,I hated it,then after realizing this is my life now,I slowly learned to live it, and now I find it intriguing. Seeing my son learn and do things like crawling,talking and now walking made me realize I have changed. I am not the same person I was before. I don't have the kind of energy I had before and that is kinda okay. 

Now, I don't blame the unavailability of time for my lack of writing. I have time,so much time in my hands but I don't have that 'thing' that I had before. Like we Kenyans say, sikuhizi Niko tu, and I honestly hate it.

Sometimes,I think of my creativity like a butterfly in one's hands. When one opens their palms,it regains it's freedom and flies away. So maybe it'll return,or maybe it won't... Nobody knows.

I look forward to days when words will start speaking to me again, when I'll have that craving for a new novel, for poetry, for anything written, really. I would love to find my way back to my self... If not wholly,partially. At this point, I'd take whatever I can get.