In the Nick of Time…New Year’s Resolutions Unveiled

I’ve struggled whether or not to publicly declare my New Year’s resolutions.  I’m a giant commitment-phobe, and the thought of saying “Hey, look at what I’m gonna do!” to anybody other than my son’s stuffed whale (the only person I tell all my secrets, hopes, and dreams to), has me breaking out in a cold sweat.  Because if anybody besides me or Whale knows my intentions for the next year, I might actually have to follow through on them, or face the embarrassment of failure.

Blech.  Forget it.  I’m ending this post now, right now.  *runs from the room screaming* *trips on something in the hallway* (Whale is on the floor, staring up at me with his dark, soulful eyes) *sighs heavily, picks up Whale, and shuffles back to the computer*

Okay, I’m back.  So.  New Year’s resolutions.  Here they are:

(1) I’m not going to nit-pick my body.  I’ve been blessed with excellent health, am in the process of making my fourth child…this body has been good to me.  Do I have stretch-marks?  Yep.  Are my arms and tummy flabbier than I would like?  Yep.  Do I sometimes still get a zit or two?  Yep.  But this body has been good to me.  Time for me to return the favor.  I’m going to use it.  I’m going to sweat, and breathe deeply, and sometimes, I’m going to be sore.  But through the process of getting back into shape after this last baby, I’m not going to nit-pick my body.  I’m not going to imagine what it would look like without the battle-wounds childbearing often places on a woman’s body – instead, I’m going to cherish those reminders of the three (soon to be four) most amazing children any parent has ever been blessed with.  Children who exist because I’ve been blessed with a body that could carry and nurture them to term.

(2) I’m going to admit that I’m a writer.  This is a silly little thing that shouldn’t be difficult, but is.  There’s this little irritating voice in the back of my head that says I should wait until I’m published; but this little ‘pastime’ of mine has quickly evolved into something that’s no longer a hobby…no sane person would spend this much time, effort, emotion, tears, determination, and did I say time, on a hobby.  I’m a writer.  It’s what I do.  I may not be the best writer on the planet.  Heck, I may not even be a good writer, yet.  But I’m a writer, working hard every single day to be a little better at it than I was the day before.

(3) I will finish my first book this year.  I will allow myself to put an end to the edits, to the modifications, to the obsessive going over, and over, and over each page, and be done with it.  I will allow myself to finish working on it, and be proud of it.  I will set a deadline, and meet it.  Suck on that, commitment-phobia!

(4) I will play.  With my kids, with the hubster, with my friends.  I will make time to romp, to laugh, to be frivolous, to be loud and live with mirth.  I will not get so caught up in my own life that I forget to enjoy the lives of those I love.

That’s it.  That’s what I’m planning for this year.  The over-achiever in me says the list is too short.  The commitment-phobe says it’s too long.  The tiny little part of my brain that is actually sane says it’s just right.

How about you, dear friendlies?  Do you make New Year’s resolutions?  Or do they scare the shiza out of you?  Or both?