I thought
motherhood was a boisterous career. I will mold a young mind and raise her to
be a productive member of society, an exceptional genius. While this may be
true in the long run, (or at least I hope), for the time being, I am just preventing her from hitting her
head against the wall, over and over again.
Before I
became a mom, I really wanted to have a baby with whom I can share my world.
Now I am constantly grabbing things away from her and pulling stuff out of her
mouth.
Before I
became a mother, words used to just flow out of me. I wouldn’t even have to
think about what I was writing, words just came to me naturally, like
breathing. Then life happened, and pregnancy happened and a child happened and
suddenly it is impossible to even construct a sentence without soothing a
tantrum or foiling a suicide attempt.
Writing isn’t
as easy as putting pen to paper. It means I turn on my laptop then get called
to change her diaper. I think about the topic and title while giving her a bath. The opening paragraph is brainstormed while I
sing and dance in an attempt to feed her lunch. I jot a few lines on a napkin
or the margins of a newspaper as I chase after her across the hardwood floor
before she puts the laptop wire into her mouth. Then I finally have a moment to myself at 3 am
when she is asleep but my mind is too exhausted to conjure any sense so I sink
back into bed beside her.
It is
difficult to have a writing career and a child simultaneously.
But here is
to trying and never giving up … Cheers!
