Jul 11, 2015

Motherhood doesn't mix with writing

Well, here I am again, same spot, same story, but with another little addition to our family.  I still haven't finished my first book, I don't blog the way I wish I could, I'm still not funny, and I'm still lacking in the old wisdom department.  Is this how all famous people start?  Boringly ordinary, until they catch their big break?  Or do the greats all start out as greats?  Maybe being great isn't my destiny.  Maybe even being a great writer isn't my destiny, either.  I work hard at being a great mom, but as it turns out, I'm great at failing.  That's something, isn't it?

I have a writer friend who swears that it's okay to put off dishes and laundry to write, but I can't do that.  I can't submerge myself into something when my job as a homemaker comes first.  Maybe in a few years, when the kids are all in school, things can change for me.  It's hard gathering my thoughts when the baby is in the back room, crying and fussing, and refusing to go to bed (STILL, after trying multiple times for the past hour and a half).  It's hard getting in the mood to write, when the house is in complete disarray, the dishes are piled up, and if I don't get those bowls and spoons washed before morning, I'm going to have to do them while the kids are grumpy and hungry, and waiting.  The thing about motherhood is that it is so consuming.  SO CONSUMING.

They say to sleep when the baby sleeps, but that only happens after the other children have been fed.  Then, if I'm lucky, I can get them all into their rooms for quiet time and I can have a few minutes to myself before the baby wakes.  It usually turns out that as soon as I lie down to get my much needed nap, that's when baby's decided that nap time is over.  And then I get her out of her crib, feed her for the millionth time that day, and look around at the house as it slowly disintegrates around me, and wonder how will I ever get this place cleaned, much less find time to even think about writing?

I sit here, frazzled, wondering how to even end this blog with my baby screaming in the background, echoing off the monitor, and feeling about twelve of my hairs turning stark white.  I've got lots of those now, and I'm way too young to have this many.  Is this what parenthood does to you?