I’m a writer. I dream words. I think about beautiful paragraphs when I’m washing the dishes. I hear lines of poetry, or compose entire posts in my mind while I’m doing other things.
A pitiful few find their way into even a scrap of paper.
Because, while my brain may have the workings of a writer, it’s also the brain of a mommy.
And by the end of the day, I’ve also put books back on the shelf, picked up toys, rescued the kitchen and bathroom cupboards, and saved the plants at least two dozen times before lunch. (I’m trying to be conservative, but it could be upwards of 10 dozen times most days.)
I’ve fed a hungry munchkin 6 or 10 times. I’ve changed enough diapers that you just don’t count anymore. I’ve probably been peed on, and likely have held a sad baby who is learning about balance and has hit her head probably almost as many times as there are hours.
Add the fact that I have a wonderful opportunity to work for myself from my own home.
By the end of the day, those beautiful words and thoughts are interspersed with random things like “pat-a-cake”, “stinky diapers” and “Let’s not tear the books”. “If you’re happy and you know it” tries to weave it’s way into the lines of my poetry. Toss in a few work related topics to the mix and you have fonts and lines of short codes tripping happily into what was once going to be a blog post.
And when you sit on the couch after supper by your hubby, you know you’ve got a case of parenthood when you randomly reach over and push his nose and say “beep”.
I absolutely love this season of life. I love working from home so I can watch our munchkin. I love ever tired, messy minute of taking care of our baby. It is hard, beautiful life.
But when it comes to putting profound sentences together? It’s a rare moment when that happens.
And then I wonder why I don’t blog as often as I use to.
Oh, got to go rescue the family bible from an over zealous book lover….